(Danganronpa Kirihina) 87 years, 3 months, 1 week, 6 days...

87 years, 3 months, 1 week, 6 days, 8 hours, 49 minutes and 52 seconds

After being alive for hundreds of years, the days, months, years, and decades shrunk smaller and smaller in the grand scale. But for the past couple decades, every breath in and out was slow and tedious for her. And now it was the party, the ball, the celebration she had fantasized about attending so many forevers ago. All that was left was to step through the door, and she'd be there.

Guests swung their heads as her boots clicked onto the immaculate tile floors, the entrance to the palace sparkling from top to bottom. Candles lit up the hall, thick and beady on the chandelier which dangled a finely sharpened sword from the center. It was as she remembered it, dark velvet curtains pulled back for the night, etching on every doorway and staircase. And the smell - dark, rich, seductive. She tried not to appear too frantic to find the hostess among the crowd. One of the many butlers came to her side, masking his surprise to see her.

"Lady Kirigiri," he bowed his head, then held out the platter balancing on his hand. A simple wine glass filled halfway with the cocktail that exuded the smell blanketing the party. She did not react with eager hunger to it, her lips stayed pursed, throat comfortably wet. "Not thirsty tonight?"

"No." she continued forward into the hall, which was the size of a ballroom, designed specifically to accommodate such large gatherings. There was a proper ballroom, but it would not be used until the appropriate time, two or three hours into the party when everyone had already drunk a good amount and their fingers itched to clutch to something.

"Lady," A voice she recognized called to her, and she turned to see Rantaro, decked out in a sheer lace blouse, and pants that cinched tightly at the waist and ballooned out around his thin legs. "Kyoko, it's good to see you again. How long has it been?" When she continued her walk into the crowd, he kept pace, the palm of his hand pressing against back, tugging her closer to his side when someone laughed too uproariously and nearly bumped into her. "Ignoring me, huh?"

"I'm preoccupied."

"Obviously, you are." He rolled his eyes. "Don't I deserve even a 'hello'?

"Not particularly." She shoved her way past the crowd that had gathered around a pair of bickering "princesses", glad that she hadn't taken a glass so she had nothing to worry about spilling. One of the laughing spectators on the other hand-

"Shit! It's all over my nicest jacket! Damn it! Which one of you assholes made me spill my drink!? Prepare to breathe the final breath of your miserable immortal life, bastard!" As a brawl broke out on the floor behind them, Kirigiri perked up at the chance this fight would drag the absent hostess' attention away from wherever she was. The putrid smell of anger mixed in the air with perfumes and colognes, and Kyoko felt as if she was on the edge of suffocation.

Rantaro elbowed her in the side, dragging her glare over to him. "I haven't seen her either, you know. Kind of impolite, if you ask me. It is a party in her honor and all..."

"Really? So she's not just avoiding me then." Frowning, Kyoko turned to walk elsewhere, breathing in deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of sweet sugar in the air. But besides the chemical scents of flowers and bakery goods, there was no such saccharine calling out to her. They neared the left wall of the entryway, where Kirigiri knew a spot the hostess could be hiding in. She approached one of the unassuming doors, pressing her ear to it.

"Behave yourself!" A muffled voice scolded, one that was definitely not who she was looking for.

Another voice, "I'm sorry, jeez, don't you think this might be a little scary for me, being surrounded by, you know..."

"Monsters?" The first one sneered, and Kirigiri backed away from the door, nearly colliding with Rantaro.

"Personal space." she said and walked towards the nearest butler so she could grab one of the glasses off him. She took a long sip, the drink bitter and sticking to her tongue. The charade of the glass, which had a crystal stem, did not mask the disgusting taste. That type of blood had been her survival for the past decades, and she never got used to the horrible flavor, not after she had experienced a sip of nirvana.