Sarain pushed open the door and began to step into the room, but then abruptly stopped. Inside the room was a dresser and attached to it was a large mirror.
She turned to Winston and said, “Do me a favor, and cover that mirror.”
Winston walked inside and sat on the bed then replied, “I think I’ve done you enough favors lately. If you have a problem with the mirror, take care of it yourself.”
Sarain groaned and muttered, “You are absolutely good for nothing.” She went over to the bed and grabbed one of the extra folded up sheets on the end. She then walked over to the mirror and threw the sheet over it without looking directly at it. The sheet mostly covered it, but one end of the sheet was still wrinkled up causing it to not completely fit over the mirror. When Sarain looked up to fix the sheet she caught a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror that wasn’t hers. But she wasn’t alarmed; she knew that it wasn’t going to be herself that she sees. She quickly fixed the sheet, covering up the helpless eyes that looked back at her.
Winston was watching her; curious to know the reason for her aversion to the mirror, but Sarain knew that he wouldn’t be able to see it. That was a burden for her alone. He chimed in from the bed, “I thought us vil sangs were the ones who were stereotyped into supposedly not liking mirrors. With that whole myth of us not having reflections, I really want to know who makes that crap up.”
“I’m sure you’re a big fan of mirrors,” Sarain replied with a hint of annoyance.
“As a matter of fact, I am. It’s nice to see that I haven’t aged, and to have something that will always show me the truth,” Winston responded.
“Well the truth is the problem,” she stated and then said lowly, “And I don’t need to be constantly reminded of it.”
Winston gave her a funny look before saying, “You really do have image issues, don’t you? I don’t see why, you could easily clean up well if you tried.”
“Why should I care how others perceive me?” Sarain asked.
“So that others will love you, and respect you,” he answered.
“That kind of love will get me nowhere. Besides, attachments only make things worse, or have you already forgotten what happened to my last companion?” Sarain said roughly.
Winston was quiet for a second, it was clear that he had hit a sore spot with her. But he finally broke the silence by saying, “It still isn’t healthy to isolate yourself like that.”
“I’m not going to take advice on what is healthy from a demon, especially one whose former alliance is out to kill him and whose only real companionship is from a bunch of whores,” Sarain jabbed back.
“At least I’m living life,” Winston responded, getting a little angry.
“Yeah, and taking them too,” she insultingly remarked.
“Hey, I’ve told you before, I have willing participants that work out a lot better than killing people,” he said in defense.
“You’re the one who said that you enjoyed a good kill,” Sarain pointed out, referring to a much earlier conversation.
“That was just to get you riled up,” Winston explained, “Besides how many perfectly innocent vil sangs have you killed? Or do you stop to ask each one whether or not they kill humans?”
“Honestly, I don’t care,” Sarain said harshly.
“If that was true then why didn’t you kill me that night when we were last here? It would have been an easy shot,” Winston pressed on.
Sarain glared at him, but didn’t answer. She herself didn’t know why she hadn’t just killed him that night. Perhaps it was because the girl he was with would have been a witness, or perhaps it was because she still had questions that needed to be answered at the time. Either way, at that moment Sarain was wishing that she had gotten rid of Winston then, because maybe then she wouldn’t have gotten her life in the deep mess that it was in now. And perhaps Kit would still be alive.
Sarain noticed Winston’s hands begin to shake. They may have been shaking a while, but with the argument she hadn’t noticed sooner. He was trying to hide it, but Sarain abruptly asked, “Now what is wrong with you?”
Winston didn’t answer right away, he waited for a moment as though judging whether or not to tell her before ultimately answering, “I haven’t fed in a while.”
“Well don’t look at me, get it from one of your whores!” she demanded with a look of disgust.
Winston shot her a look of discontentment, then got up and stormed out of the room. Sarain felt glad to be alone, finally. She grabbed a spare blanket and pillow, and laid them down on the floor against the wall; she wouldn’t risk taking the bed, she didn’t want to take the chance of Winston crawling in next to her.
She changed into the silky green nightgown-like dress the brunette woman earlier had given her. It was somewhat revealing, but clean and not torn. She threw the remains of her old dress in the corner, in a pile with her damp and used towel. Sarain looked at her arm where a demon had clawed her skin just hours ago; it was already healing nicely, and would probably be gone once she woke up after a good day’s rest.
Sarain laid down into the little bed she had made herself. She was exhausted, it had been a long night, and Sarain was already finding it hard to believe that just the day before she had had a home, and she had had Kit. It’s funny how much could change in twenty-four hours, though Sarain found no part of her life humorous.
A wave of emotion came over her that she had been trying to hold back, but now that she was alone she let it come out. Tears ran down her face and quiet sobs escaped her lips. It had been easier to accept a life alone before Sarain had met Kit and been reminded of what it was like to have a friend and family. All these years she had never let another person get close to her since her clan’s destruction. And now all her fears had suddenly been proven right; everything she cared for would always be ripped away from her.
Sarain cried herself to sleep, unaware of the eavesdropping ear on the other side of the door, listening in on her sadness.
Sarain watched helplessly from her hiding spot as her grandfather stared up at the powerful vil sang. There were demons all around, and even if he managed to strike down this seemingly unstoppable beast, the others would surely flood him. But for now the demons waited, watching to see their leader at work.
The massive vil sang stepped slowly towards her grandfather, who raised his sword in response, but the beast made no motion to raise its own blade. Instead, to Sarain’s surprise, it threw its weapon down. The beast then shifted its head and gave her grandfather a peculiar look, and then even more strangely, it spoke.
“You know why we’re here,” the creature said in a strong voice.
But her grandfather wouldn’t let the beast finish, he didn’t want to hear the monster’s words. He rushed the demon; lunging toward it with his blade thrust forward. He flew through the air at incredible speed, even at his age he was still a skilled warrior.
The vil sang stood frozen, like he was accepting the attack. But then with a swift blink of the eye, the beast had her grandfather’s throat in his hand. He had caught the man in mid air.
Sarain’s heart raced with panic, the beast had moved so fast that she hadn’t seen him move at all. She screamed inside her head to do something; jump out, distract the beast, try to save her grandfather; but she remained unable to move, completely petrified.
The demon raised her grandfather up to his eye level, and looked him straight in the face. Her grandfather still held his sword, but didn’t use it. He stared the beast in its eyes like he was hypnotized, or perhaps just scared stiff. The demon then brought him closer, and did something Sarain found especially disturbing; he smiled at her grandfather: A smile full of razor sharp teeth. And with another quick motion, he bit into her grandfather’s throat and completely tore it out with its jaws. His blood sprayed everywhere; on to the beast, into the air, on the ground, and onto Sarain’s crate. His blood dripped down between the wooden panels, and landed on her arm where it ran down her skin. The urge to vomit rose up in her throat, but she swallowed it back down.
The demon threw down her grandfather’s lifeless and mangled body, and the others raced to it and began feeding on the remains. They were like vultures fighting and slobbering over the meat. Sarain closed her eyes and covered her ears hoping to drown out the sounds of flesh ripping away from bone.
Sarain wasn’t sure how much time had gone by before she finally looked up to see that the beasts had picked her grandfather’s bones clean. Now they were searching among the other bodies, making sure there were no survivors.
A spiky scaled demon neared Orran’s body, and Sarain cringed at the thought of seeing his corpse consumed. But the creature suddenly lifted its head up, moving away from the body, and began sniffing the air. It stepped toward her, following the new scent, until its eyes landed on her crate. She trembled once she realized that it knew she was there. She had no weapon in hand and no one left to save her.
Its clawed hands began to reach for the crate’s lid.
“Sarain, wake up!”