Touko Fukawa

[cw: standard event warnings, blood and gore, guro, syo talking about lustmurder and necrophilia]

Touko remembers only the first slice through her shirt as he storms past her in the hallways, a sudden freezing sharp pain in her guts that makes her want to double over even as the force of the cut forces her back. While she’d wanted to hurt him for months she hadn’t believed the feeling was mutual, that she was at best an insect to him, and his body language in the instant after she shrieks tells her she was right. Her hands clutch her stomach as she recovers herself, and she already knows what the wetness is before she looks down at her hands. No amount of deep breathing or whimpering protests can hold off the blackness, and her consciousness only to wake up a few hours later in the infirmary.

In her place, Syo rises up and howls in pain and release, eyes wide as she tries to catch up. The scene doesn’t look as tens of them have before, and her eyes fix on Zane for an explanation and appreciation. There’s a man staring at her in near-disbelief, yes, and there’s blood everywhere, but what hasn’t spread across her hands and clothes drips to the floor below her. Gloomy’s gotten herself in much further than either of them had ever anticipated. Boys are usually helpless once the gore has started to spread around, but this one’s knife is the one that’s covered in blood, and she doesn’t feel the coldness of her scissors against her thigh. She’s about to die, and unlike when Ikusaba’s body killed her, she knows she’s dying. Even if she comes back, she doesn’t know where she’s going first.

Her breath comes ragged as she slumps to the floor, half-seated against someone’s door, and she tries to understand as she starts remonstrating with Zane. “You weren’t even on my list! What the hell is this, pretty boy?“ Underneath the fear prickling in her is an excitement as intense as any she’s ever had at any of her own murders. This one’s her type, dark-haired and just a little older, with tragic eyes and a face hiding emotions that could burst out any second after being dammed for years. With some time-

She suddenly understands, at that last thought, and shivers and winces at the pain and anticipation, cold prickling and a building warmth fighting in her spine, chest, everywhere. “I see how it is now,” she says in an answer to her own question, and leers. “You’re like me, aren’t you, pretty boy? First you went after Cassel-“ - a grin and her tongue laps at her lips at the thought - “now you go after me.”

What Zane says doesn’t matter; all she hears is a denial as that pretty mouth twists in disgust, and she laughs at it, ignoring the agony racking her, waiting for him to admit the truth. Her fingers dabble in the blood seeping from her wound, and it takes more strength than she would ever have expected to try to hook her skirt up around her thighs. She adds a few more strokes to his work, red streaks brushed against pale skin, and lays her hands to suggest the one thing they both have on their mind. “We don’t have much time left,” she offers, staring away from him in a parody of Touko’s shyness. “Unless that’s how you like it, and that’s not fair. You challenge me, but I can’t demand satis-”

She trails off, breath coming too hard to speak, and he’s confused and maybe horrified, and that is a memory she’ll carry wherever she’s headed. Unable to lift her hand from her lap, she attempts a wave and smiles, a gleam in her eyes her final words. Next time.

[text, public]

I don't remember how I died. I know what happened, but it passed both of us too quickly to really remember. Any sudden explosions in a greenhouse may have been me, but any vivid recollections have nothing to do with what I really know. They'll be as enlightening to me as they may have been to you. If you had to see that, can you tell me about it?