parasite [YANDERE!O.DAZAI/READER]

THREE: THE SHADOWS.

You move through shadows.

You move through one shadow through another, like a string might do to a line of pearls. That's how you get from your mansion to downtown: through the shadows of the thick viridian canopy of the forest, the birds it housed, the predators that lurked behind tree trunks, unaware of the dreamy vampire whose mouth was blood-red, as though permanently stained. And then the people, the humans, the prey. You were the extra shadow that people saw in the corner of their eye, merging with their own faint shadow when they directed their full attention to the strange flickering. It was not that you were invisible, no–you could quite literally merge yourself with shadows that were cast from the sun, because you were unable to traverse this world under the bright gaze of the sun. You would burn into crisps, and all that would be left would be a fine black powder.

That was the curse of being cursed.

You walk in another realm, the realm of shadows, transcending the human understanding of reality and step into another shadow. There is no object that comes from your shadow, but empty air and the cool air of March. March and its warmth, March and its nostalgia and sweetness and hiraeth. All snow has melted by now, and what remains is a slow mist that befalls the citizens of Yokohama as they peel back their curtains and prepare themselves for another day.

You, on the other hand, watch the news from the shadows. Bright television sets from the display windows of an electronic store, flashing with the most recent news: A male body found desiccated, sucked out of all blood.

That's strange. You didn't remember sucking the blood out of the person in the television. And he didn't look half as desiccated as your doings.

But you paid it no mind. You lurk, before sliding up in a dark alleyway, as though someone had pulled you out of the floor, murky and charred with shadows. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes and waiting for a certain man to come visit you. You had a premonition that someone would come visit you. A sixth sense that came from being a blood-sucking, transcendental monster.

"Ah, well if it isn't the beautiful woman of my dreams," A male voice rings out in the empty alleyway, the drip drip drip of aircon units bleeding water from above. "What brings her to the heart of Yokohama?"

"Our meeting was set in stone."

"Stone?" Dazai chuckles. "TIme is not stone."

"Oh, but it certainly feels like it," You open your eyes, brilliant (eye colours) that reflected the little specks of sunlight that fell on the floor like rain; slitted pupils widening as they took in the darkness, desperate for light. "When you've lived as long as I have, time no longer feels like it flows, but rather stagnant."

"How long have you lived for?" Dazai asks, leaning against the wall. His coat sways with the wind, heady with the sugary scent of flowers planted above your heads. You tut.

"It's rude to ask a woman about her age."

"But you're no ordinary woman."

"Am I not a woman, still?" You ask.

"That is true," He says, an amused lilt to his voice. Despite your vampirism, your voluptuous greed for blood and life, there is a pureness in your eyes, a satiated hell-fire in them that indicated you were content. "Though what brings you here?"

"I see there has been another victim," You say, carelessly, examining your nails.

"I see you've caught up with the news."

"That is not my doing," You say, and Dazai blinks in surprise.

"It's not?"

"No. I ensure not a single drop of blood remains in the body after I am done with them," You say, your voice light and melodic despite the heavy words. "That body was half-complete in its desiccation."

"Strange," Dazai says. "I knew it was odd to see an anomaly, but I had pinned you down as the main suspect."

"Well, it's not me."

Dazai watches as you stare at him, your skin seemingly glowing in the dark, as if full and supple of moonlight from being trapped in the dark. Moonlight sinks into your skin like cream, and the darkness covers you like a protective coat. You're oblivious to his staring, too busy thinking about the half-sucked body in the news, but Dazai is possessed by you; you've put your fangs in his throat. This was no shallow infatuation, not one fueled by his desire to commit the perfect suicide with a companion, but an obsession that stabbed him down to the bone, the tip of the blade grazing his bone marrow.

"...as I was saying, if you are paying attention, Dazai," Your voice cuts him out of his thoughts. "I came down here to have a chat with you."

"With humble old me?" Dazai puts a hand on his forehead and feigns fainting. You slightly smile.

"Yes. I want to know more about you. You intrigue me. More than any of these other men who come to that wicked chateau to see a glimpse of me," You say.

"Well, what do you want to talk about with me?"

"I want to know what you know about me."

He tilts his head. "Are you self-conscious of the way you present yourself?"

"Oh, not at all. I am fairly confident in myself," But you point a finger at him. "But I want to know how you see me. What have you seen in me, my past, my historical legacy?"

"It took a lot of digging," Dazai begins. "Lots of it. At some point I even gave up. But then after our encounter, I couldn't stop thinking about you. So I kept going. Your lineage dates all the way back from the 15th century. I'm sure you're aware but your history has a lot of blood."

You chuckle. "Ah yes, my ancient ancestors. Say, come down to the chateau one day. I'll show you them myself."

"It'd be an honour to see them up close," He says, chuckling at the end. "Your name is (first name) (last name). You're the last descendant of that man, and you formerly originated from Transylvania, the place where it all began."

You hum, impressed. "Now, tell me about yourself."

"Ah, what else is there to say about me other than my love for suicide?" He asks, and he's startled by his own confession. What did he know about himself other than his desire to die? It's been his motive since the moment he set his eyes on humanity; and now what? Now that he was face-to-face with someone who did not adhere to the confines of humanity, what did he have to say for himself?

"You looked confused."

He quickly conceals his confusion. "I was caught off guard."

"By what?"

"By my own monstrosity," He says. You tilt your head, furrowing your eyebrows.

"If there's any monsters here, it's me."

"Oh yes, but you see," He puts his hands in his pockets. "Humans are the real monsters. You may be a monster in the literal sense, but metaphorically? Humans are the scariest monsters. You whose intentions are set in parasitical intentions while humans are the most unpredictable, frightening creatures...I cannot comprehend them any less than beings with their heads on fire."

"With their heads on fire?" You ask.

"I can't look past their faces and see something genuine. It is always as if they are hiding something from me–which they are," Dazai says, casually. "So in my head, they're always burning."

"Hm. Interesting," You say. "What's worse than being a monster? Do you think it's being human?"

"A monster is something that humans take the filth in their hearts and project them into one entity: You would be the manifestation of their greed, their lust, their horribleness," Dazai says. His brown eyes are flickering like a zoetrope, as though the whirring of his mind was captured in the darkness of his irises. "But what are humans but bearers of that filth?"

You whistle, clearly impressed. "Well, I think you're a rather clever man. Aren't I correct?"

He smiles, wanly. "I've been dubbed something similar to that in the past."

"I see. Well, I'll see you in my chateau soon. Tell me more about your past when you get there."

He watches as you flicker and snap away like the ends of a paper set on fire. He's left alone in the alleyway, and he leans his back against the wall and stares up at the sky.