There are certain known facts about vampires. They revile change. They are obsessive-compulsive. They are illogical. They are cursed. They will burst into flames in sunlight.
They are dying.
With less than a hundred vampires left in the world, Yas...
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She remembered what it was like to sleep on the same futon. The smell of shared perfume. Smiles, before and after their rivalry. The playful competitions over the same man; the not so playful arguments. The feeling of being connected within a Circle, their love feeding and breeding and making sisterly affection so much purer and stronger for it. The agony and shame of learning they were blood, the warmth of acceptance and moving on, the sweet tenderness of sacrifice for the others' sake. The guilt of taking what wasn't hers, of causing pain and feeling it cut to the soul. Because she was a thief. A filthy, awful cowardly thief.
She should have never left Japan, regardless of the consequences. Perhaps a worse fate would have found them, but at least they could have died together.
Losing to the Formula was, for someone like Yasuko, tantamount to torture. It collected her into its fist, squeezing tight, and wrenched control over her limbs and body. Her steps, her breaths—everything belonged to the magic. Only her mind was free, and that was worse, somehow. To be conscious, to be a passenger, as something else took control of her.
But a different agony plagued her.
Sakura.
She sank deeper into the pit of her subconscious, her sister's name surrounding her in a despairing wail. Even if her affection was no longer romantic, Yasuko's love for her sister was no small thing.
