Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

      “We see what you are,” Mira says in my ear.

      “You’re a demon,” Zoey says, bringing my despair and fright to a new level.

      I panic, clawing at my chest for air I can’t breath, at my head as their voices slice their way through me. “A mistake. You have been, since the day you were born.”

      “No!” Lights on the roof shatter in sparkling shards as my scream breaks. I stand alone in the dark, glowing patterns like never before covering my entire body, painting me in shame. The crowd finally panics, the chaos around me driving me smaller and smaller as I flinch and my gaze darts from spot to spot, not seeing where my friends have gone in the dark. Unable to bear it any longer I dart from the stage, my throat tight as I make my way from the building and away from the broken dreams I leave behind.

      The fresh night air does little to help me as I descend the stairs, no idea where I will go next or what I should do. How has everything fallen apart so fast, how have I ruined it all in the blink of an eye? Do I go to Celine, do I tell her what happened? Will she be able to fix this? She can’t fix you.

      “What? How are you here?” I startle, seeing Mira and Zoey waiting around the corner. “You were just on stage. That wasn’t you?” I am too relieved to notice in the moment the expressions on their faces, the shock and hurt. “Oh. Oh, thank goodness.” I take a few shaky steps forward, my legs weak from the adrenaline and the overwhelming relief of knowing they haven’t turned against me.

      Slowly, finally, their expressions reach me as they take equal steps back, the same moment I spot a glow at the bottom of my vision.

      “No. No! No. No.” I hold my hands away from me as though they are dirty, contaminated, not my own.

      “How do you have patterns?” Zoey asks, her voice full of hesitation and a note of heartbreak.

      “These were supposed to be gone. You were never supposed to see.”

      “You’ve been hiding this from us this whole time?” Mira’s voice is coated with hurt, her insecurities undoubtedly feeding her worst fears.

      “No, I have a plan to erase them. Jinu was supposed to- I- He was-”

      “Jinu? You’re working with him?” A new layer filled Zoey’s voice, a disgust I know too well, a disgust being turned towards me, carving into me.

      “No. No! No! I was using him to fix all this! To fix me!” My hands drift to my chest and my aching heart within. “So we could all do our duty! We could all be strong. Be together.” I reach out slightly, palms up, hoping against reason that they will take my hands and tell me it’s okay.

      “How could we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truths, Rumi?” Zoey asks scathingly.

      “I knew it,” Mira scoffs. “I knew it was too good to be true.” She refuses to look at us, her face full of disappointment, defeated.

      “Mira, no! Didn’t you see? See the gold?” I gesture back to the stadium, distraught. “We’re so close!”

      The girls step back slowly but inevitably, every step driving a wedge between us, crossing a line I fear we will never be able to return from. A line we had never been on the same side of, an invisible wall dividing their humanity from my demon self. A glass I have wished for so long to break through as I watched them. You have never been one of them.

      “No! Don’t leave! Don’t leave! I can still fix it!” Desperation turned to anger as I threw my arms down and shouted. The Honmoon shuddered, magenta waves flowing down the strands, breaking me from my sudden rage and filling me with dread. I can see the moment they realize what I have, that I am the one pulling the Honmoon apart, thread by thread as they recognize the magenta.

      Mira raises her weapon, aiming it straight at my heart. I feel an unravelling begin in my soul as the lilac glow fills my vision. Zoey closes her eyes, pain undisguised. A whisper of something else runs through my veins, a thought I can’t quite hear.

      “Zoey,” I beg. “Please.” Don’t give up on me too. How can I fight for myself if even you don’t believe in me.

      Restless energy rushes through me, filling my muscles with an itch, a need to act as she raises two blades, glancing at them before fixing her eyes on me, the whisper I now recognize as my own, a darkness I spend my life shoving down. My breathing hitches as I fight back against the growing fury, the anger that has festered for every time Celine pulled my sleeves down, for every time I told myself I was lesser, the anger I have never allowed myself to feel because to feel it would be to feel that my shame was wrong.

      “Why?” I shout, the Honmoon shuddering again. “Why can’t you recognize me? How can you turn against me?”

      Pain spikes in my hands as I clench them. The girls stare with new horror in their eyes at my hands, drawing my gaze down to them, where there is now deep purple skin and claws piercing my own flesh. I gasp at the sight, breathing growing harder and harder as I war with myself. A cold dread fills my chest as I look at my sisters’ blades and feel the urge to fight back, to rip and claw and shred against the weapons created to kill me, even as the girls still have not made any aggressive moves towards me.

      “Give me a chance,” I beg them, tears starting to slip down my cheeks. They are your enemy. You are a demon. My joints ache as I hold myself back, attempt to chain my anger down. “Just give me a chance to fix this!”

      They don’t.

      Their weapons don’t lower, they don’t take another step back, they don’t tell me everything is going to be okay, that they see the real me.

      This is the real you, they are seeing it. They simply don’t like the person they see. “Be quiet!” I roar, shaking the Honmoon again, clutching my head with my claw tipped hands, bent over, panting.

      I spot it in the corner of my eye, the shimmer of a weapon raising. Mira is finally holding her weapon with proper form, with determination replacing the uncertainty in her eyes. It still lingers, fear swimming behind the focus, but I can feel it erode at my already crumbling control, snapping the fragile tethers of my splitting mind.

      I lash out, unsure whether I am reaching for them to save me from myself or aiming to strike. Mira reacts quickly, stepping closer to me and dropping below my swing. She uses her momentum to shove the handle of her weapon into my chest, knocking me back. Protecting Zoey from you. An inhuman screech leaves me as I swing again, hating her for choosing Zoey over me. Celine chose them over you, too.

      Zoey’s back hits the wall as she retreats, a new terror in her eyes that I know somewhere deep down will haunt me later. She watches as Mira and I fight, Mira using the handle of her weapon as a blunt weapon against me. Magenta paints the scene as my patterns grow brighter, my movements swifter. Distantly I think of Jinu, the way he moved in the bathhouse. The scene around me shifts as I find myself behind Mira, magenta mist coating my form.

      “Mira!” Zoey calls as I tear my claws down her back, rending through her Golden outfit. A low chuckle escapes me as I witness the irony before me.

      “So close to Golden,” I say, the sound distorted in my ears, “but not quite close enough.” Now you are free of that frantic need to perform, for you are no longer trapped within expectations.

      I throw another wild swing in Mira’s direction as she pivots to face me, only to end up with my claws around the shaft of her weapon as she blocks me once more. Snarling, I grasp the weapon I hate so deeply and rip it from her hands. It is much easier to do that I had expected, and she stumbles with the force of it. I grin as I prowl towards her, tongue flicking over an elongated canine.

      “It’s a takedown.”

Chapter Text

      “Rumi, stop!” Zoey shouts, her voice high and panicked as she finally pulls herself from the wall. Her wide eyes fill my vision as my focus narrows to her with the movement. The heart buried deep inside my chest stings as she puts herself between Mira and I, now holding four blades. “Please stop,” she adds, voice trembling nearly as much as her hands.

      I let out a scoff of disgust, face twisting with bitterness as I bare my fangs at her. Mira’s face is pale behind her, a shock thicker than fear coating her expression as she winces, retreating a step as I advance. She watches as I throw a kick at Zoey’s legs, pulling back at the last moment as she slashes downwards and hops back a step.

      “Stop,” she begs me again, tears I don’t understand pooling in her eyes, reflecting an amber glow from my own.

      Grasping the power I tasted moments ago I teleport again, once more landing behind Mira, latching onto the gashes in her jacket and yanking her towards me, fabric tearing further as she struggles. “Why?” I choke out. Mira jams her heel onto my foot in the same moment that she throws her head back, smashing into my face and breaking free of my grip. She twists to the side as Zoey throws two blades past her in a motion honed by the years fighting together. Warmth blooms along my shoulder as one sinks deep, the other grazing.

      The pain is nearly nothing in my wild state, mild compared to injuries I have experienced at the hands of demons, wounds I was forced to tend to privately, yet there is a corner of my mind that focuses sharply on the sensation, the jarring situation. The blade in my shoulder vanishes at Zoey’s whim.

      “You see my patterns don’t you? So kill me.” My heart bleeds in the background as I speak with a suddenness so severe I pause, incapacitated.

      Mira takes advantage of the break in my focus to summon her weapon back to her hand. The girls pivot, placing their bodies back to back, no longer leaving themselves vulnerable to my teleportation. They guard each other’s backs the way they are not guarding mine the way they do not guard yours. They keep their eyes on me, yet they still don’t make anything more than defensive actions. It fills me with a new flavour of rage, unsteady as I seek a true fight.

      “Do you have any idea how many times I yearned to tell you about my patterns?” I snarl as I circle around them, a predator’s gait in my steps, fists clenched painfully at my sides. The purple creeping up my arms coats my skin past my elbows, slowly consuming me completely, devouring me beneath patterns so dense. “How many times I feared you turning on me as you have? You raised your weapons without giving me a chance. You abandoned me.” The words coming from me break me. Why am I sharing my pains with them, leaving my heart exposed, when I intend to goad them into finishing what they started.

      “So explain what this is,” Mira answers, an undertone of genuine curiosity underneath her cold words.

      You cannot possibly think you can explain it? They are each the Hunter you are not. They will not spare you. Desperation grips me as memories of them striking down demons fill my mind, flashing blue blades in my vision. My feet are rooted in place as I stand motionless, trembling as I glare at them. “Our faults and fears must never be seen,” I finally say, voice filled with a low rumble as an emptiness older and familiar fills my mind.

      I crouch low and launch myself at Zoey, the girl hardly willing to fight, her reactions slower than I know they can be. My tackle catches her in the waist, dragging her to the ground with a cry as I pin her and raise a fist. Pain blooms in my ribs as Mira’s foot catches me, sending me flying before I have a chance to strike. The girls are back to back once more, dirt smudging Zoey’s skirt. I lunge forwards, carelessly throwing myself into an attack that fails to connect but drives the girls apart again, not adapted to fighting as a duo. Before I can make use of the small gap between them, Mira throws an upwards slash with her weapon, catching my jaw with the handle and throwing me back a few steps as I fight for balance. She swivels and lands another blunt blow to my chest before I stumble back, throwing my arms down in a fit as I meet their stares. My eyes narrow as I hone in on Mira, the one to strike me again. The one who doubted your desire to be a Hunter. Why am I doing this?

      I lose myself to the fight as I throw swing after swing in her direction, not caring if my claws catch on her arms or the staff of her weapon, not caring as Zoey screams our names behind me. There is a rising panic in my nerves, setting me aflame from within as I fight. Mira’s years of practice keep her alive, even as her arms carry wounds, her weapon beginning to lower under my assault.

      Teleporting faster than she can respond I move in past the reach of her longer weapon, shoving her into the wall behind her and pinning her there, fangs inches from her throat. Please. A soft snarl rumbles in my throat as I glare at her heartbeat pulsing under her skin up close, clawed fingers twitching. They don’t quite pierce her clothes.

      Why are you hesitating? Kill her and there will be one less person to make you feel ashamed for living.

      Still, I cannot bring myself to strike, claws still merely pressing against her shoulders.

      “Rumi?” Zoey’s voice cracks behind me. “This isn’t you. I don’t know what’s happened to you but you’re a Hunter, you’re part of Huntrix. Remember yourself.” I can hear tears in her voice as a blue glow blooms across Mira’s clothes, Zoey’s weapons surely held inches from me as she weighs the value of my life over Mira’s.

      “You’re wrong,” I force out between gritted teeth. “I am a demon.” The Honmoon around us shivers, so close to unravelling. Dread coats me with ice at the thought.

      Mira’s weapon vanishes as she reaches up, carefully placing a hand on my forearm as her eyes flick briefly over my shoulder. I can smell the blood leaking from her wounds. “You’re still Rumi, though, right?” Her voice is quieter, softer, than usual. It catches me off guard. Her eyes still carry fear, but also a hope I don’t understand, the barest nugget of recognition a whisper away from vanishing. “You’re in there, aren’t you?”

      I grunt as pain racks my body, so much conflict I can’t make sense of. This isn’t what I want. They don’t see you, they simply want to get you away from Mira. They are looking for an opening. A whimper leaks from me, small and pitiful, just as I felt on that stage.

      The stage. Where they revealed my patterns and turned against me, exposed me before the entire crowd. Years spent wishing to show them my patterns crumbled to ash in seconds as they ripped of my jacket and ripped off my armour.

      No, that wasn’t them. Those were demons.

      Right? My friends wouldn’t betray me like that, right?

      Yes, they would. They raised their weapons against me.

      A flash of magenta mist in Mira’s face as I teleport back, just out of range of their attacks.

      “Mira,” Zoey shouts as she clasps Mira’s arm, who doesn’t take her eyes off me. Her jaw is still set, eyes wary, trust broken. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I clutch at my chest, fear and dissipating anger drowning me. My pulse beats too loudly in my head as I struggle to remember what happened, flounder for thoughts built on stable ground.

      “Rumi?” Zoey whispers.

      I respond with a faint snarl, twitching in place.

      What have I done?

      There are drops of blood on the ground before me. Mira’s blood. The same blood on my claws.

      Shame stronger than anything I’ve felt before floods me with the realization. I have become the very thing I always told Celine I wasn’t, the very demon whose patterns she told me to cover up. I am not the half-human I believed Mira and Zoey could accept, I am the half-demon they are trained to hunt.

      No one moves, the only sounds in the air coming from me as I struggle, eyes unfocused. I see the blue glow of Zoey’s weapons in the corner of my eye and make no move to look at it, almost wishing she would strike. In the midst of our inaction, fresh tears fall from my eyes. Incapable of looking at the girls I’ve betrayed with my very life I run, my only thought that of escaping the worst of me.

      Footsteps on concrete sound as the girls give chase, the blue glow following me as I dart around corners, heart suddenly beating in my throat as they pursue me. I sob as I push myself faster, desperate to escape. There is no where I can hide, my patterns glowing a violent pink. An animalistic desire to survive claws at my chest and heaves me forward even as my limbs grow sluggish under the weight of their guilt, begging me to stop and let the girls catch me, to mete out justice, to correct a mistake.

      As I run through the dark, my mind continues tearing between the desire to live to see our friendship fixed, and the knowledge that I will spend the rest of my life in solitude.

      I hear their voices calling for me in the growing distance. I keep running.

      I do not want to die by their blades.

      Exhaustion coats my every muscle by the time I finally outrun Mira and Zoey, their hunting voices no longer following me but I don’t stop, I can’t stop.

      I sprint blindly without further thought, not knowing where I could possibly go, knowing that not even Celine would be a safe place to turn to. She loves Rumi the human, a girl who died alone in the dark behind a stage, the place the performance finally ended.

      Weak, quivering thoughts finally seep into my head as I run – Jinu. Did he set me up? Is he responsible for what happened tonight? Where those really demons on the stage? I thought he was the one person who saw and understood, maybe even accepted my demon half. With a fresh goal in mind I begin shouting his name as I run, frantically darting from place to place as a wounded anger fuels me, even as a familiar type of dread threatens to bury me.

      Spotting him at last I confront him, shoving into his unmoving body with years of pent up turmoil. He too, abandons me, leaving me all but empty, the only thing left in my battered soul the knowledge that I am every bit of the mistake I feared. Even his voice didn’t tear at the Honmoon the way my own does. He and the Saja Boys sought to destroy it by stealing our fans and defeating Huntrix when all along, the only thing they needed to do was set me upon it.

      I never had a chance of turning the Honmoon gold.

      The only thing I could ever do was destroy it all.

      Celine is the one I need, after all. I need to find her, I need her to do what she should have from the very start.

      My steps are slow and heavy, surprising me that I don’t slip through the vibrant gash opening behind me and sink into the demon world here and now. I find Celine where I knew she would be with the Honmoon sundering around her – at the tree, fear in her heart and scythe in her hand, the instincts of the Hunter she used to be filling her mind and body.

      I fall to my knees, dragged down by my actions, heart beating slowly in my chest as I hold my blade out to her, a weapon from the Honmoon I never had the right to touch. An offering to atone for me. “Do what you should have done, a long time ago. Before I destroy what I swore to protect. Please. Do it.”

      Celine slaps my blade to the ground, and grips my shoulders, raising me from the ground. Her hands are warm against my skin. I can’t remember the last time she touched my bare, pattern riddled shoulders instead of yanking my sleeves down.

      “I can’t,” she says, tears in her voice. She continues to speak, but she cannot bring herself to touch me again, even as she tells me that she accepts me. She removes her cardigan, covers me with it, hands careful as she carefully breaks my heart once more, coaxing me to hide, the way I have my entire life. As though hiding wasn’t half the reason I was living this gut-wrenching moment in the first place.

      “No, no more hiding! No more lies!” I shout, shedding the cardigan and stepping forward, hands held open, pleading.

      “Rumi, we can still fix this.” Celine backs away in equal measure, hands held out as if to stop me from approaching, afraid. Her eyes trace frantically over my patterns, my claws.

      “Don’t you get it? This, is what I am. Look at me. Why can’t you look at me?” I sob as she refuses, hardly bearing to keep her eyes open at all as I lean in towards her. The blood in my body is fuel, lit on fire by the burning agony in my heart. “I attacked them. I hurt them.” The confession pours its way out of me, staining my lips with regret. “You taught me to hide my patterns, to feel nothing but shame, and that pain festered in me until it had nowhere else to go. If I had been honest with them from the start maybe they would have accepted me. They finally saw my patterns and they raised their weapons, just as you always warned me they would, and it hurt so, so deeply. I lashed out. I hurt them.”

      “Rumi,” Celine gasps, horror in her eyes as she finally looks at me.

      “Why couldn’t you love me?”

      “I do,” she answers, voice thick but afraid. It cuts into my already mangled heart.

      “All of me!”

      “This is why we have to hide it. Our faults and fears must never be seen. It’s the only way to protect the Honmoon.” She falls back on old mantras, shielding herself from the reality around her as she witnesses the Honmoon tear further around us.

      A spark reignites deep within my soul as she protests, a tiny, faint ember of the hunter I have spent my life dedicated to being. I have failed to do my duty in turning the Honmoon gold, but with it shredded and Gwi-Ma coming, there is still have one thing I can do. I can protect innocents, protect Mira and Zoey, until my last breath. I can’t let them face him alone. I don’t know if they’ll still be willing to fight alongside me until he’s pushed back, but I know they’ll be there, ready to fight. I’m the only one who’s run. I don’t get to give up until they’re safe.

      If I survive, I won’t fight the girls this time. I won’t flee.

      Every frayed end of my being hopes against all reason that they will be willing to listen, despite my actions, despite my patterns. If they can see me without my lies, maybe I can somehow be enough. I have spent my life burning with shame and ignoring the urge to accept myself, leading to the downfall I fought so hard against. If Gwi-Ma uses pain and shame to control demons, perhaps I can weaponize acceptance.

      No matter what happens, I have to try.

Chapter Text

      “I’ve never needed a long, warm soak in the bathhouse as badly as I do now,” Zoey says as she collapses on the couch, limbs sprawled every direction, looking for all the world like she plans to fall asleep right then and there despite the sunlight streaming through the windows.

      “Seconded.” Mira props herself on the back of the couch gingerly, weariness evident in every small motion. For just a moment, everything falls silent.

      “Your wounds,” Zoey suddenly yelps as she bolts off of the couch. “I’ll be right back.” She rushes to the bathroom for the first-aid kit with renewed energy.

      I say nothing, hardly daring to be in the penthouse at all, waiting for them to notice my presence and change their minds despite the events at Namsan Tower. At the time everything felt okay, felt repaired, but I haven’t apologized or explained anything, they couldn’t possibly be okay with it all. Our reunion on that stage was fuelled by the common goal of defeating Gwi-Ma. Exhaustion of every sort weighs against my bones and I slump against the front door with a soft thunk, tilting my head back until it rests against the door, eyes staring blankly. I feel Mira’s eyes on me and pretend I don’t, grateful when Zoey quickly returns.

      “Sit on the stool,” she directs Mira, plunking the kit on the counter beside her and kicking the waste bin closer to them as she does. “How are they feeling?”

      “Nothing a few bandages can’t fix,” Mira answers as she removes her jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. I try and fail not to notice the blood staining it. My throat closes as I stare at it, unable to move my feet. I should be the one tending to her wounds, they’re my responsibility as their leader and the one who hurt her, but it’s all I can do to keep myself from bolting, again, like a coward. So I stare. Gravity drags me down the door as Zoey works, chatting with a quiet Mira, until I am curled up on the floor, clutching my legs hard enough to sting.

      Sounds around me disappear as my stare does not break from that jacket, the volume in my head climbing the longer it shames me.

      “Rumi?” Zoey asks from beside Mira, who is now covered from elbow to wrist in sterile white bandages and pulling her ruined shirt down over the bandages on her back. The expression on Zoey’s face makes me wonder how many times she’s tried to catch my attention.

      I blink as the world around the shredded jacket comes back into focus.

      “Are you okay?” she asks tentatively. It takes a few seconds for me to realize her words were directed at me. Her and Mira are both staring at me, but neither makes any moves towards me. I meet neither of their heavy gazes.

      “I’m fine,” I answer quietly, too worn out to even attempt the smile I know I should be wearing, the act I should be performing. I grab my upper arm with my hand, thankfully back to looking human aside from the iridescent patterns now wrapping around it, shrinking back further into my huddle against the door, trying to be smaller when Zoey takes a few steps towards me. She stops a few steps away, crouching down in front of me just out of arms reach with those wide, gentle eyes of hers. I stare at my knees as she waits for me to say more.

      After a few long seconds she stands, holding one hand out to me. “Your turn to see the doctor,” she says, a soft smile on her lips, encouraging me.

      “I’m fine.” I shake my head.

      “I know you’re not, I know those wounds on your shoulder are from me,” Zoey answers, voice somehow firm and chipped at the same time.

      Ignoring the offered hand I rise, slipping to the side to reach the first-aid kit without getting closer to the girl. Mira watches from the couch, leaning against it with one leg raised, foot braced behind her, arms crossed carefully in front of her. Her head carries the slightest tilt, eyes narrowed. I can see the concern in her watchful pose.

      “I’ll take care of it.” I shove the disinfectant back in the kit and dart past the girls to the bathroom before she has another chance to protest, locking the door behind me, shoulders dropping as I sigh. I should have run to my private bathroom in my bedroom so I wouldn’t have to eventually face them again, but I suppose I’m not actually certain I’m welcome to call it my own anymore. We didn’t speak on the way back to our penthouse, I don’t know if the girls want me here or if they’re going to ask me to leave, or worse. They may have just been too tired to fight me. They may not have made up their minds. They might wake up and change their decision. Regardless of when they decide they want me gone, I won’t fight them, won’t beg for things I don’t deserve.

      Flicking the bathroom fan on to keep my thoughts from being the only sound in the room I perch on the edge of the bathtub, first-aid kit abandoned beside me. The glimmer of my new patterns catch my attentions as I examine the way they spread over my knees and down my legs, sparing no inch of me, twisting and curling from their origin point down my arms, staining even the tips of my fingers with their shame. Standing, I cautiously meet my own eyes in the mirror above the sink. Even my face now bears the mark of what I am. I stare into the mirror, not recognizing the pale, pattern covered person before me. I will never be able to pretend to be human with this face.

      I watch the pale colours shift and move along my skin until my vision swims and tears roll down my face. Gasping for breath I stumble back and slump back on the bathtub, propping my elbows on my knees and burying my face in my hands, lungs so unbearably tight in my chest.

      Sealing the Honmoon was supposed to fix me. Whatever this new Honmoon is, it hasn’t done that, and I don’t think it ever will. Gwi-Ma is gone but demons still exist, and on this side of the barrier, so do I. What am I supposed to do? I can’t live the rest of my life hiding them even if I could. I doubt even Celine has another plan for getting rid of them. I wonder how ashamed of me she would be now, if she saw how twisted I’ve become. If I can ever face her again. My ears burn remembering the confession spilling from my lips before her at the tree. “I attacked them. I hurt them.” I will never be free of the patterns that remind me what a mistake I made.

      Long minutes pass as I weep as silently as I can, hoping the girls can’t hear me before I finally calm down enough to tend to my shoulder. A first-aid kit isn’t really sufficient for a wound like the one caused by Zoey’s Shin-kal embedding itself in me, but I can’t bring myself to do anything more. I wouldn’t have answers for a hospital, and I can’t call Celine for her approved list of private doctors to come to the penthouse. I don’t think anything serious was damaged, I still had full mobility during my fight with Gwi-Ma. If I heal poorly, perhaps it will be a fitting punishment.

      My ribs feel horribly bruised, my jaw aching from Mira’s Gok-Do, but I don’t think anything is broken. I wasn’t able to notice it at the time, but she was holding back. She never used the blade against me.

      She wasn’t willing to draw my blood even after I had proved myself a threat.

      Cleaning up after myself I put the kit away and take a deep breath, preparing to face the girls. Pausing, I flick off the lights, dropping the room into near perfect darkness.

      The glimmer of my patterns is nearly invisible without the light, but ever so softly I can see them glow, delicate and, nearly, pretty. I hold my hands in front of my face, barely discerning where they hover in the darkness. I spent my earliest years unbothered by my patterns, only turning against them after years of Celine telling me no one could accept them, that they were wrong, marks of shame, something to be erased. Would it really be so bad to accept these ones, no longer the hateful shade of purple I’m accustomed to seeing on demons?

      Conflict swirls within me at the thought, warring with the shame I’ve felt for so long. Wouldn’t it be a betrayal of the Hunter teachings to accept any patterns, no matter how different? Or is that an outdated teaching not written to account for situations like mine, occasions the first Hunters probably hadn’t considered a possibility. I never made a deal with Gwi-Ma, does that count for anything?

      Anxiety slowly but surely fills my chest as I delay the inevitable, the moment I have to leave this room. Eventually it grows more intense than my dread of the confrontation sure to come and forces me to open the door, never more grateful for the silence of the hinges as I step out quietly, hoping that perhaps the girls have gone to shower or rest. Those hopes are quickly dashed as I see them sitting at the table with three cups of ramyeon steaming in front of them.

      “Nothing like an easy classic after a day like today, right?” Zoey breaks the silence as I stare at them, frozen in place. “Though they might be a little soggy if we don’t eat them soon.”

      Mira nods, her face closer to warm than before. I can see her trying to hide the hurt and the questions swirling in her head, but she doesn’t push me, doesn’t question me in the way I know she must be itching to do. She pushes a ramyeon towards my usual seat. The invitation isn’t lost on me, something more than just a welcome to eat with them.

      “I’m not hungry,” I say, watching the hope in Zoey’s eyes flicker. “I’m just going to go to sleep,” I start, taking one halting step towards my bedroom. “Unless you don’t want me staying here anymore?” My voice fades as I speak, afraid to ask in case the answers is no but unwilling to invite myself into their lives. Nothing is the same as it was.

      “Of course we do,” Zoey answers enthusiastically, worry creasing her forehead as she nearly jumps out of her seat. “This is your home, of course you’d stay here.” She looks at me with an expression that says she never considered otherwise, wrapping itself around my heart like a bandage I can’t find in myself to accept to confidently.

      “Do you want to stay?” Mira asks. Caution and concern both undisguised.

      I nod, not trusting my voice to come out smoothly the way it should.

      “Then you stay.” She nods, steady. “Can we talk tomorrow? No more secrets?” She leans forward almost imperceptibly, pleading.

      “Sure.” There are so many things I want to say. So many things I’m afraid to say. I hope they will be willing to listen to both.

      “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Zoey asks. I nod again and walk to my bedroom, answering the girls when they say goodnight. Ignoring the rumbling in my stomach I shed my Golden outfit for the first pyjamas I find, frowning at it with empty eyes were it lays abandoned on the floor. After a few moments I kick it into the corner, bitterness crawling down my throat. I crawl into bed, hardly bothering to pull the covers over myself in my exhaustion, mind thankfully overwhelmed to the point of shutting down. Sleep claims me almost instantly, unforgiving despite the daylight.

      The crowd screams around me as the brilliant lights on the stage blow out, glass flying, dropping everyone into darkness. The only light in the arena comes from my patterns and the lightsticks in the crowd, painting their faces in shadows.

      “You’re a demon,” Mira and Zoey say in unison, stalking towards me. The glow of their weapons is blinding in the darkness as they summon them, angling them at my heart. I run from the stage, leaping off into the crowd to escape my hunters. They scream and part around me, not daring to touch me, pulling back as though mere contact will leave them dirty.

      I run, my feet dragging, heavy, slowing me. My heart beats too fast in my chest. Breath does not come.

      “You’re a mistake,” they say behind me, relentless. “Let us correct that mistake.”

      Someone in the crowd trips me and a group sits on my back pinning me down as the girls catch up to me.

      “Please,” I sob, writhing under the crowd. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I cry out to anyone, falling on deaf ears. Mira’s blade strikes the ground next to my face, stinging my cheek.

      “You’re a demon, all you do is hurt people,” Zoey says, throwing a blade from above. It lands in my shoulder, piercing, the fear all consuming leaching in through the open wound like poison.

      I roar, heaving and twisting, finally freeing an arm and slashing wildly at everything in reach, claws tearing through fabric and skin. The people pinning me down back away, afraid.

      “You were never pop-star royalty. We made a mistake trusting our souls to the hands of your voice.” Our fans, my fans speak as one as they circle me and the girls, trapping me in a circle with Mira holding her Gok-Do properly, Zoey with her six Shin-kals. Hatred burns in their eyes. Blood leaks from Mira’s arms as wounds open.

      I spin in place, trying frantically to find a way out, collecting wounds as Mira and Zoey slash at me, as fans throw shattered lightsticks at my face. An opening finally appears and I dart through it, trying desperately to weave my way through a crowd that no longer backs away from me, frozen with looks of disgust and hate on their faces. Everywhere I hear whispers, demon, mistake, die.

      An alcove appears, a small corner in which I shove my body, hands crawling up and down my shoulders trying in vain to cover the glowing patterns giving me away. The girls find me as the glow brightens and brightens, every jagged line more radiant than the brightest of stage lights. They prowl towards me, hunting. The crowd cheers as they raise their arms, prepared to strike-

      Pain in my ribs screams as I jolt upright, gasping, eyes wide. My ribs throb with a pain that for a moment confuses me, I cannot distinguish between reality and dream. I clutch at my chest as my heart aches, icy dread coiling itself around it, turning into something solid that cannot beat. The terror of the dream coats me like a second skin as I sit there, blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed, half hanging off the edge.

      I turn the lamp on, examining every inch of skin for any change in my patterns, any growth, any glow. I run my thumbs over every fingernail, ensuring they are still round and human, running them against the skin of my arms to check that they aren’t sharp. My legs tremble as I swing them over the side of the bed and rush to the bathroom, blinding myself with the sudden brightness of the room as I check my face in the mirror, tongue flicking over my teeth, searching for any sign of the fangs I had held next to Mira’s throat. Bile creeps its way up my throat at the memory, forced down. I stare into my own frightened eyes inches from the mirror, seeking any glow, any amber. I wonder what they had looked like, what it would be like to see me from Mira and Zoey’s points of view as I attacked them.

      “Rumi? Are you okay?” Mira asks softly outside my bedroom door as I finally walk out of the bathroom, freezing in the doorway. “Rumi?”

      I say nothing, hand braced on the doorframe. I can’t face her. Not yet. How do I apologize for trying to kill a girl I always hoped to call sister?

      “She must be asleep after all,” I hear Zoey tell her. I can so easily picture her approaching Mira’s side, laying a hand on her shoulder as she steers her back to the living room or her own room. I let out a quiet sigh of relief and turn my lamp off, collapsing on the bed with an arm thrown over my eyes. Slowly the tension leaves my body, my breathing calms, but sleep eludes me, all the thoughts I tried to avoid resurfacing.

      The gentle sounds of Mira and Zoey’s voices float through the penthouse to me, faint enough that I can’t hear exactly what they’re saying. I curl up on my side, pulling the blanket over my body and clutching it tight as I let the sounds of their voices wash over me. I close my eyes and allow myself to pretend they’re sitting right next to me, soothing me, telling me it’s okay as their voices finally lull me back into a restless slumber.

Chapter Text

      The sun is slow to rise the next morning, keeping me in suspense about the day ahead for as long as it can as I lay in bed, exhausted but wide awake. All through the night I have been plagued by snippets of being chased, the feeling of danger clinging to me even now, despite the specifics of the dreams fading away with the light. Deciding it’s late enough I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, scrubbing marks of the past day off my skin the way I wish to do with my memories. I swallow my disgust as I watch the water running down my arms. Water doesn’t care about patterns, it neither avoids nor traces them.

      Shaking my head I exit the shower and avoid looking at the steam covered mirror, beginning the long process of drying and braiding my hair, the motions familiar and comforting, a bubble of time in which I feel like everything is the same as it was, like maybe nothing at all has changed. If I can ignore the patterns I glimpse on my elbows in the corner of my vision. I’ll finish my hair, meet the girls for breakfast, write music, practice our routines, train with my saingeom. A perfectly normal day. The kind I never took for granted yet still feel I could have basked in more while I could.

      Finishing my braid my shoulders slump as my hands rest in my lap, returning to reality.

      Not everything has to be different, I can still make them breakfast before they wake up. Taking a deep breath I stand and head to my wardrobe, staring at the many, many sleeved options, a few tops tucked in the back lacking sleeves purchased for me by Zoey and Mira. They’ve never commented on the fact that I’ve never worn them but I’m sure they would like to know that I appreciate them buying things with me in mind. My hand strays towards a soft, silken top they bought for me last summer, one I’ve always wanted to wear. Now that my patterns are no longer secret I could, I can embrace all of the fashions I’ve never been allowed to try. I can stop hiding.

      Disappointed, I finally decide on a baggy, cozy sweater with a panda on the front, still something Zoey bought for me, even if it’s something I’ve worn plenty of times.

      Dressed and prepared as I feel I’ll ever be I head to the kitchen, quietly pulling out a few eggs and leftover rice, deciding on gyeran bap for breakfast, something simple but comforting. I crack the eggs into a hot pan, letting them fry as I heat the rice and drizzle soy sauce and a touch of sesame oil over it, hoping the girls will be awake at their usual time so the food doesn’t grow cold. Maybe I should have waited a bit longer? They might be exhausted after yesterday. My stomach clenches furiously as the smell of the frying eggs fills the air, reminding me just how long it has been since I ate anything. I won’t until they are awake.

      As if hearing my thoughts, Mira emerges from her room, pink hair thrown haphazardly up in a messy version of her usual. Spotting me standing in the kitchen with a spatula in hand she pauses, turning and knocking quietly on Zoey’s door, earning a groan in response. I hear a thud and picture her rolling out of bed rather than actually rising. Satisfied, Mira joins me.

      “Hey,” she says as she plops herself on a stool, leaning on the counter with both elbows. “How did you sleep?”

      “Enough,” I answer automatically, kicking myself for the lie even as I turn back to the eggs. A dishevelled Zoey appears on the stool next to Mira as I place the eggs onto the three rice bowls, breaking them and mixing them in as she rubs her eyes with one hand.

      “Food, awesome, love this,” she says as she sits on a stool and drapes herself over the counter. “Morning Rumi. Thanks for breakfast.”

      “Of course,” I answer, bathing in the normalcy of the morning. If not for the bandages on Mira’s arm as she reaches for her bowl I would almost wonder if yesterday was just another nightmare.

      “Can I ask just one question,” Mira asks, chopsticks in hand, “before I implode?”

      Zoey’s frantic eating pauses, nervous eyes darting between our faces. I can see the sudden tension lining her body. I wonder what they talked about yesterday while I slept and wallowed in my self pity, what they’ve speculated.

      “Anything,” I answer as I put my own chopsticks down, laying my hands on the counter to brace myself. I stare at the steam drifting from my bowl. “I don’t,” I start, voice shaky. I clear my throat and try again, reaching deep for the composure I’ve carried throughout every interview, every fan meet. “I don’t want to keep any secrets.”

      “How long have you had patterns?” Mira asks, glancing at my covered arms as though she can see them through the fabric. There’s no hostility in her tone, only cautious curiosity.

      “Always,” I whisper.

      “Always? Like since birth always? How did you get them? Did you make a deal? A baby couldn’t make a deal with Gwi-Ma though right?” Questions burst from Zoey, nearly comforting in her endearing way.

      “No, I’ve never made a deal with Gwi-Ma, or any other demon. Celine tells me they’ve been there since the day I was born.” I finally summon the bravery to look up at them and am relieved to see no hostility, no judgement in their faces. Mira simply nods and starts eating, Zoey stretches out across the counter for my hand, still braced for strength.

      I quickly pull back and grab my own chopsticks, hoping she doesn’t notice or at least doesn’t think anything of it. The flicker in her eyes and her hesitation before she too returns to her food tells me she did. A pang of guilt strikes me. I’ve never pulled away from her before, even when I thought about the patterns just below her hands, mere threads between them.

      The rest of the meal passes quickly, the three of us eating in an abnormal but not entirely unpleasant silence.

      “I’m sorry,” I suddenly blurt as I’m placing the bowls in the sink, my back to them. “I never wanted to keep them secret, I’ve wanted to tell you so many times.” Clutching the hems of my sleeves I turn to face the girls, both wearing surprised expressions at my outburst, Zoey’s mouth hanging slightly open. “I’ve yearned for you to know all of me since I met you.”

      “Hey, it’s okay,” Zoey says, attempting to reach for my shoulder before pulling back, concern resting between her eyebrows. “We can talk about it all when you’re ready, we have time.”

      “No, no I have to explain. You deserve to know everything, even if I don’t know how to start. I’m not good at this.”

      “You’ve spent your life keeping secrets, after all,” Mira says.

      I wince, staring at the counter between us.

      “No, sorry, that wasn’t supposed to sound like an accusation,” Mira says, hands raised. “I was trying to say that we understand. You haven’t had much practice talking about this.”

      “It’s the only secret, if that matters,” I say quietly. “Everything you’ve seen is real, I didn’t fake the rest of myself. I just, left some things out.”

      “It matters.” Mira’s voice is filled with a fondness that soothes the sting.

      “If we’re gonna get into all this talk we should move somewhere more comfortable,” Zoey says, grabbing Mira’s arm and tugging her towards the couch. I follow, turning an armchair to face the girls and sitting cross legged on it, heart in my throat.

      “I’ll be right back,” Zoey chirps, dashing from the room. She returns with a giant stuffed panda, shoving it into my hands.

      “Zoey?” I chuckle, bemused. “What?”

      “It’s super soft right? If you’re gonna sit over there, you should at least have something comforting to hold on to.”

      Touched, I allow myself to wrap my arms around the tiger, it’s fur silky between my fingers as it fills my lap. Satisfied with my acceptance she sinks onto the couch next to Mira, close enough that their knees touch. Mira grabs one of Zoey’s hands in both of hers.

      Despite us preparing to talk, no one says anything, the girls watching me, waiting for me to start. Their willingness to listen with open minds gives me a spark of hope but despite their patience, my mind empties, a void of language devouring my being. I rest my chin on the tiger’s head, not looking anywhere in particular. “I, I don’t know where to start,” I mutter. “I’ve thought so often of the things I’ve wanted to tell you, pictured so many scenarios in my head, but, now that I finally can talk about it, I don’t know how.”

      “You must have been lonely,” Zoey says for me, “hiding something so big, never letting yourself be fully known.”

      Of course her first thought would be something like that. I think back to the days I first met the girls, the way they filled the holes in my heart with their presence, easing a pain I hadn’t fully realized. I had been so used to a life with Celine and Celine alone that I hadn’t identified the name for what I felt, I had never known what piece I was missing. Watching the girls bond to each other, and then bonding to them despite the barrier between us, that deep ache was soothed, leaving only the jagged knife’s wound of my patterns and all their complications behind.

      “It hurt more than the shame of being a demon.” I fight to keep the whimper out of my voice, barely succeeding. “It felt like there was always a glass wall between us, impassible. I could see you, I could interact with you, but I could never quite reach out with my heart to yours. I could watch you two be your complete selves with confidence that you would be accepted, but I couldn’t reciprocate.”

      I pause, mind dancing around the memories in my head, the years spent isolated before meeting them and the years spent separate afterwards.

      “Until I met you, Celine was the only person I had interacted with for any significant length of time, and we spent all of our time training. When you two showed up you were full of stories, shared childhood experiences, movie references, I realized that I had nothing in the way of a personality. I hadn’t done anything for the simple joy of it, yet you two would turn a training exercise into a game of tag, a snowy day into an excuse to make a pillow fort. You were brimming with interests and hobbies outside of training. I grew envious, I started to crave the normal lives you two had before arriving. I had missed out on so many normal life experiences that sometimes I had to ask you the dumbest questions about the most basic things.”

     I take a breath, eyes focusing on nothing as I ramble.

      “You offered so many times to involve me in your hobbies but I turned you down, focused solely on training, on the Honmoon, on my goal. I felt like my patterns meant I was a fake Hunter, an imposter, yet I clung to that title because it was the only identity that gave me any purpose or right to live. It consumed every moment of my life and facet of my being for so long, and then you slowly but inevitably broke through and brought me along with you on your silly trips and ridiculous games. And still I felt the glass between us. How could I ever let you get too close to me while I wore these patterns? It wouldn’t be fair to you. I didn’t want to lead you along in thinking I was worthy of all the attention you gave me, all the changes you made in my life, but I couldn’t turn you away, I couldn’t deny myself the relief and joy it brought me to be with you.”

      My throat aches as I attempt to explain even a fraction of what has been going on in my head, haunting my heart.

      “I was selfish. I let you wear away that glass until it was paper thin, I pressed my hand to one side and allowed you to meet my hand on the other side, never quite touching even as I led you to believe we were, all because I was too weak to turn you away, and because I somehow convinced myself that you would understand if I showed you, even though I couldn’t accept myself.”

      “Rumi,” Mira says, face pale. I know what she must be thinking about. I forge ahead without giving her a chance to continue, fearing that if I stop speaking I won’t be able to start again.

      “I couldn’t accept myself yet thought you would because in the back of my mind I remembered what it was like when I was a child. When I was very young, I didn’t feel such shame for what I was, they were just some marks on my skin from my father, not a statement of my worth. Celine would correct me any time I treated them as normal, pull my sleeve down to cover them, remind me that they were something to be ignored until they could be fixed. Until I could be fixed. It didn’t take long for the voice in my head to start repeating her words, for me to start loathing what I am.”

      Tears threaten behind my eyes. I didn’t realize it could be so painful to express the things you’ve always thought of saying. “I wanted to tell you, I wanted to believe you were able to see past the mistake that Celine and I couldn’t.”

      “She’s known about them since the start then, and didn’t tell us,” Mira states. “She forced you to keep secrets that hurt you.”

      “Even if she told me nothing could change until my patterns were gone, ultimately, I’m the one who never told you,” I answer. “I was never brave enough to face that fear.”

      “Because she put it in your head that we couldn’t love you as you are,” Zoey says, a venom in her voice that startles me. “She made you live such a lonely life in hiding.”

      “You’re hiding still,” Mira says, eyeing my sweater. She looks up and meets my eyes with a touch of what looks like fear mixed with buckets of hope. “May we see them?”

      “You don’t have to hide them,” Zoey adds. “It won’t be like before.” Her voice is cold, thrown at herself.

      “I wasn’t really hiding them,” I hedge, “I just, didn’t want to startle you with them, or pretend they’re normal yet. Okay,” I admit, “I suppose I was hiding them a little.”

      “You don’t have to reveal them yet, if you aren’t comfortable with it,” Zoey says in a small voice, an unsteady smile on her face. Mira’s brows lower ever so slightly. I can see the desperation in her tense posture on the couch, the way she leans forward like something is pulling her, the way her stare keeps darting between my sleeves and my face, tracing the gently shimmering patterns curling around the edges of my face, creeping up my neck.

      I tug on the ends of one sleeve, fidgeting as I look at my fingers. “Even though this is what I asked Celine for so many times, now that I am allowed, I’m nervous,” I confess.

      The girls say nothing at first, the air growing thicker with memories that settle like stones.

      “We’re sorry,” Zoey says frantically, “we never should have raised our weapons at you, we never should have made you feel unsafe with us.” Tears fill her eyes as she speaks, Mira’s own eyes turning glassy.

      “It’s okay,” I stop her, raising my hands, palms up. “I understand. Besides, I saw that you only raised two shin-kal.”

      “If it was okay you wouldn’t have sobbed, begging us to listen,” Zoey says, voice cracking as the tears begin to fall.

      “Zoey,” I start, my own composure beginning to erode under the flow of her guilt. “Please don’t worry about it. I do feel safe with you, I know you won’t hurt me.” I don’t think they would raise their weapons again, but I can’t be certain they won’t break my heart if they ask me to leave.

      Wanting to prove my point and ease their guilt I find the courage to show them the patterns, tugging the sweater off, dropping it on the floor beside me and clutching the tiger. I watch their eyes as they take in the marks on full display on my arms, my heart burning up while my skin goes cold where their eyes touch everything I’ve left exposed. They’re silent, Mira’s eyes wide, Zoey’s face slack. I shudder and drop my stare to the floor. I picture them telling me it’s okay, that they accept me, letting the scene dance in my head as I brace myself for the opposite. I want so badly to believe they will not raise their voices like they raised their weapons but I know better than to expect them to turn against the Hunter teachings, lessons I taught them to embrace.

      “Rumi,” Mira starts, breathless. Without warning the doorbell chimes, causing all three of us to jump and whip our heads towards the door in unison.

Chapter Text

      The panda falls to the floor as the door opens, Celine striding through with the quick, sharp pace she has always had, heels clicking across the floor. An unfamiliar worry creases her brows and tightens her mouth.

      Mira and Zoey stand frozen as Celine comes to a halt before us.

      “I forgot we said she could come today,” Zoey mutters, shoulders dropping. “Sorry we’ve interrupted you, Rumi.” She glances to me. “She asked to come yesterday but we told her we were all too tired.”

      I’m surprised she waited, that she listened to the girls after we failed to protect the Honmoon. Jolting I search frantically for my sweater, snatching it from the floor and throwing it over my head.

      “No,” Mira says, one hand reaching back towards me as she places herself between Celine and I. Her voice is a sharp echo in the silence waiting to bury us all. “You don’t need to hide them.”

      I shake my head and finish tugging it down, hands smoothing over the wrinkles in the sleeves, electric, icy trembling filling my hands as I panic. Celine’s voice cracks in my head, sharp and cutting. Cover those up.

      “Rumi?” Celine starts. “You’re here?”

      “Where else would she be?” Zoey says, standing next to Mira.

      Celine meets my eyes between the girls, then each of them in turn, raising her hands almost imperceptibly. “You didn’t mention she was with you yesterday, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I meant nothing more by it.” She lets out a breath, pinching her eyes shut for only a moment before sliding her serious mask back into place. “I feared the worst after everything the Honmoon underwent.”

      “It fell because we turned against Rumi,” Mira spits. “Rumi’s the one who saved it, saved us. If you want to have this talk today, you’ll be respectful and listen when she speaks. If you can’t do that, you can leave.”

      “Really listen,” Zoey adds, nodding sharply. My chest squeezes tight against my ribs as they defend me despite nothing having happened yet, despite everything that has happened. I haven’t done anything to earn their loyalty.

      “It’s okay,” I tell them, a smile on my face as they look back to me.

      “It’s not. None of it is okay.” Mira’s face breaks, an angry sort of pain crossing her features before I can continue. “I watched you for years as we trained, I saw how much harder she was on you, how she placed so much weight on your shoulders that it took you years to have fun. All this time I thought you trained yourself into collapse time and time again because you were striving to be the best hunter you could be. Seeing that look on your face now,” she juts her chin in my direction, “knowing about your patterns, I’m hearing every awful thing she’s said about demons that you took to heart, every thing you’ve heard us repeat.”

      Mira swivels back towards Celine, fingers curled into fists, body tense. “She told us that she used to accept herself, that you turned her against herself. You taught her that she was less than us because of her patterns, that she was something to be disgusted by, didn’t you? You told a kid she was wrong so many times that she grew up hating herself and made her carry it alone. You turned her into a weapon to defend the Honmoon but not herself.”

      “She is not a weapon, she is my daughter, I adopted her,” Celine answers.

      “Do you know how many times Rumi’s thrown herself in danger to protect us, even when we could have protected ourselves?” Zoey cuts her off. “We thought she was just trying too hard to be a leader, like she did with everything else. She never let us tend to her wounds either, no matter what she took for us she insisted on patching herself up. Even if she didn’t have patterns to hide, I bet she would have refused us just because of your stupid mantra.”

      “That mantra messed with all of us.” Celine’s eyes dart back to Mira as she speaks again. “When Rumi’s voice started failing, we decided against turning to you for help even though who would know better than a Sunlight Sister how to fix a failing voice? But you never even knew she was struggling. You and your mantra kept yourself from being someone we could come to for help.”

      Celine flinches at the words.

      “Your insistence on hiding problems instead of facing them affected everything. Maybe if you had never told us to hie our faults and fears and let Rumi tell us about her patterns from the very start she wouldn’t have grown up suffering so much.” Zoey’s voice cracks. “We never would have been trained to raise our weapons at her and we never would have ruined the Honmoon. It would be gold now.”

      The girls are both breathing heavily as they stop speaking, though I get the feeling there is still so much more they want to say. Celine doesn’t react at first, almost seeming to wait for the next barrage. When she finally does, she speaks in a weak way I have never heard before, not when I was young, begging her to be the mother I missed, not when I was older begging her to accept me.

      “You hate yourself?” She nearly whispers as she looks at me, mask cracking.

      My mouth opens and shuts a few times as I search for words, mind empty and so full.

      “Don’t you hate me?” I finally answer, shoving the lump in my throat down. “You told me I was a mistake. Maybe not in so many words, but you never encouraged me, never touched me. Even that night, you only touched me to lift me, then you backed away. You wouldn’t even look at me. You never look at me, only who I will someday be.”

      Mira and Zoey turn to me in unison, sorrow in their expressions as I put the darkest corners of my heart on display for the first time, Celine forgotten behind them.

      “You never gave me the choice to be a hunter or not, you needed me to be a hunter because if I wasn’t, you’d only be raising a demon. You wouldn’t love me until I turned the Honmoon gold and I became a human. I wanted it for myself too,” I add, looking at the girls, “I never wanted to be anything else and I loved being part of Huntrix with you. I just wished sometimes that I could have earned the right to other options if I had wanted them.”

      I look back to Celine, the incessant urge to be enough washing through me with renewed vigour. “Why wouldn’t you touch me? I was breaking and you backed away?” I push past the girls towards Celine, push past my instinct to hide my faults and fears, no longer willing, or maybe even able, to ignore this pain that led to my fall. My loss of control that night. “I need to know.”

      “I was afraid, Rumi,” she confesses, stabbing my chest as surely as if she still wielded the Honmoon. “The Honmoon was falling apart before my eyes and I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know if it meant you girls were hurt, dying. I knew it was the night of the Idol Awards, the night you were playing Golden, the night it should be turning gold, not unravelling.”

      Her hands hang at her sides, shoulders dropping. This Celine is one I have never seen before. “When you appeared, patterns flaring all over your body in the same magenta as the ruined Honmoon, I feared you. I should not have. I’m sorry.”

      That simply, that quickly, the apology spills from her tongue, two words I’ve waited for so long to hear even when I wasn’t sure they were hers to say. Every bruise, every tug of my sleeves, every ignored cry, I have felt I deserved it. She was not mean, she was strict, she wasn’t cold, she was professional. It was all for me, for fixing me, and yet the corner of my heart that was capable of accepting myself, the corner I shoved away and abandoned, wished she would apologize for hating me instead of just my heritage.

      I find myself speechless in the face of her apology, the sincerity I hear.

      “I suspect I have handled a great many things poorly if you hate yourself, if you think I hate you,” she continues after everyone is quiet. Mira and Zoey are at my back, not touching, but I can feel their unwavering support.

      “You bet you did,” Mira says. “You should have told us about the patterns from the start and taught us that Rumi was an exception to the rule, taught her that she’s an exception.”

      Celine says nothing, watching Mira for any cue to continue.

      “I can’t stop thinking about how many times we’ve said all demons deserve to die and how Rumi must have felt, hearing us believe it right next to her. She must have felt her patterns every time. We’ve hardly begun to talk about everything and already so many small details I never thought about are making sense now. How could you possibly have missed the fact that she hates herself when that’s the sort of thing she hears every day?”

      “The same way you missed it, I suppose,” Celine answers with ice before quickly shaking her head and apologizing. “Forgive me, that was unfair. You never had reason to suspect. I suppose I did. I should have.”

      “Take your sweater off, Rumi,” Mira asks me, warmth on her face encouraging me beneath the anger she feels towards Celine. I tilt my head at her, anxiety spiking.

      “It’s okay. She doesn’t need to accept them.” The lie tastes like ash in my mouth.

      Mira looks like she’s going to say something more before changing her mind, instead facing Celine again. “Are you capable of accepting her, patterns and all?” Danger laces her tone.

      It shouldn’t hurt so badly after so many years, but her hesitation cuts through me. “Of course I do. I love her, I made a promise to her mother.”

      “And yet you feared her, looked at her and saw a demon first, your so called adopted daughter second.”

      “Is that not what you did? Rumi said you raised your weapons at her. That she hurt you. There was blood on her claws when she appeared. I had never seen her like that before.” Her shivers are subtle, but I catch them. “When we parted, the last words I heard from here were that she was glad to see the Honmoon destroyed.”

      Shame and horror pull the blood from my face, leaving my skin feeling too tight on my bones. I feel as though I am witnessing my trial without being part of it, a spectre beyond my body.

      “A promise to her mother? What about to her?” Mira snaps.

      “You’re right, she did hurt us, but only because we hurt her first,” Zoey says. “She begged us to stay and we answered with our training, we ignored our hearts screaming in our chests that this was our Rumi. We let your voice in our heads dictate our actions instead. She isn’t some mindless demon. In the middle of the fight, when we were trying to get her to snap out of whatever trance she was in, she paused. She told us to kill her now that we saw her patterns.”

      Celine’s hand comes to rest over her heart, a glossy sheen growing in her eyes I’m not sure I’m really seeing. “You asked them too?” she whispers to me, voice failing.

      “Too? What do you mean?” Mira’s across the room in a second, fist clutching Celine’s shirt, volume raising. “What did you do?”

      “She found me at the tree after hurting you, said she was a mistake from the very start and asked me to kill her as I should have a long time ago,” Celine trails off, going distant in her thoughts. “How long have you felt I should kill you?” I can barely hear her.

      A side of Mira I haven’t seen in years surfaces as her body trembles with rage. “Mira,” I start, recognizing the signs.

      Her elbow connects with Celine’s face before I can say anything more, before I can reach her.

      “Mira,” Zoey pleads, jumping forward and grabbing Mira’s arm. “She deserves it, but it won’t help Rumi, not right now.”

      “I thought you were having a bad night, I thought you were lashing out,” Celine tells me, ignoring the blood leaking from the split skin on her cheek. “When you said you were a mistake I thought it was merely the intensity of the moment, the regret for hurting Mira and Zoey. If I had known just how low you were that night I would have done more, done something.”

      “I wasn’t low, I was alone, afraid. I was terrified of myself. I told you to kill me before I could destroy what I swore to protect because my voice was tearing the Honmoon. My voice. The thing that was supposed to save me, protect everyone. I was destroying everything. I was attacking my hunters,” I choke out.

      An emptiness crests as I speak, tired, hurting, words falling on the ears of someone who has never tried to listen before. “You spent my life telling me to hide. You never let any of us tell you what we were feeling. Why should this time be any different.” I can’t keep the defeat out of my voice as I turn away, suddenly exhausted despite Mira and Zoey doing most of the talking. I walk back to the chair I had been on before she came in and derailed my chance to explain things to the girls, grabbing the fallen panda and clutching it as I sit down. I stare at nothing.

      “Our faults and fears must never be seen right?” You only ever saw my faults, no matter how hard I tried to earn your love.”

      “She never should have been able to go to you believing you would kill her. Whatever promise you made her mother, you failed.” Zoey says bitterly. She walks to me, seating herself on the arm of the chair, attempting to place a hand on my shoulder. I flinch away. Celine watches the exchange, likely noting the difference. As much as she’s missed of my fears, she’s never missed the way I embraced the touches offered by my hunters. I know she’s tallying it in her head as another newly discovered failure and feel sorry for her. She’s been raising me and training me my entire life, perhaps she really does are for me in her own way and her mistakes will start to haunt her the way they’ve haunted me.

      Mira lets go of Celine’s shirt, shoving her back towards the door.

Chapter Text

      I do as I’ve been doing for my entire life, and wait for Celine to tell me what is next, too tired to fight her any longer. The air filling the penthouse is stale and charged with tension, waiting for a spark to set it off. Mira stands stiller than stone as she glares at Celine.

      “Have anything else to say?” she growls. I wonder how much she is holding back for my sake and how much is out of respect for the woman to trained her, took her in and gave her a chance despite the attitude she threw around in her youth. I suspect it is primarily the former.

      This new version of Celine simply shakes her head, not meeting Mira’s gaze as she thinks, regret dusting the surface of her face. What must it have been like for her these last few days, I wonder as I watch her displaying more emotion than I have seen at nearly any other moment of my life. She watched the Honmoon unravel, not knowing what it meant for Mira or Zoey, two girls she is so proud of, not knowing if it meant my demon heritage was finally turning me into the monster she feared, and then not being allowed to see us afterwards as we rested. Not knowing if they were okay.

      “We can talk more later,” I offer, feeling pity for her in the moment.

      She looks up at me, finally focusing with her familiar old poise.

      A few seconds of uncomfortable silence pass as we stare at each other, Zoey beginning to bounce one leg, a contrast to Mira who still stares daggers at Celine without blinking. In this moment, she looks more like a threat than Derpy ever did, despite only one of them possessing fangs.

      “I will tell Bobby and those who need to know that you are on hiatus, return date to be announced,” Celine finally answers. “Unless, you would rather I leave it in your hands?” She adds uncharacteristically.

      “That’s good, probably smart to do it quickly,” Zoey says. “We don’t want any weird rumours spreading, who knows what’s already being said out there. News travels fast, especially when it’s not good. I wonder what sort of conspiracies are already forming.” Her rambling brings an ember to my chest, warming me ever so slightly from the icy blanket that had been cast over me.

      “Very well. Contact Bobby or I whenever you are ready to return.” Her eyes dart to Mira’s arms, lingering there for longer than is necessary. “Do you need me to send one of our doctors?”

      Mira shakes her head. “No. We have things covered.” Zoey snorts at the unintentional pun, earning a halfhearted glare from Mira, more of an aggressive eye roll. Zoey slaps a hand over her mouth.

      Celine hesitates, meeting all of our eyes before giving us a sharp nod and turning, heels clicking as she departs as quickly as she came.

      Mira’s shoulders relax only marginally as the door close behind her, fists seemingly forced open as she takes a deep breath. Zoey watches her in the way Zoey watches everyone, looking for any tells, any hints as to what she can do to make us feel better. An old habit from her childhood that still stings Mira and I whenever we think about how hard it was for her in the past, how some wounds scab over and heal, but leave scars regardless.

      “So, that was fun,” she says, testing the waters.

      Mira grunts in response, pivoting to us and throwing herself onto the couch. “I haven’t felt that way in a long time.”

      “I thought you were really going to let her have it.”

      “So did I. If you hadn’t stopped me I probably would have. The nerve of that woman.” Mira huffs. “As if she isn’t the one who made all of this such a mess. I can’t believe she’s lied to us all this time and now has the gall to throw our ignorance back in our faces.”

      Zoey slowly slides off the arm of my chair and returns to her seat on the couch, smacking Mira’s legs to encourage the taller girls to move them. She sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapping around them as she watches me. Mira releases another measured breath and hauls herself upright. I can see the anger still swirling beneath the surfaces, seeking an outlet but finding none as she pushes it down to wherever she stores it. She has never lost the fire, only learned how to release it safely. Usually in the direction of a demon.

      “Rumi?” Zoey asks, voice small. I drag my eyes off of Mira and examine the maknae, looking smaller than usual. “Do we need to be worried? About what you asked Celine?”

      My heart clenches painfully in my chest at her voice. “No,” I answer her, making sure I meet her eyes with steadiness. “I’m okay.”

      Both girls continue to watch me for any sign I’m holding back, Zoey's eyes wide, Mira’s face tight.

      I take a breath, unable to watch their expressions change as I continue to speak. “I only went to her because I was afraid of destroying the Honmoon and hurting you further. I was trying to eliminate a threat. Things seem stable for now, so you don’t need to worry about it.” I slap what I hope is an encouraging smile on my face.

      “You were so scared when your voice shook the Honmoon, I saw so much fear in your eyes, and yet my next move was to raise my weapon and treat you like a threat,” Mira grimaces.

      “I understand. It’s what we were trained to do, after all. We spent our years together learning to kill any demon the moment we saw them. It just means I was a great teacher,” I say, trying to lighten her mood.

      “That’s not funny, Rumi.” Zoey glares at me but I can see it is made of concern, not anger. She uncurls and reaches for my knee, pausing when I stiffen. Her hand pulls back only a fraction, hovering with a tint of hurt.

      “Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s just, old pattern habits, I guess.” The third lie I have uttered today tastes even worse than the first. What happened to no more hiding?

      “So Celine never touched you?” Mira asks. I shake my head, squeezing the tiger. “Not when you were a normal kid, having nightmares, tripping and skinning your knee, celebrating your birthday?” I think of Mira’s own mother as she speaks, wondering if there was ever a time she did the same for Mira, or if Mira simply knows it’s what a mother should have done. It certainly would have stopped young, if it ever happened at all.

      “Not often, not for the sake of affection. I was never a normal kid, I’ve been tainted since birth. Until you two arrived, we had never even bothered to acknowledge my birthday, it was never treated as something to celebrate. I was never something to celebrate.”

      Zoey’s hand flies to her chest, clutching her shirt. “You are absolutely worth celebrating, Rumi. You and Mira are the best things to happen to me, I wake up every morning so happy that I get to walk out of my bedroom and into your day.”

      “I never thought I would have a proper family, and yet you and Zoey wormed your way past my hot-headed defensive walls right into my heart with half a thought. That can’t possibly be a mistake, Rumi.” Mira leans forwards as she speaks, eyes pleading from the depths of her heart with me to listen. “You aren’t a mistake. No matter what that extremely punch-able woman says or does.”

      I chuckle, warmth wrapping around my shoulders at their words.

      “You two are the most precious things in my life, too. Every day since Celine told me my patterns would disappear when the Honmoon turned gold, I’ve fought for it so I could be closer to my hunters, even though I wouldn’t even meet you for years yet.”

      “Now it all makes sense, why you refused to join us at the bathhouse, why you were so frantic to release Golden. Waiting for our hiatus to end beforehand would have had you crawling the walls,” Zoey says. An ease starts to slowly seep into the girls, reassured that I am not in immediate danger. Both of them lean back into the embrace of the couch cushions.

      “I’m sorry for rushing you into it. You deserved that break and I took it from you without asking. Golden was supposed to be our moment, not mine. We all should have hit that button together.”

      “No no, we get it now, don’t worry about it for a second longer. How could we possibly blame you for trying so hard when you were only trying to remove a barrier between us and save yourself.”

      I pet the panda's fur, watching the fabric strands beneath my fingers. “You could blame me, if you wanted to. I was selfish.”

      “No Rumi, you were suffering. I can only imagine how hard every day was, trying so hard to be patient, waiting so many years for it to turn gold, probably worrying it never would,” Mira says. “The closer you grew to us, the harder the wait got, right?”

      I nod, grateful to them for understanding. I shouldn’t be surprised.

      “I understand now why you were so frantic to turn the Honmoon gold, I mean more than when I thought it was just about our duty, you’ve always been so painfully responsible about your duty, but what did Celine mean? She said you were glad to see the Honmoon destroyed?”

      A sharp stab of shame and conflict stabs at the memory of that night. “I don’t really know,” I confess. “I was raging against the shield that treated all demons as evil without exception, even though I was also raging against myself for being a demon.”

      “Sounds like you were feeling a lot,” Zoey says sympathetically, eyebrows tilted upwards.

      “I wasn’t the only one having a bad night.” I try to steer the conversation towards them, worried about how dedicated they’ve been to helping me while being silent about their own feelings. “What did you two do after I fled?”

      “By the time our fight ended and you ran, we had come to our senses and realized you were still the one in front of us. We chased you, trying to catch you so we could ask some questions and talk things over, but you were too fast.” Mira’s face is scrunched with echoes of frustration. She’s never liked losing, even if she accepts it with good sportsmanship. Losing with the stakes being so high would have grated at her sharply.

      “Oh,” I reply, lightheaded with the wave of relief that crests over me.

      It must look as intense as it feels, as Zoey’s face pinches with concern. “Rumi?”

      “I thought you were hunting me,” I admit, quietly. The moment the words are in the open I wonder whether or not it should have been a secret I kept to myself to spare the girls the guilt.

      “Rumi...” Both girls speak in unison, remorse filling the air around them, weighing them down.

      “We never meant to scare you like that. I didn’t think for even a moment how it would seem.” Mira pleads with me to believe her, and I do.

      “It’s okay. What happened afterwards?”

      “We wandered around aimlessly for a bit,” Zoey starts, “until we saw the screens along the street. They were broadcasting the results of the Idol Awards and our “breakup.” We saw what happened on the stage while we were gone, we had been trying to save Bobby, by the way. Some demons posed as him and made it look like they were kidnapping him so we ran after him. By the time we figured it out, we were so far from you that we couldn’t get back in time. The screens showed what we missed, we saw what the demons posing as us did to you up there, using our song against you like that, pulling your jacket off in front of everyone as you begged us– them not to.” Her eyes fill with tears. “They were so mean to you.”

      “They looked just like us. It was horrifying to think you saw our faces twisted with hatred like that. You had been so panicked when you found us backstage. You felt such obvious, knee weakening relief that it wasn’t us up there, that we weren’t the ones who hated you, and then we made you think it was true after all.” Mira’s hands clench her thighs as she speaks, only releasing when Zoey’s hands cover them. “At the time we didn’t understand the relief.”

      I can’t suppress the shudder as I remember the emotions that slammed into me when I saw them take that step back. Neither girl misses it.

      “It’s okay,” I rush to reassure them before the guilt can twist their hearts. “All that matters is now. You’re still sitting here, listening to me despite everything. I could never hold your fear against you.” Even if the smallest, darkest corner of my mind whispers with the quietest voice that they should never have feared me, their Rumi. I ignore it. That voice is the same one that attacked them.

      “Of course we are,” Zoey is quick to answer. “We should have listened from the start. We never should have let Celine’s assumptions that we couldn’t accept you become the truth for even a nanosecond.”

      “We’ve accepted you and your patterns since the moment you ran and we realized we were idiots.” Mira holds my gaze, utterly unwavering. “You’ve always been a chronic workaholic, now that your patterns are known and you don’t have to wait for some vague future in which we accept you, do you think you can chill?” Mira asks with a slight smirk.

      I shake my head, conflicted. “I don’t know how to do that, and I have a lot to make up for. I haven’t even apologized yet for attacking you both. We got back and I sat there uselessly, not even trying to repair the damage I caused. May I be the one who changes your bandages?” The guilt burrows deep inside my stomach, twisting and tearing at everything within my body. I should be a better leader than this, a better friend.

      “Sure,” Mira answers without hesitation, “I suppose it is time.” She makes her way to the same stool she used last night, as Zoey adjusts herself on the now empty couch, swinging her legs over the side and sitting on the arm so she can face us. Mira watches me as I approach with the kit, one arm held out to me. The soft white fabric mocks me, staining red before my eyes as I feel my claws tearing through them in my mind. I freeze, trapped momentarily within the illusion.

      “Rumi?” Zoey asks from the couch where she perches. Her brow is furrowed.

      “I, forgot to grab a garbage bin,” I answer, stuttering. I rush back to the bathroom, trying in vain to take a few deep breaths with my eyes pressed shut. My chest hurts. I can’t grab enough air. My lungs won’t expand. I shove my fists against my eyes, scolding myself silently. You have to be better than this, you have to be the person Celine raised. You can’t let this moment be about yourself. Pull it together. Gathering my composure with an iron will I quickly return to the girls, placing the bin beside me as I grab another stool and sit before Mira.

      “This might sting,” I tell her before gently unwrapping the old fabric, tossing it in the bin, trying my best not to see the old blood staining the inner side. She hisses and pulls back.

      My gaze flashes upwards to see her face before dropping guiltily, settling back on the numerous gashes I’ve left her with. How is she going to hide so many scars from the fans? Or will there even be fans to hide from once Huntrix disbands?

      “Sorry,” I mutter, holding my hand out for her to return her arm. She hesitates, remaining just centimetres from my fingers. The air turns fragile as we all come to the same realization in the same moment, the awareness that Mira is cautious to let me touch her. I can hear Zoey fidget on the couch, unable to sit still at the best of times.

      I snatch a clean dishcloth from the counter beside us before the moment can drag on, prompting her to place her hand in my now covered one. “I won’t hurt you,” I whisper. “I just, want to undo the damage I caused. Please,” I add, vision blurring with tears.

      “I know,” Mira says, her voice sounding strange. Is it just in my ears, are they blurring too? She forcefully places her hand against the cloth.

      I’m careful not to touch her skin directly as I work, cleaning the wounds so delicately I nearly fail to make contact on some passes. My own arms burn as I tend to hers, my mind punishing me with the pain I caused her. I spread fresh disinfectant with the same tender movements. No one speaks as I work but I can feel their eyes on me, tracing the patterns on my fingers, millimetres from her unblemished human skin.

      How can I blame Mira for fearing my touch when I am so afraid of myself?

      “Thank you,” Mira says once I finish wrapping the last bandage on both arms, her hands steady as they rest in her lap.

      “Of course,” I answer quietly as I turn away, grateful she can’t see my face as I clean everything up.

      “Rumi?” Her tone is nearly childlike in it’s fear, a sound so shocking to hear that I whip back to her in the middle of my walk to the bathroom. “I’m sorry. Please don’t read anything into my twitch. I’m not afraid of you.”

      “I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” I answer, struggling to think of anything more reassuring as my mind hides from me. “Don’t worry about it.” I flash her a smile and finish returning things to their places.

      “Don’t put that away, we need to change your bandages too,” Zoey says, popping off the couch.

      “They’re fine,” I answer, wincing at the firmness. Everything was supposed to be better now. Why can’t I be free of my old habits?

      Everything was supposed to be better when Rumi the hunter turned the Honmoon gold. I am Rumi the demon who hurt her hunters. There were never any guarantees for her.

Chapter Text

      To the dismay of the girls, I spend the rest of the day locked in my room, emerging only to grab scraps of food from the fridge without bothering to warm them. I tell them I am just tired from the events of the past few days and the draining talks, a mere half-truth that makes my stomach twist.

      The pure truth in much simpler – I can’t bear to see them look at me with acceptance and patience as they listen to my emotions laid bare before them. After so many years of waiting for the day I could talk to them freely without thinking about the many, many barbed points that come with being a half-demon hunter, I never expected to do so as a woman who acted like said demon. I only ever imagined my patterns fading and with them, my wounds. Outside of the nightmares and fears that plagued me, I never imagined I would actually lose control and leave them with wounds of their own.

      I was never supposed to hash out all the dark, twisted angles of my existence.

      Although I cannot deny the relief I feel in being able to do so, a dizzying feeling that has me suspecting my wounds would not have simply faded with the demons, merely scarred invisibly. I would still be a descendant of the little girl who never heard a “happy birthday”, never had a snowball fight with friends, didn’t even know what a sleepover was.

      It would seem these sorts of things are hard to outgrow. I think back to the day Zoey bounded into my room as I was settling in for the night, blanket pulled crisply and evenly across me as I reached for the lamp beside my head, bouncing onto my bed and sprawling beside me with a grin plastered across her whole face.

      “Rumi! Let’s have a sleepover!”

      “A sleepover?” I asked. It wasn’t meant to be a question of her intentions, I simply didn’t know what the word meant.

      “Yeah! Mira’s bed is the biggest cause she said she flailed around so much in her sleep that she needed it, remember? On the day we got here. Can you believe that was already three months ago? Time flies when you’re having fun and slaying demons. Not that we’re slaying anything but dummies so far, but it’s been super fun! Oh! But Mira’s bed is the biggest so we should use hers.”

      “I never agreed to this,” Mira said from behind her, drawing my gaze to the doorway where she stood, arms crossed, leaning against it with a shoulder. Despite her effort to look stern, I could see a spark attempting to light behind her eyes. Mira had a tendency to act tough, and she certainly was tough, but in the three months she had been with us, Zoey had been relentlessly chiselling away at that armoured exterior. I admired her determination, her refusal to be discouraged by her new friends, though sometimes I wondered if it was a sign that she was more lonely than she let on. Every now and then, she would say something that made me think the kids she went to school with in America were not very nice. I couldn’t imagine not being nice to Zoey. She was so sweet, even if she was loud in both volume and movement.

      “What is a sleepover?” I clarified my earlier question, voice meek as I realized halfway through speaking that it was probably another question I was supposed to know the answer to. I was asking an awful lot of those during the last three months. Thankfully, both girls had been strangely understanding. Neither of them ever made me feel like a fool, the way Celine sometimes would. I had never realized how many things I didn’t know, until these two arrived.

      “What? You’ve never had one?” Zoey answered so loudly I worried she would wake Celine, shushing her with panic as I flung my hands onto her shoulders.

      “Quietly, Zoey,” I said.

      The girl flinched, making me regret saying anything and wishing I had simply faced the wrath of a sleep deprived Celine. I wasn’t sure why she flinched, and it made me feel guilty. As their leader, I should know my hunters well enough to know their every idiosyncrasy. As their friend, or at least the friend I hoped we could someday be, I wanted to know. Zoey carried on talking, in an only marginally quieter voice, before I could correct my correction, burying my guilt beneath a pile of words.

      “It’s when friends sleep in the same room or bed, but I think it should be in the same bed. Mira’s bed is big enough after all. I’ve only done it a few times but it was always me on the floor with some spare blankets. I imagine sharing a bed would be so warm and snuggly.” She kicked her feet in the air as she babbled.

      Mira smiled slightly as she watched Zoey, a face I’m not sure Mira was even aware she was making. No matter how much she tried to fight it, no matter how many times she denied it, she was forming a soft spot for Zoey.

      I wasn’t sure she was forming that same affection for me, but she didn’t hate me, at least. She used to resist my every word simply because I am their leader, and she refused to be bossed around. It’s been difficult to manage her, trying to phrase things in a way that compromised my authority enough to have Mira listen, without seeming to give in to her disobedience. Celine scolded me whenever I strayed too close to the latter. I had noticed that the last few times Celine spoke to me that way, Mira would tense up and suddenly surrender. I wasn’t sure what it meant. I hoped it was a sign that she would accept me. When we were outside of training we seemed to get along without issue.

      Mira and I relented without much fight to Zoey’s whims, Mira appearing defeated but only slightly cautious. As we all arranged ourselves – Mira on the outside, Zoey in the middle, me against the wall – I couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through me. I was secretly grateful for Zoey’s cuddly nature. I knew I didn’t have the confidence to initiate something so unnecessary and decedent.

      As long as it was one of the girls starting things, I could pretend giving in was for the sake of team bonding, but I knew the truth was simply that I was greedy. I yearned for the gentle, plentiful touches Zoey offered us. They had a way of reaching past my patterns to my heart.

      A bittersweet smile doesn’t reach my eyes as I stare at a sheet of old lyrics, a project I was trying to revive in a pitiful attempt to pass the time, wishing fervently that I could bring myself to go to her room right now and throw myself into her bed the way she did that night, the way she has done many times since then. How is it possible that I am closer to my hunters than before, yet lonelier than ever?

      Maybe, I don’t have to be?

      Both of them have been so understanding, they haven’t looked at me with disgust, they stood with me against Celine, they haven’t rushed me for answers.

      I know Mira felt betrayed when she saw the patterns, I saw the look she gave to Zoey as they took those few vital steps back, I saw her labouriously reach for the brick walls she had torn down to let me in. She took the risk of letting me be her family, and I betrayed her.

      Where a crucial part of Mira had shut down, a part of Zoey woke up, a slumbering hurt born of betrayed school friendships that looked at me with burning eyes and asked me how we could be together if they couldn’t tell my truths from my lies.

      Despite these obvious hurts, they’ve been acting as though nothing has changed between us. Are they putting on an act for my sake, or do they truly see me beneath the patterns?

      Dragging myself from the floor and brushing my pants free of dirt that wasn’t there I leave my room and creep silently towards Zoey’s room. I stop at the threshold, the penthouse dark and quiet around me. My fingers hover over the door handle, brushing the cool metal as I hesitate. My breaths shorten as my feet tingle, anxiety abruptly swimming through me at the thought of waking either of them. I’ve already turned what should have been a time of celebration into a pity party, one in which they’ve been forced to be gentle and kind to their enemy. They don’t need to do all of that on little sleep because I couldn’t pull myself together.

      This is stupid, I scold myself, hand grasping the handle with greater conviction.

      “And when the Honmoon is sealed, we will be free of these demons. Free of these fears forever. And then we can, take a hiatus? Maybe, go to the bathhouse together?”

      Tomorrow, as part of my apology to them, I should be the one to invite them to the bathhouse, the way I promised. It would prove that I do more than lie, that I am more than a cowardly demon.

      My eyes snag on the faint shimmer of my patterns wrapped around the smooth metal in my hand. What if they don’t want to go with me anymore? Where they are on full display? What if they refuse to soak in the same waters?

      “Maybe they’d understand?”

      “No Rumi. Nothing can change, until your patterns are gone.”

      Everything has changed, even my patterns, yet here they stand, far more brave than I. They wouldn’t linger, trembling at my door.

      But, Mira did flinch away from my touch. I want to think nothing of it, believe she isn’t afraid, as she asked me so frantically to believe.

      I grit my teeth and turn away, stepping as quietly and quickly back to my room as I can, refusing to acknowledge the tears threatening to spill. Our faults and fears must never be seen. Panting as I lock the door behind me I drop to the floor in front of my balcony door, staring at the glittering city so far beneath us, knees hardly registering the impact.

      My fingers dig into my shoulders as I grasp them, breath turning ragged as I choke on the sob I refuse to let out. I caused this rift myself, I deserve this isolation. Maybe, if I had turned the Honmoon gold and my patterns simply hadn’t faded, I could have told the girls and been accepted, after earning it. Instead I lashed out and destroyed everything. I don’t deserve the acceptance they’re seemingly ready to hand me. I haven’t even explained everything yet.

      I have to stop this back and forth behaviour, they deserve to have their leader back, not this creature of doubt and hesitation. Whatever pains I feel, I need to keep from them, at least until I have made right for my mistakes. They shouldn’t have to pay for them any more than they already have. I have to be strong for them. Pull things back to the way they were, more or less. Until they ask me to leave, I have to make my presence as weightless as possible. Even if I had not attacked them, I would still owe them everything for coming back for me at all.

      Tomorrow, I resolve. Tomorrow, the demon will do better.

      The city skyline blurs as the tears finally win the fight, smearing the lights together. Gravity pulls me down and I surrender to the exhaustion where I am, not bothering to uncurl, not caring to crawl to my bed. I let my body give in to the floorboards below me as I fall into a halfhearted doze, devoid of all the warmth a Zoey cuddle has ever gifted me.

Chapter Text

      Steam fills the bathroom until I’m suffocating in it, suddenly desperate for fresh, cool air. I took this long, hot shower to ease my aching joints after waking up on the floor, feeling pathetic for not being strong enough to bring myself to my own bed. I hope I can follow through on my promise to be the Rumi the girls expect, the one they know. I will not continue to be the Rumi that wallows so deeply that she falls asleep on the floor.

      I change the bandages I promised Zoey I would but never did get around to, remembering belatedly with a wince that I never changed the ones on Mira’s back, braid my hair, and find myself stuck once again at the closet, staring at the world of options, a repeating cycle of routine indecision. Would showing my patterns be a sign of trust and my commitment to honesty going forward, or would it be a threat? Would Mira flinch seeing me? I think back to those long, too clear memories and the way Zoey shrank against the wall, and grab another baggy sweater for the day.

      “You really don’t know how to do a vacation, do you Rumi,” Zoey says as she meets me in the kitchen, surprising me. “You’re supposed to sleep in and let us hunt down our own breakfast. Besides, this isn’t the hanok, you don’t have to do all the cooking.”

      “I enjoy it,” I answer her simply, rummaging through the kitchen.

      Zoey doesn’t answer, plopping herself on a stool and propping her chin in her hand, elbow on the counter. She watches me as I cook with bleary eyes, mercifully comfortable.

      “How’s your shoulder?” Her voice is quiet in a way that has nothing to do with not waking Mira.

      “It’s good.”

      “Rumi?”

      “It is.” I pause my motions to turn around and stare at her directly, letting her read my face, keeping my body relaxed. “It’s healing well. Please don’t worry about it.”

      Her own face scrunches as she replies, stabbing me with guilt for having ever put her in such a situation. “Of course I’m going to worry about it! I hurt you.”

      “You were protecting Mira.” I try so, so hard to keep my voice steady and my mind empty. My fingers idly trace over the shape of my nails. “I understand.”

      “Maybe you do, but I don’t. I never thought I would be capable of that.” Her head hangs too heavy on her shoulders, weighing her gaze down, gravity eating at her form. “You begged me.”

      “Zoey.” I put the chopsticks down and circle the counter, steps smooth, blood circulating too fast. She pivots and straightens as I approach, watching me, but not with a caution that would have stung. I reach for her, hesitating. Is she going to pull away? Slowly, softly, I place my hands on her shoulders. “I put you in an impossible situation. You never should have had to choose between Mira and I. The only one here with any reason to be sorry is me. And I am.” I take a shuddering breath. “I am so, so sorry, Zoey.”

      My touch on her shoulders visibly relaxes her after two days of my avoiding hers. She has always sought comfort through touch, and distributed it devotedly.

      I struggle to keep looking at her, feeling too exposed as I speak the words that burn me, “Also, I’m sorry for scaring you that night.”

      “Are we okay?” She asks, my heart melting in her hands at her upturned eyebrows and easy forgiveness.

      I don’t deserve it.

      “We’re okay,” I say with a smile. I will make sure they are okay.

      Zoey’s face brightens, at last gravity releases it’s hold on her, allowing her to carry the lightness I am used to seeing her with. An ember of hope grows in my chest as I return to the food. Perhaps I can fix for them the things I broke.

      Hey,” Mira says, her eyes seeking, refusing to back down from me but also nervous, gauging where we stand after yesterday.

      Her uncertainty puts me on edge as I pass her a dish. “Hey.”

      Zoey groans when neither of us says anything more, both using the excuse of food to keep quiet. “Please put me out of my misery.”

      Mira shoots her a glance, eyebrow raised.

      “You’re both so bad at talking. I survived Gwi-Ma, but the awkwardness here will kill me for sure.” She pats Mira on the shoulder as she talks. “Rumi, Mira here is deeply sorry for yesterday and worried that you are clinging to that moment. I had to stop her from barging into your room like eighteen times so you could take the space you wanted. And Mira,” she swivels and pins Mira with the stare, “you know how Rumi is. Raised the way she was by Celine? She made a mistake and it’s gonna haunt her for a while, but everything is gonna be okay. We stand by each other.”

      Mira turns to me, meeting me more directly this time, examining me as I put all of my effort into appearing more steady than I feel, endlessly grateful for Zoey’s ever present willingness to talk, to mediate. She has an unrecognized strength within her.

      “She’s right,” I answer. “Are, are we okay?” I parrot Zoey’s question back to Mira, ignoring my doubts, putting them to bed for the day for the sake of the girls.

      She nods, easing up only slightly. “Always.”

      Her acceptance of our peace still feels fragile, carrying the same lack of conviction that she displayed before the Idol Awards. She can tell, as always, that things are still unsaid. Zoey gorans again, louder this tiem as she slides off the stool and heads for the couch.

      “Unclench your hearts,” she says with a feral grin. I snatch Mira’s bowl from her moments before disaster strikes, sparing the still steaming food from becoming confetti on the floor. She shoots me a bewildered glare before an “oof” flies from her mouth as the pillow in Zoey’s hands comes into contact with her back. A direct hit on the unsuspecting woman.

      She winces, dragging a breath through clenched teeth as she spins towards Zoey.

      “Oh, Mira, I’m sorry, I totally forgot,” Zoey says in a panic, eyebrows pulled together, lips trembling.

      Mira slides off her stool, hands raised in front of her like claws. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine at the sight.

      “You’re gonna pay for that,” she shouts as she charges for a shrieking Zoey, lunging for the pillow. She misses, Zoey bounding out of the way and swinging again, missing and just brushing Mira’s hair. Where Mira is grace and power, Zoey is speed and agility, a hunter in the predator sense. Mira guards. Zoey hunts. I lead.

      “Only if you can catch me!” The spacious expanse of our penthouse warps into a wild and free playground, the two of them lunging over furniture and laughing. Before my eyes the shadows clinging to the corners melt away. The couch tips backwards under the influence of both of them pushing off it at once, Mira landing a blow on Zoey. She tumbles to the floor on her back, laughing hysterically as Mira pins her and begins to tickle her ruthlessly.

      Zoey kicks against the girl weakly, arms crossed across her abdomen as tears leak from her eyes, grin stretched wide. “Mira!” She tries before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

      Mira’s grin widens into something feline as she rises and faces me. “You think you’re safe over there?”

      “Mira!” I screech as I am backed into the corner of the kitchen, my escape cut off. I brace myself against the corner of the counter and raise a foot, attempting to keep her out of reach and failing. She grabs the offending foot and pulls, forcing me to abandon distance for safety from gravity. “Mira!”

      She tugs me out of the kitchen, hopping on one leg until I finally twist free of her, only to find myself facing Zoey, a maniac once again armed with a pillow. Her face is still red from laughter.

      I duck the first swing and manage to reach up and yank it from her hands, spinning and using my new weapon against Mira. It is a weak hit, one Celine would be ashamed of.

      Zoey pounces on me from behind, wrapping her arms around mine while Mira snatches the pillow from my grasp. Zoey clutches me tighter. Everything goes mute around me as my ears are suddenly stuffed with cotton, my vision blurring, body burning everywhere Zoey touches.

      “Rumi?” Mira’s eyes are wide and close when my sight returns, her hands gripping mine. Why are my hands so cold? “Rumi?”

      I shake my head and wrench my hands out of her grip, lurching back now that I realize Zoey is no longer behind me. Colour quickly rushes back into the world as things steady, everything other than my hands. It paints for me a picture of just how pathetically I am controlling myself, colouring me with shame. I press a hand to my forehead, fighting off a wave of dizziness.

      Zoey passes me a glass of water which I accept, more to please her than out of thirst, though the sensation of the cold travelling down my throat does help to ground me.

      “Sorry,” I say after taking a few sips. Already the quiet that echoes through the room is holding a funeral for the carefree normalcy we had moments ago. “I’m okay.”

      “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Zoey whimpers, somehow understanding exactly what I’m feeling before I do. “I didn’t even think about how it would feel for you, after you told us you felt hunted by us.”

      “No no, it’s okay, really. I don’t really know what happened,” I hedge, walking the fine line of another lie. I know very well what happened, but it is something I resolved to spare them from just last night. I will not fail.

      “Are you sure?” Mira asks. I kick myself internally for putting that hesitant look back on her face.

      I nod. Desperate for an excuse to escape her examination before she can see through the cracks I return to the kitchen and fake an interest in finishing my breakfast, eating with conviction, tasting nothing. Mira slowly joins me. A silence thicker than the one Zoey tried to banish settles over the room.

      Zoey shakes her head and starts setting the apartment back to rights, nervousness radiating from her. None of us are fighting, but I would wager Zoey’s heart doesn’t care about the cause of heavy silence. She picks up the pillow from the floor and stares too blankly at it before setting it back on the couch carefully.

      “Would you two like to go to the bathhouse?” I suggest, stomach in my throat. These aren’t the conditions I had hoped to ask in, but I don’t know how else to show the girls that we are okay after concerning them with my behaviour.

      “Really?” Zoey’s head whips around, eyes sparkling with hope.

      “I would, but,” Mira says with remorse dusting her face, “neither of us should. Our wounds...”

      A sledgehammer falls on my chest, stopping my heart and rattling all thoughts out of my head. “Right. Of course.”

      “But later? Absolutely. You’re not getting out of it next time.”

      I nod. “Next time.”

      “I’m going to order a ton of food and snacks to be delivered and we’re gonna sit on that couch and rot the day away together,” Zoey announces before the quiet can reclaim the penthouse.

      “We just ate,” Mira chuckles.

      “There’s no such thing as too much food. Besides, snacks don’t count.”

      “You’d better be ready to say that again when you’re lying on the couch claiming you’re one bungeoppang away from bursting.”

      Zoey waves a hand at Mira as though she can wave away the truth of her words. “Bah. You want anything specific or should I just order the usual?” she asks us both.

      “Yes,” we answer in unison, eyes meeting over the counter. Something repairs beneath the surface. There is still so much I feel the need to apologize for, so much I have yet to explain, but in this moment it feels like maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe it can wait a little longer. They know about the patterns, and while I’ll be apologizing for the rest of my life for attacking them, the initial apologies have been said. Maybe it’s okay if I explain the rest of my existence over time, when the moments are right. Maybe I’ll have enough time.

      We wait for the food to arrive, grabbing blankets and pillows and plushes from eveyr corner of the penthouse and pilling them on the couch, extending the footrests to expand the surface area that drowns beneath the accumulated fabrics. When the food does arrive in it’s plenty, I dart to the door and swipe my card for it before Zoey has a chance, refusing to let her pay for anything I might eat.

      “This was supposed to be on me!” she whines halfheartedly.

      “You snooze, you lose,” I answer, taking the bags from the deliveryman and heading for the table in front of the couch.

      “I wasn’t snoozing!”

      “Then you’re just slow,” I smirk.

      “I am going to hit you with another pillow,” Zoey grumbles, reaching for the closest one.

      “Use the food as a shield.” Mira chimes in from the couch where she has already claimed her spot and slouches, flipping through TV channels for a movie. I wisely obey.

      Safely delivered, the food covers every inch of the table while we drape ourselves over every inch of the couch. One of Zoey’s ankles crosses Mira’s while I maintain a subtle but critical distance, not quite touching either of them but not curling away enough to draw attention to it. Before Mira has even had a chance to settle on a movie, before Zoey has consumed more than three bites, time freezes around me as the TV flicks to a news channel broadcasting a missing person’s report.

      So many people.

      I recognize some of them as fans from our last signing. People who loved us. People I failed.

      “Rumi?” Mira asks, thumb frozen on the remote.

      I try to answer, try to clear my throat, but choke on the lump.

      “You froze, on the train. You had demons literally crawling all over you, but you didn’t so much as throw a punch. Any one of them could have killed you. There were so many claws and fangs next to your skin. You were totally out of it. Yet when you finally snapped back into it, your only concern was for the passengers. None for yourself.” I can hear the fear thick beneath Mira’s feigned composure.

      I still can’t reply, still can’t see past the faces in my head of everyone who lost their lives, their souls, because I froze.

      “Why?” Mira sits up, facing me from her spot across the couch, the distance impassable.

      “I had been talking to Jinu, about being a demon. He wasn’t born a demon, like I was. My mother was a hunter, which you guys know, but my father was a demon. I don’t know what the deal was, if it was love or something darker, but it let to me. I guess that technically makes me only a half-demon. Jinu though, he made a deal with Gwi-Ma, yet in a way he could understand the shame of being a demon, living that life, the way no one else had. He reminded me that there had once been a time in which I accepted myself, before Celine’s words took root. His story made me question whether or not all demons really deserved death, or if there were those like him. Like me,” I add, throat tightening.

      The girls stay quiet, listening intently. Zoey’s hands twitch only slightly at the mention of Jinu.

      I take a deep breath. “When we sang Takedown on that train, the words turned into blades pointed at me. I heard how every single line could be about me. I was no different than those hoards, no different than Jinu. And after what I had said to you, the way I had gone for the kill with those stupid words about your insecurities just to hide my own...” The back of my neck burns at the memory, the vicious way I spat those cruel words at her just because I was afraid of her probing questions.

      “You said “If you’re with us, prove it.” You were already doubting my loyalty,” I mutter, still staring unblinkingly at the screen. “You already thought I was changing teams and you didn’t even know about my patterns. It made me aware in a way that had nothing to do with Celine’s words that you really might realize that I don’t deserve to live if you did learn about them.”

      I clutch the blanket thrown over my lap to hide their trembling. Zoey reaches for my arm before stopping herself, whether because of my recent behaviour or her own disgust, I cannot tell. I try not to think about it.

      “Everything just, hit at once. I shut down. All I could feel was how my chances of turning the Honmoon gold and losing my patterns was slipping away every day.” Unable to handle the restless energy growing in my bones I jolt from the couch, pacing in front of them, gripping my forearms, wringing my hands, incapable of being still. “I messed up. I got those people killed.” I fling a hand at the TV, mercifully now off. “I failed so, so badly.”

      My voice threatens to break, my eyes threaten to fill the room with my remorse. This traitorous body holds me hostage as I fight with it for the composure I swore to myself I would carry before the girls.

      “You weren’t the only one on that train,” Mira answers, standing too. “I was so busy prying into your secrets that I wasn’t focusing the way I should have. We almost lost you because I was tearing the team apart.”

      “Mira no,” I interrupt, “you did nothing wrong. I was the one pushing you away. You were worried about me and I snapped at you.”

      “I think” Zoey says, her eyes wide and begging from the couch where she reaches up for both of us, “that it’s fair to say none of us were at our best, and none of us are blameless.” Mira allows Zoey’s reaching hand to find hers, hanging limply by her side. “There’s nothing we can do for those we failed but vow to do better in the future.”

      I nod, eyes downcast. I can’t forgive myself. Mira allows Zoey to pull her back to the couch and wrap an arm around her shoulders, other hand smoothing out her pink hair before she reaches for me. When I don’t make any move to take her hand, she pats the couch beside her.

      Relenting, I return to my spot just out of reach, feet tucked beneath me as I cross my knees and drag the blanket from the floor.

      “I know you’re one of us, by the way,” Mira says. “I never should have implied that you were anything but a hunter. It was a cheap shot. I was frustrated and hurt.”

      “I’m sorry for using your insecurities to keep you away. It was cruel.”

      “It’s what I get for backing you into a corner, I suppose. I’m always pushing too hard.”

      I shake my head. “That doesn’t make it okay for me to say such disgusting things. I know you were only trying to help.”

      Zoey breaks a snack in half, offering one to both of us. “Eat this together and declare peace,” she says in her bubbly way, overly cheery to soothe us. We both smile at her and take our half at the same time, as perfectly in sync as we are on stage.

      Strength slowly returns to me, if only in drops, and I manage to summon some bravery for the next part of my confession. “It’s not the first time my hesitation has put you guys at risk,” I drag out. “when we fought the Saja Boys in the bathhouse, Jinu tore my jacket, saw the patterns on my arm. It’s how he figured things out, lured me into talking with him in the first place.” I swallow my hold habits, refusing to back down and hide from the apologies I owe them, even if that seems to be all I have left to offer. “You two were pinned because I was panicking, trying to figure out how to hide my patterns from you.”

      “So you weren’t wrapping an injury with that cloth?” Zoey asks, without the accusation I expect. “That’s a relief.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” Mira adds with a smile. “It worked out in the end.”

      My mouth opens and shuts a few times as I debate arguing, finally deciding to let it rest, for now at least. “Jinu’s the one who wrapped my arm, by the way. He saw me cowering from you when you were turning towards me.”

      “That’s, strangely decent of him?” Zoey tilts her head to one side, eyebrow raised. “Safe to assume that added to your general confusion about the evil, unfeelingness of demons?”

      “Yeah.”

      “That’s why you were talking to that demon in the street.” Mira slaps her knee as she shouts, satisfaction at an answer granted bringing new light to her eyes. “Now it’s all making sense. Sorry for interrupting you I guess,” she adds with a chuckle.

      One corner of my mouth tugs upwards despite myself, an unexpectedly easy breath entering my lungs.

      “Lots of little things throughout the years suddenly mean so much more now that we know about your patterns,” Zoey says. “No wonder you insisted on such ridiculously warm outfits even when training. I almost died watching you, you know. I get hot just thinking about it.”

      “I almost died, too.” Another ember of hope lights, another bit of normalcy saved.

Chapter Text

      “Rumi, stop!” Zoey begs from behind me as I stalk Mira, her Gok-Do held before me. The blade’s glow flickers, dims, goes dark, turning impossibly heavy in Mira’s hands. She grunts and stumbles as it clangs against the concrete, blade digging in.

      I laugh and kick her wrists, a snap echoing through the space. Mira’s eyes water with pain as she holds her two broken wrists in front of her. She doesn’t look at me.

      The scuff of a shoe behind me draws my attention to Zoey as she darts around and places herself between Mira and I despite being unarmed, her Shin-kal turning dark before dissolving into ash.

      “No,” Zoey gasps, staring at her empty hands.

      Another twisted chuckle exits my throat as I grin at her. “Don’t worry, little Zoey. I’ll make it fast. I know how you don’t like watching people fight. Consider this a gift from me to you, even though you betrayed me, even though you raised your weapons against me. I won’t let you be around to watch us fight. You won’t have to pick a side.”

      My clawed hands flex, opening and closing as I speak.

      “Please Rumi, this isn’t you.” Her eyes are wide and full of fear. It does nothing but please me.

      “This is the real me.” I lunge, tearing through everything that makes Zoey, Zoey. I throw her body to the side, discarding her the way she discarded me.

      Mira sobs, eyes fixed on her friend. Her Gok-do vanishes from where it still sits dark and embedded in the concrete, only to reappear in her hands. The weight cannot be supported by her injuries. The lifeless blade disappears as she yelps.

      “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to fight me. You just didn’t want to lose.” Taunts fall from my lips, coated in glorious satisfaction. “Or maybe this is what I wanted, after so many years spent hiding, posing as a hunter, pretending to be one of you. I am so much more.”

      Mira doesn’t even bother to call my name as Zoey had, defeat and fear thick in her laboured breathing. I smell her blood as I prowl closer, claws gently tearing through the first layers of flesh as I slowly push her against the wall.

      “Too bad Celine never told you what I was, maybe you all could have worked fast enough to kill me when you had the chance. After all, Celine always knew this was me.”

      Bleeding wounds open without my touching her, running down her arms, her back. She pants, pained. I bring my mouth closer to her throat, fangs grazing it gently, almost tenderly. I have waited for so long for this moment, this revenge. After so many years listening to them tell me what monsters demons are, I will enjoy showing her just how monstrous I really am.

      Once Mira’s throat is gone she slumps, dead weight in my hands. Her eyes empty, her breathing slows. Slowly, I pull my claws from her shoulders, the only things still supporting her. She falls in a heap at my feet. “Finally, I am free to live as I truly am,” I say to no one, the orange glow of my eyes shining brighter than the magenta of my patterns, lighting the way before me.

***

      I can’t breathe. Where is the air? Why can’t I see? I can’t breathe. My shoulder hurts. My head hurts. I’m so cold. I’m so hot. Why can’t I breathe? Where are they?

      I cough as the air finally forces its way into my lungs, erratic and unsteady. I lurch upright, dizzy the moment I’m sitting. One hand clutches my chest, the other my head, digging through my hair, tangled and spread everywhere. The delicate shimmer of my patterns on my arm frightens me, my heart stuttering in my chest as I rip my hands away from myself.

      “Rumi?” Zoey’s voice leaks through the door, concern where moments ago I heard fear.

      I killed her. I tore her.

      I shake my head, willing the image away and failing. My body trembles beneath the tangled blankets, my feet trapped by the fabric twisting around them. I dig at the blankets with shaking hands as I struggle to free myself.

      “Are you okay?” She asks again. I can hear in her tone that she knows I am awake, I won’t be able to stay silent. I promised myself to be better for them, to keep them from my unstable fluctuations.

      “Yeah,” I shout back, cringing at the snag in my voice.

      “We heard you,” Mira answers, sending my heart running for cover. “Can we come in?”

      “I’m okay. Go back to bed.” My voice is better this time, smoother, but colder with the effort. My feet are free at last, granting me one more small breath as I dart to my feet.

      “Rumi,” she says again.

      I cut her off before she can ask again, emotions running too high. I regret snapping at her the moment the words leave my lips. “No. I’m fine. Let me go back to sleep.”

      So much for doing better, I grumble in my head.

      “If you want to talk, you know where to find us,” Zoey answers after a long, long silence. I imagine her silently pleading with Mira not to push it, her eyes full of anxiety, Mira’s full of anger. She must hate me right now, for keeping secrets after everything.

      I leave her offer floating in the dark, letting it drop dead in the silence. I hardly hear their feet as they leave, the pounding in my head too loud. Frost coats my limbs as the heat of my nightmare fades, leaving me trembling where I stand rooted to the floor in the middle of my room. I don’t know how long I spend standing there, fingers tracing human nails, tongue flicking over human teeth. Long enough for the sun to begin tinting the sky with enough light to show me the torn fabric of my bed sheets.

      The sight turns my blood to slush, my tremors growing as I freeze further. Did I tear them with these hands as I panicked, or did I shift? Did those vile, dangerous, purple claws do this?

      Am I still a threat to the girls, even when I think I’m in control?

      My stomach gives me little warning before I vomit, hardly making it to my bathroom in time. The lights strain my eyes, too bright. The silence burns my ears. I turn the shower on and the lights off, leaving my clothes full of long dried sweat on the floor and guiding myself by touch into the stream of hot water. It takes what feels like hours for the heat to sink into my bones, thawing me from the fear. I let the volume of the shower flood my head.

      My mind empties slowly and painfully, flashes of the dream filling it every time my nails brush my skin as I wash myself, going through the motions. I wrap a towel around myself as I leave the bathroom, doing my best to avoid seeing my patterns.

      It’s been a long, long time since I was this afraid of them.

      For all that I have hated them, and slowly begun remembering a time before that, I have not as often feared them. I always resented what they meant about me, without always connecting the meaning to the risks. I hated them for making me lesser, for keeping me separate from the girls, for making Celine a firm teacher when I needed more. I usually managed to forget they made me a danger to them.

      I don’t even pretend to debate revealing fashions today, grabbing the first long sleeved shirt and sweater I see. My eyes burn with exhaustion strong enough to have me questioning my resolve to make the girls breakfast, but only for a moment. After snapping at them the way I did last night, after resolving to keep them hidden from my emotional turmoil, the very least I owe them this morning is a delicious spread.

      My eyes flit over to my torn bed sheets as I head for the door, stopping me. I stare at the tears for only a few seconds, ripping them off my bed with a snarl and throwing them in my wastebasket, overflowing. I grab the clippers and trim my nails as short as possible, disregarding the remaining golden polish. Finally feeling as ready as possible I head out to make the girls breakfast, only to find Mira already standing in the kitchen.

      She notices me before I can retreat, not even sure if that’s what I would have done.

      “Hey,” she says cautiously, eyes tracing every inch of me.

      “Want me to take over?” I offer, a flimsy, thin branch of a peace offering as I walk up to the counter, every ounce of effort focused on keeping my stride casual and relaxed.

      “I’m almost done.”

      “Okay. I’ll be in my room, then,” I answer as I take a step back, hating how awkward I’ve made things with my erratic behaviour.

      “You don’t want any?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

      “Nah, not hungry. I was just going to make something for you two.” My stomach clenches at the thought of no food, even though my mouth is grateful. I suspect I wouldn’t be able to taste anything.

      “Stay out here with us?” Zoey asks as she appears beside me, rubbing one sleepy eye with her hand.

      I shrug, not feeling like I would get away with vanishing today, not with the skeptical way Mira watches me, not with the way I barked at them last night. Or does it count as this morning? “Okay.”

      Mira returns to her cooking, tension lining her shoulders as she preps only two bowls.

      “Do you want to talk about it?” Zoey asks, watching me.

      I don’t look at her, keeping my vision focused on my short nails, tapping my fingers against the counter to a random tune, a song from our early years, I realize after a few seconds. “Nothing to talk about.”

      “You sure?” she asks hesitantly, giving me another chance to talk without putting any pressure on me.

      Mira looks up at me as she passes Zoey her food, hope in her eyes. I know she wants me to be honest, I know she wants me to talk to them. Aside from all things related to my patterns, I did used to talk to them on the bad days, it wouldn’t be a betrayal of my promise to keep steady for them. I would talk to them when I had dreams about my mother, when I had days I trained too hard and they had to drag me from the arena before I strained myself, when I missed the Golden release performance.

      Desperate not to push the girls away further than I had before, to keep from worrying Zoey or disappointing Mira, I compromise with them, with myself.

      “It was just a dream. A bad one. But I’m okay.” Only part of it is a lie. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

      “Did you manage to fall asleep?” The look Mira gives me as she asks tells me that she can see the answer. I shake my head.

      Her expression softens.

      “You don’t have to wear sweaters all the time now,” she changes the topic. “We know about them now, after all.”

      I wince, images flashing in my head. “Today isn’t the day,” I mutter.

      “Isn’t the day to show us, or isn’t the day to show yourself?” she asks, understanding. It sounds like less of a question and more of a statement. “Did the nightmare have something to do with them?”

      I nod, eyes burning with exhaustion.

      “I think today needs to be a nice, fun, casual day,” Zoey chirps, catching our attention. “Your nerves are probably fried. No heavy talk today!”

      The corner of my mouth twitches. “Have something in mind?”

      “Hmmm, only twenty-three activities,” she answers, mocking herself. “You’ve never taken the time to sit down and just do a hobby, you’re such a workaholic that you did nothing but train and practice the days away. Even when we managed to make you calm down, you just did whatever we were doing. Is there a hobby you’ve wished to try?”

      I blink a few times, caught off guard. “I, don’t think so? I’m not sure I even know what I like to do outside of work.”

      “That’s kinda sad,” Mira says.

      “Well we’re going to change that today!” Zoey announces to the room, bouncing up and planting her hands on her hips.

Chapter Text

      “How about painting?” Zoey says with sparkles in her eyes.

      “Do we even have paint in here?” Mira asks.

      “I can go buy some, I’ll grab so many colours we can paint anything we want. Oh but this is supposed to be your chance to do what you want,” Zoey faces me. “Do you want to paint? We can try whatever you want.”

      “Painting sounds fun,” I answer, meaning it.

      “I’ll be back soon then!” Zoey dashes out, giddiness in her steps.

      “Should we have told her to buy a tarp for the floor?” Mira smirks.

      “Probably.”

      “I’m gonna go get dressed in something I don’t mind turning neon.” Mira heads to her room, long pink hair swaying behind her.

      Despite the fact that it’s been only minutes since I turned down food, Zoey’s cheeriness has already lightened my mood enough for my stomach to rumble with more demand. She’s always had the power to help Mira and I, even when she wasn’t aware of it. I hope we have been able to help her equally. So often she slips into the role of a caretaker, a peacemaker as she was during her childhood that I worry sometimes that she forgets she is allowed to be the one being taken care of.

      I grab a snack and munch on it as Mira returns, coming out with her hair tied back in a mismatched outfit, neither piece one I’ve seen her wear in a long time.

      “I thought you weren’t hungry?” Mira asks, eyes narrowed.

      “I thought so too.” I shrug, “Zoey’s infectious.”

      A low chuckle comes from Mira at my words, her shoulders relaxing. “She is that. Like a puppy.”

      The two of us kill time waiting for Zoey’s return, finally hearing her approach with grunting. Clattering fills the room as she spills through the doorway, bottles of paint rolling across the floor from a traitorous bag as she fumbles to hold onto three canvases.

      “Maybe we should have gone with you,” Mira says, stopping a bottle with her foot. “If we’d known you would buy every colour they have.”

      “I wanted to make sure we could paint anything and everything,” she pouts. “No limits, only imagination.”

      “I’d better like painting or these will last us forever.” I pick up a few stray bottles, admiring the colours. This one reminds me of Zoey, her favourite colour of sea foam green. I can see why she likes it.

      “I’m sure we’ll find some use for it,” Zoey chirps as she kicks another stray bottle towards the couch, clutching those remaining in her arms with desperation as she follows the bottle. Mira chuckles as she watches Zoey drop to her knees, releasing the bottles with a great amount of clattering and spreading her arms wide. “Let’s paint! What are you guys going to paint?” She asks as she starts tearing at the plastic wrapping the fresh canvas.

      I ease myself to the floor across the coffee table from her with the couch to my back, delicately grabbing my own canvas. The empty white expanse catches my eye as I stare at it, at the potential. These fibres hold no fear for what I will do to them, no expectations for perfect brushstrokes, they seem to yearn for any colour without hesitation.

      “I think I’m going to paint the three of us standing on stage, surrounded by the lights,” Mira answers as she tears the plastic off her canvas.

      “That’ll look so cool,” Zoey says, already forgetting her own project and looking towards Mira’s.

      “I’m joking, I’m terrible with lighting. I’ll probably do a tiger or something.”

      “Aw. I’m going to paint us then.” Zoey grabs a brush and starts applying colours in a chaotic fashion I can’t begin to follow, back curved as she hunches over her work.

      “I think I’ll try to paint you guys too,” I finally decide. “Hopefully you’ll at least be able to recognize yourselves.”

      “Well if both of you are painting us then I guess I have no choice,” Mira says.

      Hours pass in a blur of paint and laughter as we take turns staring at our works in horror, appalled at the results of zero practice. In the end we find ourselves with three semi-recognizable paintings and only one bumped bottle of paint on the floor.

      “I think I’m done,” Zoey announces. “If I don’t stop now I’ll go too far.”

      “That moment was so far ago,” Mira says as she stares at her painting, an amused wince on her face.

      Zoey lifts her painting and tilts it towards me, a grin on her face as she watches me examine her canvas. The reason for her giddy grin soon becomes clear as my eyes trace over the three slightly deformed figures before me. One of which has pastel patterns on her skin.

      “It looks great, Zo,” I tell her honestly, forcing my eyes away from the burning marks, their echo felt on my arms.

      “So do you,” she answers. “Patterns and all.”

      “Some would argue that you look even better than your painted counterpart,” Mira adds. “Not that you didn’t do a great job Zoey.”

      The back of my neck burns for a new reason unrelated to the patterns at the unexpectedly timed compliment, a mixture of shame and delight at their words. What if they had always known my patterns, always praised them this way, would I still hate them as I do, or would I have accepted them the way I did as a child, before Celine found them? Deep down, I know the answer.

      “Yours looks great Rumi!” Zoey basically drapes herself over the table looking at my canvas. “I can’t believe this is your first time painting.”

      “Figures, you would be good at this too,” Mira laughs.

      “Thanks.”

      “And we only got a bit of paint everywhere.” Zoey holds her hands out, threatening to plant her palm print on my shirt. I dodge to the side, scurrying out from between the table and the couch, leaving Mira to her fate.

      “Zoey!” she squeals, unable to rise from her position fast enough as Zoey spreads teal paint down Mira’s arm with an evil grin on her face. She retaliates, running her fingers through the leftover paints on her palette and dragging them across Zoey’s face, streaking colour from cheek to cheek.

      Zoey pretends to bite Mira’s fingers as they pass, jolting forward without actually making contact.

      “Just so you know,” she says, “paint tastes terrible.”

      “I’m just glad I changed into these clothes,” Mira says, examining herself. “I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

      “I would act offended, but it would be a lie. What fun is paint if it’s not a little messy.”

      “There’s no mess on me, yet I had a good time,” I answer from a safe distance, earning a tongue stuck in my direction.

      “Good, you can be the one to change my now teal bandages then,” Mira says. “Since someone decided to contaminate them.”

      Zoey rolls her eyes, still smirking. She looks one word away from a second attack.

      I hesitate, not wanting to break the peace of the day the girls have tried so hard to bring me, yet not wanting to push Mira into something she’s not comfortable with. The memory of her flinching from my touch flashes in my mind’s eye, taunting. It doesn’t matter if Zoey painted my patterns, they are more than just decorative lines.

      “You trust me to change your bandages?” I ask tentatively, my voice smaller than I intended it to be. My eyes find themselves heavy, not quite able to look up and meet Mira’s.

      “I do,” she answers immediately. “I know you don’t want to hurt me, I never should have flinched. Gwi-Ma is to blame, not you. Never you.” She props herself on the arm of the couch and holds an arm out to me, a painted offering.

      “It wasn’t Gwi-Ma,” I whisper. “It was me. I said those things. I did those things.”

      Mira’s reaction is contained to a few quick blinks, the slightest dip of her arm.

      “What do you mean?” Zoey asks. I can hear an undertone of worry, but the fact that it is merely an undertone surprises me. It is buried underneath her calm, warm tone, gently telling me that they will listen.

      This time, they will listen.

      My breath comes to me unsteadily, slowly filling my lungs, pushing through the tightness as I struggle with myself. When the words finally reach my lips, they tumble out slowly, a trickle of confessions.

      “I spent so long telling myself that I am wrong, a mistake. It hurt every time, because in the beginning I had accepted myself, the way a child does when they don’t know any better. As the years past and the lesson of my default inferiority was drilled into me, I struggled, I didn’t know how to deal with the injustice I felt at being born not enough when it wasn’t something I could have chosen. I spent years begging Celine to love me as I am because I remembered a time when I loved myself, and it’s only when I stopped that a seed of anger was planted. Every time Celine rejected me, refused to touch me, that seed was watered. I never let myself feel it, I shoved it down deep where I could pretend it didn’t exist, because I had no right feeling wronged when Celine was right.”

      I pause, jaw tight as I fight the tears that threaten to spill, refusing to taint this day more than I already have.

      Once I have collected myself well enough that I feel confident I can speak without weeping, I continue. “When you raised your weapons and rejected me the way Celine always said you would, that anger finally burst. It was like I left my mind, my body. I wasn’t thinking, I was only feeling and acting on those feelings, no matter how irrational. I couldn’t stop because I was hardly aware of myself.”

      “I understand,” Mira says after I am silent a few moments. “Looking back, I can see it now, and I feel like an idiot for not recognizing that sooner. That uncontrollable anger you felt at being so rejected and hurt and spending so many years holding it back, that’s the same anger I used to be plagued by, before I joined Huntrix. I would lash out at my family whenever the weight of being denied and outcast too many times got too heavy to carry. It can be so hard to hold yourself back when that haze covers your vision, when your mind shuts down under it all.”

      “That’s different,” I snap with disappointment angled towards myself. “You never tried to kill them, and they weren’t your family in the ways that matter, not like you two are for me.” I cover my mouth with a hand, the sticky film of fear clinging to my mind as memories of that night attempt to drown me. “I could have killed you.”

      “You wouldn’t have,” Zoey answers, beating Mira who’s mouth opened a second slower. “You’re far too skilled a hunter for us to have survived if you really wanted us dead, and yet here we are.”

      “Not without injury.”

      “You were injured too, we hurt you.” Mira’s face pulls tight as she speaks, eyebrows pinched, mouth twisted in a grimace. “I keep having nightmares about it. If you had asked me to kill you instead of Celine, really asked me, would I have done it? I was already holding my Gok-Do.”

      “Never,” I answer without hesitation, this subject one I have no doubts about. “You were using only blunt attacks, you never drew blood.”

      “I hated myself for raising my weapon at all, and I could see you were holding back, conflicted. I was confused and hurt by your revelations at first, but at the end of the fight you had more than enough time to kill me and didn’t. I knew you were in there. At the time I thought you were fighting Gwi-Ma in your head.”

      “I understand feeling like you’re not enough,” Zoey says, “but it’s very important to me that you understand now that you are enough. More than enough. You don’t have to do or be anything other than yourself to be enough. I wouldn’t change a thing. If anyone ever makes you feel inferior again, if anyone tries to replant that seed,” Zoey winks at me, “send Mira after them.”

      Her sincerity lands like drops of salve on old wounds in my heart, begging to heal. I throw her the smallest of smiles, a weak attempt to accept her words. Mira flashes me a vicious grin.

Chapter Text

      “Are you certain you don’t want Zoey to do it?” I ask Mira, my hands hovering over her bandages.

      “Completely,” she answers firmly. “If you I let her do it, I’ll end up somehow covered in more paint than I am now.” She keeps her tone dry yet sincere, a mixture only Mira seems capable of harnessing. Letting me know that paint isn’t the true reason she is choosing me.

      “I’m worried,” I say, voice hardly past a whisper. “What if I lose control again?”

      “You’re not shoving anything else down anymore, are you? You said it was caused by suppressing so much, right?”

      “Right.”

      A few more seconds pass before Mira speaks again, a tone so gentle it almost stings. “I trust you.”

      I blink a few times, cheeks threatening to turn pink at the faith she places in me, so undeserved. Taking a subtle breath I begin, motions familiar enough to be easy.

      Until it isn’t.

      My hands blur before my eyes, their shape weaving in and out of focus. Are those claws? I lick my lips, abruptly parched, my skin burning with panic. No one else is reacting. Are they real?

      Cautiously, sick to my stomach, trying to make it look casual, I quickly rub my thumbs over my fingertips, nearly shuddering with relief to find the nails still short and round, despite the fact that my eyes still report curved, purple claws. Claws that were covered in blood. Claws that tore through the skin of the people I care about most.

      “What happened to your nails?” Mira asks. She sees everything. “They’re so short.”

      “The polish is in shambles too,” Zoey says as she leans in closer. “Did you let a rabid raccoon chew on them?” From anyone else, those words could sound insulting. From Zoey, I know she is trying to entertain me, distract me from my nerves.

      “Yes, that is exactly it,” I answer a little breathless, forcing my hands to continue following the routine even if I can’t see it clearly. The years of patching wounds for myself and my girls has one small, tiny silver lining.

      Zoey snatches my hand as I pull away from Mira, bandages pristine. Spots dance in my vision as my heart stops and my blood pressure drops, the panic spiking to a new level. She sees the claws, they are real. Cool moisture pulls me back to reality as she smears paint quickly across my fingernails, a crooked smile stretching across her face from ear to ear.

      “Got you! These are the best nails you’ve ever worn.” She nods proudly as she stares at her work, the paint coating far more than just my nails in her hurried attack.

      A huff escapes me as my lungs release, air finding it’s way back to me. No way would she have painted them if they were claws.

      “You were way too clean before. I couldn’t let Mira be the only victim. Sharing is caring.”

      Mira smacks Zoey ever so lightly on the back of the head, shaking her own. The mirth in her movements does something to the panic in my system, like pulling the plug out of a drain. My vision stabilizes, phantom claws vanishing, fever receding.

      “I’m going to go get us food,” she announces as she heads for the door. “I’m feeling takeout today, part of the party. Anyone want anything specific?”

      “One of everything,” Zoey calls across the room, ringing in my ears. I doubt she’s entirely joking.

      “Whatever is fine,” I answer. Mira hesitates on the threshold for a moment, lips pinching as she looks at me. Her pause lasts long enough that I almost expect her to change her mind and start cooking after all. She looks unsatisfied when she turns away and closes the door behind her.

      “I’ll clean up all this later,” Zoey says, flourishing her hands towards the table, oblivious to Mira’s odd behaviour. “Gonna take a quick shower before she gets back.”

      “Don’t worry about that, I’ll do it.” I reach for the bottles, wondering if this will be a hobby I pick up or if this was a one time event. Did I enjoy it? I enjoyed doing it with them, but is that because I enjoy every moment I spend with them, or is it because I enjoyed the activity itself. What do I like?

      I grab an abandoned paintbrush, the paint already drying on the bristles. I rinse it off before facing my canvas, staring absentmindedly at the art. Did I enjoy this?

      Without thinking, I dip the brush in some leftover paint, slowly placing new lines before I realize what it is I’m painting. I throw the brush into a jar of water bitterly, almost as though blaming it for what I did.

      Mira’s wounds, brought back to life in crimson pigment.

      Disgust curls my lip as I stare at it so long that the thin streaks of paint dry. Only the sound of Zoey’s not so quick shower shutting off draws me out of my daze. Realizing she expects to see a tidied room and knowing she’ll ask to see what I’ve painted if the paints still look like they’re being used, I frantically dart to the closest and grab a bag, sweeping armfuls of bottles from the table into the bag. I toss all of the brushes into the water jar, even the ones that weren’t used, and set it next to the sink to await proper cleaning.

      Out of time I shove my canvas down into the crack between two cushions and lean back, forcing my body into a relaxed pose as I pretend to be admiring the remaining paintings. It wouldn’t be weird to admire their work for this long, would it? Is this what normal people do?

      “Where’d yours go?” Zoey asks from behind me, peering over my shoulder. Stray drops of water land on my sleeves, a loose tendril of hair having escaped her towel. “Man, I should have stopped earlier. Mira was right.”

      A soft smile creeps it’s way out of me, genuine. “It’s perfect,” I tell her, meaning it. Almost meaning it, I correct myself as I avoid looking at my painted patterns again. I want to believe it’s perfect.

      Mira’s return is perfectly timed, the arrival of warm food and sweet snacks distracting Zoey from what was sure to be a followup about my missing canvas. She places the bags on the table without flourish, far more gracefully than Zoey had with the paint supplies.

      “They refused to sell me one of everything, but I did the best I could.”

      “At least you tried,” Zoey says as she clambers over the couch, tearing through the bags to lay the spread before us. True to Mira’s words, every inch of the surface is drowned in snacks and treats. I even spot a few American candies among the clutter, which are quickly spotted by Zoey and snatched like she is suddenly made of lighting.

      “You found Sour Patch Kids?” she nearly screeches as she tears the bag open with the same ferocity she displays in a fight. Her eyes close in delight as she pops a candy into her mouth. “You guys have to try these.”

      Mira takes an offered candy with skepticism on her face.

      I shake my head to Zoey, summoning her puppy dog eyes. “I’m good, thanks.”

      “Rumi,” she whines, dragging my name out several seconds. “You know how much I like sharing my American things with you two.”

      How am I supposed to turn her down with such an argument?

      “Why don’t you want it, Rumi?” Mira asks me. Her eyes have that all-seeing glint in them, dancing right alongside the one that says you’re hiding something from me.

      “Just not in the mood. Maybe later?” I try weakly.

      Mira’s lips tighten, eyes narrowing. She starts stacking snacks and shoving some onto the floor, making space for herself as she sits on the table with a finality that tells me I won’t be escaping this conversation. She crosses one leg over the other and her arms over her chest, sitting there facing my suddenly chilly space on the couch.

      “Rumi,” she starts. I try not to flinch. “I have always respected your space, I understand that sometimes there are things a person just doesn’t want to share, and you have the right to that privacy. However,” she takes a bracing breath, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Last time I let you keep your walls, I almost lost you.” Her voice grows a hoarseness not often present unless she’s in the deepest states of distress. She is so much more open and vulnerable than she was when we met, when she was prickly and full of her own walls to keep her heart safe, but she’s still her. Sometimes she summons echoes of those walls to keep herself composed.

      I dip my head, shame tinting my cheeks. Zoey reaches for my hand before seeming to change her mind. My heart sends a sharp stab through my system at the thought that my recent behaviour has begun teaching her not to touch me. Zoey loves physical contact. Instead, she settles for pivoting on the couch next to me, facing me with her most open expression. The one she pulls out whenever she wants her girls to know she’s there for them. The warmth on my cheeks turns into a burn in my chest at that expression.

      “I know the last few days have been hard, and that you’ve spent your life hiding a secret you believed would cost you everything, that it might take some time to break old habits. I don’t want to push too hard and violate your right to privacy, but,” her eyes dart down uncharacteristically, her voice turning smaller than I’ve ever heard it, “I’m scared, Rumi.”

      “Mira,” I say though a thickening throat.

      “I saw you hiding something that was burning you and I let it, I backed off and tried to accept that if you needed help you would come to us for it. I can’t stop wondering if I should have pressed harder, if there was something I could have done to convince you that you were safe talking to us. I see you hiding something again, I see you being burned again. You keep refusing to eat.” Her eyes swim with worry, disarming me.

      “I’ve been eating,” I tell her, aiming for my most reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”

      Mira stills, even her breathing seeming to hesitate. “Don’t lie to me.”

      Mira,” Zoey cautions.

      “Maybe you have been eating when we’re not around, and you’ve been eating the things you make us, but you haven’t taken a single bite of anything Zoey or I have brought you.”

      Zoey blinks a few times, undoubtedly replaying the last few days in her memory.

      Mira’s arms drop as she leans forward, eyes boring into mine. “Why?” Please talk to me this time, please trust us. I can nearly near the thoughts pouring out of her almost trembling body.

      Isn’t this the sort of opportunity for honesty I had wished to take her up on so many times in the past? I keep telling myself that I would keep myself under control for my girls, but how am I supposed to do that if I harbour secrets like I did in the past. Secrets brought me to a place in which I lost control in the first place.

      Besides, I’m tired.

      I’m tired of keeping secrets, big or small.

      “I don’t deserve your kindness, your time, your money, your effort,” I ramble in a whisper.

      “Because of the attack?” Zoey asks softly.

      I nod.

      “You’ve been punishing yourself for it all this time?” Her voice cracks as her eyes water. “We forgave you, Rumi.”

      “I can’t forgive myself, not yet. Maybe never. I almost killed you.”

      “We’ve been over this,” Mira says, ever earnest. “If you really wanted us dead, we’d be dead. We drew our weapons first. I drew my weapon first.”

      “She’s right, Rumi. You can’t keep punishing yourself for something we drove you to do. Which ironically is something we’re blaming ourselves for and it’s so hard to keep from punishing myself for it when I hear you begging me to listen every time I close my eyes. Maybe we all need to stop blaming ourselves.”

      Zoey’s frantically sped words are so earnest they almost concern me. She will remember to take a breath, won’t she?

      “You’ve always been so harsh towards yourself, to the point of self abuse, neglecting yourself in favour of working for perfection. It kills us to watch you treat yourself as though you matter less than us, as though your mistakes are unforgivable, like they define you. You try so hard to be perfect that the moment you aren’t, the moment you’re human, you hold it to yourself with a severity you never hold us to.”

      “The moment I’m human,” I chuckle, attempting to lighten the load on her shoulders.

      “You know what I mean,” Zoey says, her face serious. “Knowing now why you thought you had to be perfect doesn’t make it better. You can’t keep punishing yourself for everything.”

      “You deserve the same forgiveness that you so readily hand out to us,” Mira adds.

      “Besides, we can’t eat all of this on our own,” Zoey jokes, her demeanour morphing to it’s regular bubbliness. She clearly wants to show me that no matter how stern she was being, she is not mad.

      “If you’re going to trick her into forgiving herself, try using an argument that’s not so blatantly false.” Mira throws a bag of hard candies at Zoey’s lap. “We all know these snacks don’t stand a chance.”

      “I lied to you. I hurt you.” The words almost can’t make it through my throat. They love me as much as I love them. “Celine always made sure I knew that I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, my mission was too important to be anything less than perfect. Hurting you is the biggest mistake of my entire life. I can’t just, walk away from it without consequences.”

      “Some mistakes come with natural consequences, the regret and remorse you’ve felt since that night has been far more of a consequence than we ever wanted you to feel. It was an honest mistake. You weren’t careless. You did your best.” Zoey continues to use her softest, gentlest voice, melting me from the inside out. “You did your best.”

      “It’s enough,” Mira says, holding out a shrimp cracker. “You’re enough.”

Chapter Text

      Sunshine coats the world with butter as it begins to creep over the skyline, dusting the rooftops below me where I lean against the metal railing on my balcony. Its cool metal bites into my forearms, the sensation almost refreshing. The heat brought to my skin from the nightmare is long since gone, even if the images linger in my mind. Zoey against the wall. Mira’s grunt of pain. They’re foggier than usual, their potency diminishing with every day.

      Mira has been cooking every day, plating our meals so decadently that I couldn’t refuse, knowing that she was making our food with such love. Zoey has been scouring the shops for American snacks, determined to feed me a new one every day. We both know it is not just because she has a suddenly increased desire to show me her childhood treats. I have to admit however, some of them are worthy of the praise she gives them.

      It’s getting easier to take their offers without feeling nauseous about it, my hesitations are getting shorter. There is a part of me, the part that has spent the last years of my life sharing everything short of my secrets with them, that is slipping back into old routines. Sharing meals together feels natural when I shove the guilt aside.

      The girls are getting better at spotting when that guilt is rearing it’s head more enthusiastically, too.

      They see when I want to say no, claim that I’m not hungry at the moment. They know what to say to remind me that they forgive me, how to convince my heart that they mean it.

      I can feel it settling in, can feel myself slowly forgiving myself.

      My fingers idly run over my nails, regrowing from their short trim after the shredded bedding. It’s become an idle habit, constantly reminding myself that they are still human nails, calming my anxiety when I wake up from one of the dreams, when something reminds me of that moment on stage when the lights shattered.

      Wisps of hair flutter in my face in the breeze, tickling my face as I tilt my face down to my hands. I wonder if it is time to clip the nails shorter again, or if it would be okay for me to get them done, reclaim the gorgeous styles and colours they used to bear. I haven’t struggled to see them clearly since the first and thankfully only time, no phantom claws have appeared.

      My eyes wander from the nails to the patterns on my hands, travelling up my arms. Carefully, I let a finger trace the pale, iridescent patterns. Zoey’s painting comes to mind, the way she sees them as something worth painting into existence, rather than something to hide. Echos of my childhood voice whisper in my head that it’s okay for me to have patterns, the voice I thought had long died under Celine’s training and my own belief that I was not enough.

      The sun has eaten away the rest of the night in the streets by the time I peel myself from the balcony, skin chilled. Embracing the hint of acceptance in my mind, I decide today is a good day to wear one of the cute outfits Mira bought me years ago. My lungs stretch as I take a full breath, slowly releasing it and attempting to release my nerves with it as I exit my room.

      “Rumi! That looks so cute on you.” Zoey’s words threaten to deafen me as she calls out from her perch in the kitchen, drawing Mira’s attention and a raised eyebrow, utensil in hand at the stove. I flinch against my intentions, the weight and sharpness of their attention summoning old fears. My pulse is irregular, but not frenzied. My mouth is dry, but not parched.

      “She’s right,” Mira agrees. “The colours suit your patterns.”

      I unconsciously grab one shoulder, as though I can still cover them up. It takes all my effort to pry my hand from my skin, to finish walking to the kitchen and sit next to Zoey. I place my hands on the counter, fingers interlaced. “Thanks,” I say quietly.

      Mira’s expression flashes with something akin to guilt before she returns her attention to the stove. The smells emanating from it make my stomach growl, make me grateful they’ve convinced me to eat their food again.

      “I’m glad you’re not covering up,” Zoey says. Her warm brown eyes meet mine, full of a joy so complete that I find myself worrying about what the cost of my secrets has been on her and Mira. Have they felt a sense of distance from me all these years, as I have from them? They didn’t know that I was keeping such a secret, but my efforts to keep it kept me from being completely open with them, kept me from experiencing moments like the bathhouse with them. I know they’ve sensed my walls, I know they’ve wished the walls would crumble, but maybe it’s had more of an affect on them than I thought.

      “It feels, strange. I spent my life waiting for this openness, but also fearing it.”

      “That’s understandable.” Mira speaks as she places food in bowls and plates.

      I grab my serving, grateful to the girls that they are not watching my every movement as they did for the first few meals. The constant attention on me would transform my patterns into something burning.

      “I spent a lot of time wondering how you would react to my patterns, imagining different things you’d say, scenarios that could reveal them. Every time I put on clothes I had to check that it covered them no matter what sort of movements the fighting or dancing could contain, I couldn’t do anything without stopping to ask myself are they covered, am I safe? It was exhausting.” My shoulders slump.

      Zoey reaches for my hand, missing as I take a bite of my food to cover up my avoiding it.

      “Is this everything you hoped it would be?” She asks. “Wearing whatever you want, not having to stop and think about it all?”

      “It is, but I do still think about it constantly. It’s not that I think you’ll change your mind, I just,” I pause, contemplating, “my body just still doesn’t fully understand that everything has changed. Sometimes I see them and panic for a moment, start checking if you’ve seen them, or if I can slip away.”

      “You had to carry the weight of that stress for a long time, it’ll take some time to rewire your mind,” Mira says. “It will happen, though. We’ll make sure of it. I might still punch Celine for training this fear into you,” she grumbles.

      “I’ll hold her down,” Zoey says with one of her rare, savage smirks. Sometimes I’m reminded that there is a hunter under that innocent personality.

      I shake my head, conflicted, torn between resenting her actions, her refusal to accept me, and the desire to defend her. She only did what she thought would keep me safe, right? She seemed like maybe she really was oblivious to the ways it affected me.

      “To think,” Mira says almost under her breath, “a thin piece of fabric was all that stood between you feeling safe or feeling afraid.”

      Cover those up. Nothing can change, until your patterns are gone.

      We didn’t turn the Honmoon gold, but we did turn it iridescent, something that no other hunters have even considered. It didn’t erase my patterns. I failed my mission, yet I received the freedom I fought for.

      “Hunters through every generation have been focused on maintaining the Honmoon and strengthening it until it could be made gold. None of us ever considered defeating Gwi-Ma himself to be an option,” I voice my thoughts as they tumble through my mind.

      “What do you think this means for the future?” Mira asks, food slowing it’s journey to her mouth.

      “Do you think it means the Honmoon is still capable of breaking? The golden one was believed to be unbreakable,” Zoey adds. “Do you guys think demons will return? And what happens now that Gwi-Ma is gone, will they scatter without him, or will a new demon take his place?”

      “The theory is that demons feed on our souls for him, and he uses that strength to create more demons. During the Saja Boys’ time distracting our fans, demons consumed souls at an alarming rate. It seemed that there were more and more demons present at each new tear.” My voice sounds far away in my ears as I tunnel through the years of research stored in my memories. “Other demons are born when humans make deals.”

      “With him gone, does that system fall apart?” Mira asks.

      “What if a new king takes his place with new strategies we haven’t thought of, or bides his time until he can send hundreds and hundreds of demons out at once when we’re not expecting it?” Zoey’s concern mirrors my own. I would never be able to forgive myself if I let my guard down believing everyone to be safe, just to lose them. They deserve to have their hunters protecting them, not slacking off assuming that everything is settled.

      “I’ll do some research, and keep an eye on the Honmoon.” Something deep inside me clenches at the thought, at the realization that for all the ways I am now free, I will never be allowed to relax.

      “We all will. This isn’t your burden to shoulder, you’re not the only one in this fight. If there is still a fight.” The glint of a brewing fight sparks in Mira’s eyes again, her shoulders held back. It makes me nauseous that she is so ready to fight again. Neither she nor Zoey should have ever had to fight and bleed for as long as they had.

      “No, it’s okay. You two have earned your freedom, you’ve fought enough. You should focus on your music.”

      “And you haven’t earned yours?” Zoey says, a heat to her tone. Mira raises an eyebrow in her direction.

      “I don’t want you two to be so busy and tired again,” I answer, skirting around the side of Zoey’s question.

      “Yet it’s okay for you to run yourself ragged fighting on your own? You’ll be just as busy as us with the music side of things, and you think we’ll just let you head into battle alone between practices? That we’ll lounge around in the bathhouse after rehearsals while you’re out there putting yourself at risk again?”

      I blink, caught off guard by the anger in Zoey’s tone. Why is she fighting me so hard on this? Doesn’t she want to simply have fun with the music, rather than it being one half of a mission?

      “I’ll be okay. I’ll be as safe as possible, I promise.”

      Zoey clenches the utensil in her hands enough to tremble. “Things are different now, you don’t have to rush for the Honmoon, you don’t have to push yourself to the brink every day anymore. It was bad enough that you pushed yourself so relentlessly before, why do you insist on pushing even harder by yourself now?”

      I don’t remember the last time Zoey spoke to me this way, and despite knowing she is trying to protect me, it threatens to drag a sting to my eyes. My neck heats with shame as though I’ve been scolded, but I don’t understand what it is she’s scolding me for.

      “Rumi,” Mira says in that steady, stern way she does, “you said we should focus on our music. Who is our? Are you trying to say that you plan only to fight, while Zoey and I only perform?”

      My mouth opens and closes a few times before I can form words. Despite Mira’s understanding, it still feels as though there is a disconnect between us all. Zoey still stares at me like she has strong feelings to voice. “Yes? Why should I make you two fight again, your mission is done.”

      “Okay first of all,” Zoey says, the intensity in her posture shifting from indignation to something more sympathetic, “either our mission is done, or our mission is not, depending on whether or not this new Honmoon works the way the golden one was meant to.” Her eyebrows pull together, all traces of fight fleeing her body. “Secondly, why don’t you want to perform with us anymore? Was it something you only did for the Honmoon?”

      The sadness in her voice pulls at every string of my heart, bringing the sting of a fresh threat of tears to my eyes.

      “Zoey, no, it’s not like that. I do want to perform with you. I do. Performing with you, being part of Huntrix with you both, will always be the best part of my life.”

      “Then why are you leaving?” She sounds so young, so small. Mira reaches across the counter for her, running her fingers down her arm. The motion brings a lump to my throat, envy threatening to choke me. I yearn for that sort of affection, reassurance, comfort. A privilege I still cannot have. My skin aches for it.

      I avert my gaze and clench my jaw so hard that I fear my teeth turning into fangs under the pressure.

      “Am I not cast out?” I ask once I have enough control of my voice.

      “What are you talking about? Did Celine remove you? Bobby?” Mira asks.

      I shake my head.

      “Who cast you out, then? We can talk to Celine or Bobby and have your contract restored.”

      My hands fidget in my lap as I pin my gaze on the counter, not brave enough to meet their own. Ever since we got back from Namsam Tower, I’ve been fearing this moment. Foolishly, I’ve walked myself right into the conversation about my future with the girls that I had hoped avoiding could fix. Even more foolish was my belief that avoiding it forever could keep me with them.

      I find myself too cowardly to answer them, to voice my fear.

      Zoey sucks in a breath, breaking the silence. “Rumi. Do you think we are kicking you out?”

      I nod, the feeling in my ears turning fuzzy as though they can block her words from my heart.

      “After what’s happened,” I mutter, trailing off, unable to bear the sound of my own pitiful voice.

      “Despite everything we’ve talked about? Have you been waiting for the other shoe to drop? All this time?” Now Zoey sounds like she is the one choking on a lump in her throat. One hand rises to cover her chest, clenching at the shirt above her heart.

      “You still want to be part of Huntrix, right?” Mira asks.

      “Of course, but-”

      “No. Without you, without all three of us, there is no Huntrix.” Mira’s voice is absolute. It leaves no room for argument.

      My breath catches in my throat as my lungs stutter and my heart skips a beat, composure threatening to run from me the way I ran from the Idol Awards.

      “Oh Rumi,” Zoey says attempting to reach for me without hesitation this time. Despite the screaming in my skin I pull away again before she can make contact, hands grasping my own forearms. I can only hope that Mira mistakes my avoidance as old pattern habits.

      “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to turn Huntrix into a duo. I want you to know that. I want you to know that you have a choice in the matter, you don’t have to keep me in because you always have, or because you feel like you’re not allowed to remove me.”

      “Rumi,” the girls say at the same time, cutting me off. They shoot each other a lightly amused smirk.

      “We want you,” Zoey finishes.

      “After the Idol Awards, I left Zoey, abandoned her in the crowds. If I was going to raise a weapon to you, to my sister, then I didn’t deserve to have any family at all. The moment you sang and faced Gwi-Ma alone, I realized what a fool I had been. I’m never abandoning a member of my family again.”

      Mira’s words send a bolt of cold through me, picturing Zoey left standing alone. Zoey, who spent so many years feeling like she was not enough to keep her friends by her side. Picturing Mira feeling as though she broke and lost the family she finally had.

      They haven’t told me about anything that happened after I attacked them, before we were reunited, I realize. I have been so focused on my guilt that I never stopped to wonder what they went through in those long, plentiful minutes of unravelling.

      “We weren’t there to fight, Rumi. We betrayed you and lost ourselves. You brought us back. We belong together.” Zoey says. “Not that we want you in Huntrix because of some purpose, that’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m trying to say that we aren’t complete when we’re separate. When we found you again on that stage, we were made one again. The way we want it.”

      “If there are demons to fight, we’re fighting them with you. Just as it has always been.” Mira nods.

      I close my eyes, relief flooding my body in a single, vast wave. The world pivots and shifts below me as the wave knocks me off balance, swaying slightly on my seat. When I crack my eyes open again I am met with Zoey’s painfully sympathetic gaze.

      “I’m sorry for talking to you so roughly. It was so hard to watch you mistreating yourself back then, I couldn’t stand the idea of you putting yourself through all of that again.” The words pour out of her with fervour.

      I shake my head, threatening to trigger the dizziness again. “It’s okay. Thank you for caring enough to fight for me.” I nod to Mira as I speak, grateful to both of them for standing by my side when I won’t.

Chapter Text

      “Should we, call, Celine?” Zoey’s voice stumbles along in the forest of her uncertainty, wary of the wolves but in need of light. “I know we don’t like her right now, and she royally messed up raising you, but, she was a great hunter, and she’s been studying the Honmoon since before we were born.”

      “Zoey,” I say with a huff, smiling at her fondly. My heart warms from the mere concept of her concern over my feelings. “It’s okay. I think we should.” Despite the confidence I started my sentence with, my heart stutters. Am I ready to hear Celine’s voice again?

      Am I doing this wrong? Should I be hiding my fears and doing the research without having worried Mira and Zoey?

      What if we learn that demons can still harm people, and my new patterns are just as wrong as the original?

      Mira flicks my forehead, startling me back into the world outside my head. “Then we’ll fight them together, and continue teaching you that there is nothing wrong with your patterns, now or then.” Mira answers the question I had not realized I spoke out loud without my permission. Zoey nods her head with such violence that I worry she’ll develop a neck injury.

      I touch a hand to my face, embarrassment flushing through my system. “I’m getting sloppy. Imagine if I had made such a slip up before.”

      Zoey wheezes, clutching her sides as she laughs at the thought. “Would you like to go to the bathhouse with us, Rumi?” she says in a high, mocking voice. “No thank you, you’d see my patterns if I wore my swimsuit in front of you.”

      “Aren’t you hot in that sweater, Rumi?” Mira jumps in her voice filled with just as much humour. “Of course, but, you know, patterns.”

      “That is not what I sound like,” I scold them half-heartedly. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

      Zoey smacks the counter in front of her, giggling fiercely. “Hey Ru, what’re you thinking about? My patterns.”

      I shake my head, ignoring the way their words poke and prod at a hundred wounds laying just below my skin, slivers of self cut away day after day as I hid. They mean no harm with these jokes, and I am relieved that such situations can be seen as nothing more than fodder for their comedy. Not too long ago, this was a situation, a life, I couldn’t imagine living.

      Suddenly my throat is swollen for the second time this day. First, they have the love for me to keep me in Huntrix, now they laugh at my patterns like they aren’t a stain on my soul. As though they are nothing serious. Nothing to scorn.

      “You okay?” Mira asks me, her voice breaking me out of my thoughts. Zoey’s last chuckles die in her throat as she examines me, worry brought to the surface by Mira’s tone.

      Lifelong habits have me opening my mouth to tell them I’m fine, before I trample down on the instinct, mouth shutting. I shoot them a small, only slightly forced smile instead. I’m not sure it does anything soothe their concern.

      “Just thinking.”

      “About?” Zoey prompts. Her face is devastatingly open, waiting to hear the thoughts I would have been forced to keep to myself a few weeks ago.

      “Just, your jokes. Like I said, I used to spend a lot of time thinking about these sorts of scenarios. Sometimes ones in which I confess and you accept me. Usually though, times like this where I mess up and you, don’t, react, as well.” I stutter through the end of my sentence, realizing too late that I’m about to remind them that they did find out by mistake, and they didn’t react well.

      I plow ahead, hoping to bury that reminder in volume before it has time to reach their ears. “It’s funny to make jokes about it now though, now that you do know and they can be just jokes.”

      “I keep being reminded about just how many different times and ways you were forced to worry about all of this,” Zoey says, eyebrows pinched together. “And how many things you must have given up to keep your secrets. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made light of it. It wasn’t a joke to you.”

      “No, Zoey, it’s okay, really. It’s nice to have these reminders that everything is different now, that I don’t have to hide anymore. Even if that isn’t how I sounded,” I tack on at the end.

      “I’m glad.” Mira’s words are few, but they land on my heart like warm sunshine on butter, melting the sting of those old scenarios under their loving attention.

      “Seriously though,” I answer, feeling lighter, “imagine if it had been something so mundane that ratted me out after so many years of effort.”

      “Celine had way too tight a grip on you for that. Her training was ruthless but highly effective. A bit too effective.” Mira’s glare grows as she speaks, her eyes going distant in a way that warns of thunder.

      “Would this be a bad time to remind you that we agreed to call her?” I joke, faking a tensing body, as though I am a child about to be scolded. Thankfully, it works. The light returns to Mira’s eyes as she takes in my attempt at redirecting her mood.

      “Fantastic,” she mutters. “You’re sure you’re up for this?”

      I nod. “We need answers. If there is still a fight to have, I don’t want to bury my head in the sand.”

      Please, let there be no more fighting. I don’t know who I am outside of our mission, but I think I would like time and a chance to figure that out. To try more things like painting with my sisters.

      Stomach in my throat, I grab my phone and navigate to her contact, thumb hovering just over the icon. Zoey and Mira sit straighter, their focus pinned on the phone quivering ever so slightly in my hand, dishes shoved aside. I take a slow breath and hit the button before I can back out, setting it to speaker and placing it on the counter between us.

      Your faults and fears must never be seen.

      “Rumi?” Celine’s voice slices through the ringing in my head before I’ve taken a second breath. “Are you all right?” Something akin to real concern raising her pitch.

      I know she cares for me in her own way, don’t I? When did I start doubting that?

      “Yeah, I’m okay.” My answer doesn’t right as a lie in my ears.

      “How are Mira and Zoey?”

      “They’re good too. They’re here, actually. You’re on speaker.”

      “We had questions for you, as a hunter,” Mira interjects. I can hear the strain of keeping her voice anything near respectful. Or neutral, at least.

      A pause on the other end of the line that I can’t begin to decipher.

      “What is it?” She finally asks, her tone all business. Almost. There’s a film of uncertainty leaking from the speaker.

      “So we know the golden Honmoon was gonna keep Gwi-Ma and his pets contained, and you say it was going to remove Rumi’s patterns,” Zoey says, ignoring the scowl Mira shoots the phone at her last words, “but this new Honmoon isn’t gold and her patterns aren’t gone. Which is fine, we still don’t think there’s anything wrong with them, by the way.”

      I blink with surprise at the acid in Zoey’s words. Sometimes I forget that beneath the animal facts and the wide grin, a hunter lurks.

      “But we were wondering if that meant this new Honmoon wasn’t going to keep the demons out the way the golden one was, since it hasn’t removed her patterns either.”

      “We also weren’t sure if there would be ramifications for killing Gwi-Ma. It wasn’t in the original plan,” Mira adds, when Zoey pauses to take a breath. “We want to know if there is a need for us to remain on guard.”

      “We? So, the three of you are still hunters together, still Huntrix together?” Celine asks.

      Mira’s fingers curl into a fist on the counter. “What about it?” She asks, not a question at all.

      A soft sigh leaks from the speakers, nearly lost. “I’m glad. I’m happy for you, Rumi.”

      I swear I can hear a gentle smile on her face. It does something to my insides that I don’t know how to identify, the quiet happiness of this woman who’s approval I always sought. Her gifting me her relief.

      “As for your questions, I have been asking them myself as well. The research I’ve done over the last few days seems to indicate that this new Honmoon will be just as unbreakable as the golden one.”

      “Really? So, we did it?” Zoey leans forward, both elbows braced on the counter as though she will crawl through the phone to celebrate Celine’s news with her.

      “Though the method was far from what we had planned, yes, I believe so. The original Honmoon was destroyed, and that would typically be cause to worry about starting over, needing decades upon decades to restore it to it’s height of power. However,” she pauses, as though choosing her words carefully. The seconds fall through the air, weightless in my stomach. “I believe that this new Honmoon, created with one who possesses demon patterns, has a unique ability to lock out demons on it’s own.”

      The sting I expect to hear from her speaking of my patterns doesn’t come, perhaps because she does not spit the words out like something that could infect her.

      “The original was bound by the hunters weaving human souls to create the shield. A half-demon who has accepted her patterns seems to have an extra strength in her soul.”

      “You’re calling her a demon only biologically, right?” Mira practically snarls. Both fists are now clenched. “She’s a human. A person.”

      “Yes,” Celine answers. Perhaps she feels the burn of Mira’s rage against her ear, as she quickly adds “for as badly as I have mishandled everything about Rumi and her patterns, I have never considered her to be a demon. She is a hunter, like her mother.”

      “Those weren’t shallow, placating words?” I whisper, eyebrows drawn together. I think to all the days I spent chanting those words in my mind, begging my heart to believe them. The nights I would lay in bed, terrified of my own skin being unrecognizable by the time the sun rose. Those words were a raft in the ocean, the one thing keeping me afloat when the purple marring my shoulder threatened to drown me.

      “No, Rumi.”

      She attempts to add more, but I cut her off before she can do more than take a breath. “Why did you treat me like I was something to be disgusted by if you considered me a human the whole time? Why did you never approve of me no matter how hard I trained if you considered me a hunter?” I don’t realize just how deeply I need these answers until they’re ripping their way from my throat, threatening to leave it raw.

      “It was never my intention to make you feel that way. I know how shallow that sounds in the face of everything I’ve said and done all these years, but it’s the truth. I pushed you so relentlessly in your training because I wanted to you to be freed from your patterns in the earlier years of your life, I didn’t want you to succeed only later on, once time was running short.”

      Mira crosses her arms beside me, almost as if to restrain herself from throwing my phone across the room.

      “I was also afraid for you, I was afraid that somehow Mira and Zoey would find out. The sooner your patterns were gone, the sooner you were safe. I know now that I was wrong to believe they would reject you, but at the time I had no way of knowing that. I suppose this means I owe you two an apology as well. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

      “Then why did you?” Zoey asks.

      “I was trained as we all were; I believed demons to be wrong without exception. I worried that without the excuse of her being your family as she was mine, you wouldn’t be able to overlook it. And, as much as I would like to deny it, there were days in which I struggled to see more than her patterns. Bad days when memories of losing my own hunters would warp my perception.”

      “This all sounds like an awful lot of excuses and convenient backtracking,” Mira spits.

      “I know.”

      “That’s all you have to say?”

      “Is there something you would like me to do?” Celine questions. The hesitation in her voice sounds awkward and uncomfortably open. I shift uncomfortably in my own chair as I imagine her to be doing at the hanok.

      “Nothing specific, no. That’s for you to figure out and follow through on.” Mira has always been a fan of showing feelings through actions, rather than words. Seeking Celine’s sincerity though effort is the only way she will be able to forgive her, the only way Celine will ever have a chance of proving herself.

      Seconds tick by on the phone’s screen as no one speaks. Suffocating under the image of Celine wallowing alone about her mistaken intentions, a snag in my heart wants me to visit her, see if we can build a new, better version of the relationship we have. Or is it had? Surely I still have her, if I want her?

      It’s Zoey’s squirming on the stool next to me that finally pulls me out of my thoughts long enough to end this unbearable silence.

      “Celine?”

      “Yes Rumi?” Her voice tugs on that snag in my heart, reinforcing the image of her alone. All the lights in the hanok off besides one, our rooms untouched as she stares into mine, wondering how she failed me. The image thrashes so violently in my head that I almost tell her I’ll take the next plane there.

      “Why didn't you come to the Idol Awards?” I ask instead, another question I didn’t realize I wanted the answer to so badly.

      “Another example of my cowardice, I suppose. I couldn’t bear the idea of the Honmoon not turning gold, of your patterns not fading even if it did. If you came to me afterwards I wanted to be composed and ready to figure out the next steps.”

      “It sounds like you really did care for Rumi, in your own way,” Zoey offers. Perhaps she can hear these painful images in my head, in Celine’s voice, as well as I can. She’s always been so perceptive.

      “I do.” For the first time tonight, Celine’s voice is certain. “I didn’t lie to you before. She is my daughter. You are my daughter, Rumi.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I hear tears in her voice.

      But I do know better. Celine has never wept for me.

      Or maybe she’s just never let me see it?

      Our faults and fears must never be seen.

      Maybe that’s hurt her in ways we’ve never seen, too.

Chapter Text

      My eyes burn as I lay in bed, idly tracing my fingernails, a tick I worry is becoming permanent. The idea of a lonely Celine won’t stop bouncing around my head, relentlessly plaguing me as it has since it first crossed my mind a few days ago. With Huntrix living in the city, Celine lives alone now, as she hasn’t in years, since before she found her own hunters. She doesn’t even have the comfort of knowing we’ll keep in touch, check in, share our musical insights and battle stories with her. For all I know, she could be sitting at the kitchen table staring at her phone, wishing it would ring right now despite the hour.

      No matter how tired I am, every time I close my eyes the image of her wandering the dark, empty hallways of the hanok fills my mind. Before we found Mira and Zoey, I used to spend nights pacing those same hallways, imagining it filled with the voices of my hunters, their laughter and footsteps echoing in my head while silence rang in my chest.

      Sometimes, when Celine was gone longer for business trips, I would act out conversations with the figments of my imagination. Together we would laugh, sing, take down demons. I would show them the hanok and all it’s secrets, bring them on tours of the surrounding woods, pretend the training dummies were them as we practised together.

      I snatch the pillow from behind my head and cover my face with it, grateful no one is here to see me blushing with embarrassment at the memories. I fight to stifle a groan as I think about all the dark nights in which I let the imaginary hunters comfort me, tell me that I wasn’t alone, tell me that I wasn’t a mistake.

      Some nights, it was their false presence next to me that was the only thing that could lull me to sleep, blankets pulled tight against myself to build the illusion of their weight.

      Nothing carves loneliness deeper into your skin that the knowledge of what your life could look like if you possessed the relationships you craved.

      I can’t help but wonder what kind of relationship with me Celine craves. Even in my earliest memories, I remember her slapping my hand away from my patterns, throwing my sleeve down over them. I knew she considered me stained, and I’ve always worked hard to earn her acceptance, but the question of when exactly I stopped thinking she cared for me at all won’t leave my thoughts. She never pretended to replace my mother, but she did raise me. She was my sole company before Zoey and Mira, but one day she stopped touching me freely. She taught me how to fight, but she also taught me that I was a mistake.

      Her words and demeanour since the Idol Awards have been wavering, unsteady. Despite being parts of her that I don’t recognize, they feel honest in a way I’ve never seen her.

      What if I’ve been misreading everything this entire time?

      She seemed genuinely surprised to learn that I hate myself, and genuinely remorseful for fearing me. What if her strict nature was her way of making sure I was strong enough to survive, not just to ensure I turned the Honmoon golden as soon as possible.

      On the other hand, what if she wanted me to turn it golden as soon as possible only to rid me of my stains and become something the could stand to look at. She said over the phone that she wanted me to be free of my patterns early in my life, but I can’t tell if it was for my sake or hers.

      “Everything I was taught told me you were wrong. But I made a promise. So I did my best to accept you, and help you.”

      How am I supposed to take that? She didn’t kill me when she first saw what I was out of a promise she made to my mother, but she refused that night because she cared for me, didn’t she? She touched my patterns firmly, without hesitation, to pull me up from the ground and away from my blade, but seconds later couldn’t even look at me.

      I don’t understand.

      Am I enough for her or not?

      All I’ve ever wanted was for her to love all of me.

      Chills skate down my spine and raise the hairs on my arms as the sound of whimpering cuts through the apartment.

      Covers falling to the floor I bolt out of bed, rushing out my door without delay, grateful in the back of my mind that I don’t need to take a moment to cover my patterns. The heart-wrenching sounds are coming from Mira’s room.

      I haven’t heard her make such sounds since the early days, when her dreams were haunted by her parents and their sharp disapproval and blunt words. They were the only people who could ever make Mira look and feel small, no matter how boldly unbothered she pretended to be.

      “Rumi?” Zoey bursts out of her own door, hair a mess atop her head, shirt askew on her shoulders as she bumps into me. The patter of her feet is close on my heels as we dart to Mira’s room.

      I knock on her door as a courtesy, despite knowing she won’t hear it, won’t wake up. Even when she was younger, despite her tendency to be on guard at all times, the moment she cell asleep she was stuck deep in her unconsciousness. It was always as though her body was so tired from protecting herself during the day that she was at the mercy of rest at night once she finally succumbed to sleep.

      Zoey and I step into Mira’s room, switching on the lamp next to her bed as we approach. My heart twists painfully in my chest as she writhes in her bed, blankets tangled around her legs, long hair scattered across the pillows. Zoey’s face scrunches with a similar sympathy.

      The Honmoon shimmers around Mira’s hand, the faintest ghost of her weapon almost materializing causing Zoey to gasp. She reaches for Mira’s hand, clutching it and smoothing it out of it’s grasping tension. The Gok-Do mercifully shivers out of it’s almost existence.

      “Zoey,” Mira mutters, snapping our attention back to her face. “Zoey.”

      “I’m right here,” Zoey tells her, gently brushing her hand against Mira’s cheek to no avail. Mira thrashes again, her breathing erratic. Her fingers curl and uncurl, grasping at something beyond her reach.

      “Mira,” I try, a little louder, a little firmer.

      “No,” Mira moans. Zoey brushes a strand of hair out of Mira’s face.

      “Mira.” It feels as though my heart has ceased to beat, barely allowing me to call to my friend.

      “Don’t hurt Zoey,” she whimpers, nearly incoherent through the weight of her sleep.

      I jolt back as though her Gok-Do struck me in the chest, almost tempted to glance down and check for blood. I ignore the worried look Zoey throws my way.

      She’s dreaming about the Idol Awards.

      About me.

      I debate whether or not Mira will wake up if I vomit on her.

      “Mira,” Zoey says again, a new edge of panic in her voice. No doubt she’s worrying just as much about how this will affect me as she’s worrying for Mira.

      She grasps Mira’s shoulders, shaking her firmer, crawled halfway on the bed.

      Mira jolts awake with violence, a shriek on her lips as she cuffs Zoey’s cheek with the back of her hand, shoving her away and hauling herself into the corner of her bed in one fluid movement. Her eyes are wide and panicked as she spots me, standing right behind Zoey. My hands are on Zoey’s shoulders as I catch her before she can stumble back off the bed.

      “Don’t!” she begins to shout before her memories catch up to her body. The dim light of the lamp is enough for me to see the moment she realises I’m not a threat this time.

      Her whole body freezes, a new sort of dread filling her face. It hurts to see her so vulnerable, so frightened. I slip my hands from Zoey’s shoulders and hold them in surrender before me, taking a few small steps back. My shoulders curl inwards as I shrink back.

      I feel like I’m behind the stage again. Begging them not to fear me.

      “Rumi.” Mira’s voice cracks in a way that shoves the blade deeper into my chest. Why am I acting like the victim here? It was my own actions that caused my Mira this fear, this nightmare. How many times has she had it, has she pictured Zoey’s skin opening under my claws?

      It takes all of the training I have to straighten, to remember the correct way to wear my expression, the light to force into my eyes. I’m grateful to the lamp for being dim.

      “I know you would never hurt her,” Mira pleads with me, reaching weakly for me from her corner of the bed. Zoey’s head pivots as she struggles to watch us both, her own heart undoubtedly hurting.

      “Except that isn’t entirely true, is it,” I croak before shaking my head. I blink too many times too quickly.

      Zoey’s brows pinch together, her mouth twisting in sympathy for me. How can she be feeling anything of the sort for me right now? She looks like she could cry.

      Mira shuffles forward, sliding off her bed and landing on her knees before me, reaching for my hands. I jerk away, not at all subtle this time.

      “It was just a dream. I know you would never hurt either of us again. Things are different now, you’re not trapped or ambushed or scared anymore. You’re in control.”

      “We both know you’re not a threat, Rumi.” Zoey lays a hand on Mira’s shoulder, the other reaching for me.

      I slink away from them, my back nearly brushing the wall as I head for the door. “I know. Really, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

      “Rumi,” Mira calls after me.

      I pause, unwilling to disappear and hide the way I used to, knowing it isn’t what will help Mira right now, but also aware of the fact that I won’t be able to act unbothered for long. The last thing Mira needs is my guilt to tend to.

      “I need you to believe me, Rumi. I promise you I have complete faith in you. It was just a dumb dream, it doesn’t mean anything.” Mira climbs to her feet, aiming to follow me out of her room. Her bandages were removed yesterday, but the damage done is leaving scars. Scars barely visible in the low light, but irrevocably present.

      “I know.” Just when I think I can’t summon any more of my old mask, I prove myself wrong with a smile so convincing I nearly fool myself into believing that I’m not weeping on the inside.

      Mira looks unconvinced, concern still trembling through her normally calm and collected body. She has always had such a still presence, in perfectly stable control of every muscle, not a movement she didn’t intend daring to flicker through her.

      “You should try to get some more sleep,” I tell her. “Maybe Zoey can stay with you?” I give Zoey a begging look, pleading with her silently to agree to my offering her up. It’s true that I want Mira to have the comfort of knowing Zoey is safe, but it’s also true that I want a way to occupy them long enough for me to escape.

      Ever the peacemaker, the understanding one, Zoey nods, despite looking just as concerned for me as Mira does.

      “Yeah, let’s have a sleepover,” she says with her forced tone, overcompensating for the tension. She latches onto Mira’s arm, bouncing lightly.

      Mira is observant enough to know what the two of us are doing, and looks seconds away from disagreeing.

      It’s then that her whole body stills with a new tension as she spots the redness on Zoey’s cheek. Guilt flashes through her, her mouth popping open ever so slightly with disbelief.

      “Zoey,” she says, raising a hand cautiously to the redness. “I’m so sorry.”

      I slip through the door on silent feet, leaving their voices behind me.

      “I’m okay. You weren’t really awake yet, and it’s my own fault. They always say you shouldn’t try to wake someone having a nightmare for this kind of reason.”

      The rest of Zoey’s words fail to reach my ears as I click the door shut behind me, telling myself repeatedly that I’m okay. That everything will be okay.

      It’s a lie.

      It’s such a lie.

      I curl up with my back to the door, clutching my knees to my chest, shame I haven’t felt this intensely in days making my patterns sting so fiercely I expect them to wash the room in pink. Instead they stay a mocking, delicate iridescent.

      I was such an idiot to think that slowly feeling better about my patterns meant things were improving. That there weren’t still consequence of my actions floating around, tormenting my sisters while I slowly healed. How selfish could I be to act like I deserved their forgiveness, their acceptance, while they still suffered. How many nights has Mira had that same dream but quietly enough that we never heard her?

      I stare at the fresh polish on my nails, applied only yesterday after we removed Mira’s bandages.

      I hate them.

      My vision turns blurry as they warp and shiver before me, threatening. I run my thumbs so hard across them in my efforts to prove that they’re still human that they threaten to split my skin.

      Despite what I struggle to see, they remain fully human.

      I lurch upwards anyways, struggling to keep my steps quiet when all I want to do is rush to the bathroom as quickly as possible, even at the risk of stumbling into the doorway. I snatch the clippers from their spot in the drawer and attack my claws nails with a vengeance. The colourful debris litter the counter, mocking me.

      For all the progress I’ve made, I’ve fallen back. I’m not sure how far, but I can feel the retreat of my confidence.

      I sweep the clippings into the garbage and retreat back to my bed, feet freezing in place before I reach it as whispers of conversation reach me through my bedroom door. It sounds as though Zoey and Mira are on their way to the main room, not trying to sleep the way they need to. My heart sinks as I creep towards my door, flicking the lock. I recognize my self-isolating tendencies and do nothing to fight them, knowing I will crumble if the girls come to check on me. I don’t deserve the mercy of their attention when it’s my own actions that have brought us to this place.

      What’s one more locked door in the face of everything.

      I slump forward, my forehead resting against the door, eyes screwed shut. The lump in my throat threatens to suffocate me.

      “Did you see the way she backed away?” Mira’s voice reaches me, quiet but devastatingly clear. “She retreated with her hands raised like she expected me to treat her like a wild animal.”

      Her voice is impossibly softer, yet my ears refuse to let me miss a single, broken note.

      “She was scared.”

      “She’s going to be okay,” Zoey says. “I’m sure she knows people have dreams that don’t mean anything all the time. I once had a dream that a turtle with wings flew up and fed me a leaf, but I know it was just my brain telling me I needed to stop having coffee right before bed.”

      “This isn’t the same thing,” Mira snaps without any sharpness. “She’s smart, she knows this dream is because of that night.”

      “We’ve talked about it though. She knows we don’t fear her.”

      Mira’s response takes it’s time arriving. “That won’t matter. You know how she is, Zoey. She’s going to overthink this and assume I’ve been having this dream every night. She’s going to use it as ammunition against herself.”

      “We won’t let her,” Zoey answers, ever the optimist. She always strives so hard to put up a cheery, hopefully front, burdening herself with the role of morale keeper whenever Mira or I are tired or disheartened.

Whenever Mira’s doubts surfaced or my desperation flared. It was an imperfect system we could never talk her out of.

      I snarl silently at the wood of my door as I add it to the list of consequences I will hold against myself. If I had only controlled myself that night, or even tonight, if I hadn’t cracked and let them see how deeply rattled Mira’s dream had me. It doesn’t matter how quickly I attempted to hide it, I know both of them saw.

      “What is this?” Zoey says suddenly, just as I’m about to peel myself from the door. Mira doesn’t answer, and it takes several bated minutes before I hear anything more from either of them.

      “When did she add these?” I think I hear heartbreak in Zoey’s voice.

      “We haven’t had the paint out since that day. She must have done it right afterwards, before I got back with the food.” Mira’s voice sounds equally anguished.

      “This is how she sees herself, isn’t it. A lifetime of hearing us talk about how much we hate demons, of hating her patterns and listening to Celine preach about all demons being evil. It doesn’t matter how much we love her, she still sees herself as the demon who attacked us. We have to go talk to her.”

      A jolt of panic lights up every nerve as flashes of realization hit me all at once.

      The painting I scrambled to hide and shoved in the couch. I forgot about it, I never went back later to remove it.

      They see the shame I painted in red.

      I back away from the door hurriedly, not wanting to hear anything more they have to say about it. Not wanting to hear their sympathy I don’t deserve, or their judgement I do deserve. I don’t want to hear anything at all. I don’t want to feel anything more at all. I want to shut down for a few hours so I don’t have to think about how many small ways I keep screwing up, how disappointed in me Celine would be if she knew. The lonely images I’d had in my head of her less than an hour ago warp into a far more familiar collage of disdain, disgust, and disapproval.

      “Rumi? Please let us in, we know you’re awake.” I stare at the door, Zoey’s voice only inches from me.

      “We don’t want you to be alone,” Mira adds.

      “That’s right, you’re invited to the sleepover. You wouldn’t turn us down would you? We know you secretly love the sleepovers even if you never ask for them.”

      My heart twists so tightly my arteries threaten to tear off with the knowledge that I don’t deserve their goodness. I snag the pillow off my bed and press my face into it, just in case a whimper escapes my control.

      “Rumi? Please?” Zoey asks again.

      “Don’t make us sleep on the floor out here,” Mira adds.

      I curl up on the floor at the foot of my bed. The memory of Mira’s frightened face and childlike whimpers promises to claw at me the way I dug into them.

      I shove the pillow over my face again, knowing there is no amount of imagination that can make me feel better this time.