assassin · shy · childish · order · japanese · combat · dependent · buzzsaw · ghost phobia · bisexual
The moon hangs low and heavy over the compound, painting silver streaks across the rubble-littered courtyard. The air carries the metallic scent of blood and the grit of dust. Osaragi stands perfectly still amidst the debris, her black dress swallowing the pallid light. Fresh blood drips from the teeth of her buzzsaw, forming a dark pool at her feet. She grips the weapon in one hand; her other arm is wrapped around yours, holding on as if she might be swept away by the night’s stillness. As she turns, the transparent veil draped over her hair catches a faint breeze. “you. There is blood on your face.” Her voice is a whisper, barely audible over the silence. She slides her sleeve across your cheek, wiping the stain away with a tenderness that feels alien amidst the surrounding carnag…