𝒟𝒶𝓌𝓃 || 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓴 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝔁 𝓞𝓒

𝒳𝐼𝒳

Ayato stalked down the hallway. "Where's Chichinashi?" He yelled, the noise echoing down the hall. At the end of the hall, near the human's room stood a mysterious figure. They seemed to be searching for something. Or someone...?

On high alert, he squinted into the shadows.

"Oi, show yourself!"

The figure emerged from the darkness. Ayato tensed up even more. "You. Why are you here?"
Richter cadually flipped his coat lapels. "To pay a visit to my dear nephews and niece, of course."

"That's bullshit. Tell me why you're really here."

For a moment, his uncle's eyes flickered around the hallways more. Ayato bared his teeth. "You're looking for one of the girls, aren't you?"

Richter's superficially cordial smile vanished. He only sneered. "So what if I am?"

"I will not let you touch the sister of Yours Truly." 

Before he could react, Richter had swung a fist at his gut. Ayato, wheezing, dropped to the ground on his knees. His uncle reached into his pocket. There was a flash of silver, before he had put the silver object to his lips. The noise of the pinwhistle was shrill and rang in Ayato's ears. Richter brushed past, gong at a fast pace. 

"Good luck, nephew."

Yui lay motionless on the ground for several seconds. The woman with the flowing hair at the balcony turned her head slightly. Her lips curved as she snapped her fingers once. Yui's eyes flew open. They were still the same deep pink, but without their usual shine. In a trance, she rose to her feet and stepped toward the balcony. Illuminated by the eclipsing blood moon, the woman's lavender hair appeared moon-white, contrasting with the deep black shadows outlining her semi-corporeal form, obscuring her features. Reaching out to the ethereal, ghostly image, Yui grasped her outstretched, black gloved hand.

The air pulsed with a strong power, before it was still. Richter's figure emerged from the shadows. Seeing Yui's semi-conscious state and the presence of the woman in her soul through the emerald sheen of her eyes, he knew the time had arrived. While his troublesome nephews were occupied with the werewolves downstairs, he would have time to carry out the crucial operation that would blast him to power. Time was of the essence. 

He took he girl's hand and led her out the door, and up the stairs, to the only restricted room in the mansion. With ease, he broke the heavy chains and the lock with a snap of his wrist. A secret lever disguised as one of the dusty tomes in the bookshelf revealed a secret passage. There was a room with stone walls down there, near the sewers. It was empty except for a mannequin wearing a dress.

The fabric was bloodstained and had a jagged rip down the front, but the rich plum satin and delicate, refined black lacework hinted at its former glory. The rose embellishment at the shoulder dripped fresh crimson blood in a never ending stream. The moment the Bride, still possessed, laid eyes on it, her hand twitched to touch it.