Wisteria

3 - Butterfly Claw Clips

Elliot Julius Fairisles was an arsehole. He was a scumbag, a bastard, a fucking piece of shit who only cared about each thin spaghetti thread on his double-sided head known as "hair". He couldn't give a rat about others as long as they bowed to his name or were higher than him. All the demons lower than him -including the other two moons lower than him- were nothing but scum attempting to reach his greatness.

Yet something rubbed him in the wrong way tonight. It was that boy. The one he was a tad merciful to tonight. The boy was lucky to have his jaw hanging rather than ripped off and tossed away. It would leave the floor messy and Elliot did not have the time for any cleaning.

Still, besides his merciful spare and unwillingness to clean the floor, he thought about the boy. He never thought of anyone -let alone a human- but he couldn't stop thinking about that particular someone. Why? He questioned himself, pacing around his room. Why him and why now? Well, now as in you met him, idiot.

Elliot quietly racked his brain to think of why he cared a sliver about the boy. Maybe he was special, or maybe he was insignificant like a grain of dust on a beach. No, no. He's significant. Why though? He continued to ponder, rushing through every book in his study.

Elliot had only moved to Japan after being promoted to a Lower Kizuki. Years ago, on average Bri'ish day, Elliot had accidentally killed a Lower Moon on holiday, mistaking them for a human. Upon consuming the Demon's blood, he felt significantly different, feeling stronger than ever.

He also felt a strange connection to someone far overseas.

And so, Elliot followed his ancestor's pathways, exploring the world, as he called it. In reality, it was his gut feeling telling him to go to Japan and find this "connection". But instead, the connection found him, promoting him to a rank he a) never knew existed and b) couldn't understand.

Yet, even with this connection came memories. Strong ones.

He'd dream of these people and wake in a cold sweat each time he did. A weird mish-mash of earthly elements, animals, emotions, flowers, and insects.

Each time, one person from each category killed him.

It was always an Asian person killing him and he didn't know why (nor did he care). All he remembered in each dream was a sword slicing his neck and then suddenly waking up. He'd hold his neck, panting heavily while the back of his head taunted him. How he hated that wretched voice. How he wished he could rip the second face off without ruining his beautiful flesh.

But his dreams were not his.

They were someone else's.

A warning, if you will. Or a memory. A paranoia.

And Elliot had the same gut feeling about this random child he just met.

It twisted and turned in his stomach, reaching his throat and causing him to vomit in his mouth. That sick paranoia again. Elliot quietly wiped his mouth, ignoring the hot sweat leaking into his clothes.

He needed that child dead.

Now.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

A steady rush of tears spilled on the floor. Yasuo was still holding his jaw, desperately trying to fix it. Everything was hopeless. Everything was always hopeless. Yasuo, you foolish optimist. There was no point in being happy at all! Your life sucked, just like the environment and people in it!