A War Worth Fighting |DISCONTINUED|

Chapter 4: Waiting

2326 words.

Alluka is a professional when it comes to waiting, adapted to every tick in the clock. Tick, tick, tick. Locked up, each sound echoing to a fade, and the dark. Imprisoned for four hundred years, but it didn't feel like detention. It's just life. Family meant nothing to her. They were blinded by power, jailed by their own morality, life practically meaningless, and then there's Killua. The only relative to truly live.

Alluka remembers when she was only three feet tall. Servants would come and go, always emotionless and rule-abiding. There was one, her name unique: Mito. Alluka remembers the first time seeing her, silky pinkish hair, skin dark as a foreigner, and her eyes twinkled like stars themselves. And her expression, neither distant nor cold, but welcoming. An elf? Typically, butlers were human—always with dead, sunken-in eyes. But Mito was beautiful, and Alluka hardly refrained from running up to her and feeling the foreign cloth of her clothing, or desperately asking questions, needing to know if there's something more out there, something different to discover.

"Nice to meet you, Alluka." Even her voice was warm.

"Hello." She replied timidly, twirling the ends of her hair with the pads of her fingers. "Oh," she stepped aside, revealing a shadow-like clone of her that would only sometimes appear. "This is Nanika. She's my best friend." Alluka paused, never before did she care about learning the servants' names, but a newfound curiosity clawed at her, so strong that it was the only thought on her mind. "What's your name?"

"I'm Mito."

She giggled, "That's a strange name."

The beautiful woman hummed, "Where I'm from, it's quite ordinary." She smiled, "You remind me of a little one I take care of."

A story. Stories were a way to pass the time. They are inspiring, impactful, and sometimes even plagued the mind; Alluka didn't care about that. Alluka plopped on her pillow, crossing her legs, intrigued. Nanika spoke, her dialect broken, "flowers pretty," she pointed at the small plants woven in Mito's strawberry locks.

After that, she came back every day, never absent, and always a different flower in hand that she would later weave into Alluka and Nanika's hair. Netherroses, daisies, snoworquids, and her favorite: Moonlilies—the flowers with white petals as brilliant as her brother, Killua's, hair. The vines tangled blue, like the sapphire gleam in her brother's eyes. And lastly, a flower so lonely, always standing alone, tugged with the gentle breeze and forced to hide with the forceful compiling snow.

Perhaps, she found a friend, something she always wanted but never thought it was something she needed. Possibly, Alluka had something to look forward to with each passing day. She now had memories the guide her forward. Maybe, she didn't deserve this. "Mito?" The other gently tugged at her strands of hair, fabricating a flower crown out of the moonlilies she brought in that day.

"Yes, my sweet girl?" There were only a few people that considered Alluka a girl—only the ones that mattered.

"Am I cursed? Are Nanika and I an accident?"

A moment passed, and Alluka squeezed her eyes shut.

"No, You and Nanika are a miracle."

The next day, Mito took her outside. A territory Alluka hasn't ventured to in centuries, and finally, someone was willing to take her out. She climbed rocks, feeling the cold, rough surface beneath her palms, she rolled in the shimmering snow. And then Mito was nowhere to be seen.

The air stilled and her heart dropped, everything suddenly felt how it used to: cold and lonely. Alluka paced around idly, calling out her friend's name until finally, she heard a broken cry. She ran as fast as she could towards the noise when scarlet soaked the undisturbed powdered floor. And Mito's eyes, lifeless. Alluka spread her pressed her tiny palm against the cold skin, desperately looking for signs of warmth, signs that Mito is okay. But she wasn't, and deep down, Alluka knew that. Blood oozed out of the soft tissue near her waist, staining the once pretty clothing. A dagger dripped green poison, which made everything evident: A Zoldyck did this. Alluka let out a pained cry, her voice strained.