Back at the Velvet Rose, everyone was still cleaning up after the raid on the building earlier. The bodies had been cleared out, furniture had been picked up, and blood stains had been cleaned as best they could, scrubbed away. Sarain and Winston were winding down from their battle, tending to their wounds.
Sarain lifted the back of her shirt and felt for the wound she had received. It still felt moist; it burned to the touch and throbbed throughout. She strained to clean it; it was in just that position on the back that's hard to reach. She soaked a piece of cloth in a bowl of water, rung it out, and then put the damp cloth on her injury. It stung, and she winced. She twisted her wrist up to reach the wound, her fingers pushing the cloth upward.
Winston watched as she struggled until finally he walked over and said, "Let me help."
His hand went to her back; his fingers grazed hers as he took the cloth in his hand. She let go, and let him put pressure on her back. With his other hand, he held on to her arm to steady her. He then eased up on the pressure and wiped away the dried blood around the wound.
"This doesn't look that bad. It looked a lot worse when you got it... It scared me... But you'll be just fine with the way you heal. It'll be good in no time," Winston said reassuringly.
Sarain had listened intently, and with confusion she questioned, "It scared you?"
"Yes, I thought I was going to lose you," Winston responded with little thought as he cleaned off her back.
Sarain hesitated for a moment then lowered her shirt back down, and twisted around toward Winston, who still held onto her arm.
"I wasn't finished," he said softly, puzzled by her actions.
She didn't respond. She just stood there and looked up into his eyes, as if searching for an answer, then asked, "Why are you doing all this?"
"What? Helping you with your wound?" he unsurely replied.
"No... Yes, all of it. Why are you helping me at all?" she proceeded to question.
Winston let go of her arm and took a step back. “What’s wrong with helping you?” he asked, nearly demanding.
“Nothing except for I don’t know why you’re doing any of it! Why do you keep helping me?” she argued, insisting on getting an answer.
"Like I told you before, I don't know why," he said looking away, trying to avoid her stare.
Sarain moved toward him while saying, "That's not good enough... Give me a real reason."
"I don’t have one, I just don't know," he pleaded, raising his voice.
"Yes, you do," she shouted back, "Just tell me!"
Then in an instance of frustration, and without a second thought, Winston yelled out, "Because you make me feel human!"
Sarain was silent; she didn't know how to answer. So Winston continued by saying, "And since the moment I first saw you, all I've wanted to do is touch you." He met her gaze and said, "I tried to fight it, I tried to just do my job, but the more I was around you, the more I couldn't help myself." He stepped toward her, and then added, "I have to be near you. I have to have you in my life."
Sarain put her hand up to stop Winston, and gently said, "Don't."
He flinched, and looked as though he were about to burst into tears. He gazed at her, hurt, his eyes questioning her, but all Sarain could bring herself to say was, "I can't."
A tear escaped his eye as he turned away. Winston nodded his head lightly and said, "Okay." He put down the dampened cloth, suddenly aware that he had kept it in his balled up hand. He went for the door, but stopped when Sarain said, "Wait."
Winston glanced back over his shoulder at her. Sarain stood there shaking and unsteady, she looked scared. She felt completely lost, but spoke anyways, saying, "Don't go." He turned around to face her, but didn't move anymore than that. She continued to speak softly, "I... I've never done this. I've never been in this position. And it's just that, I can't do this with a vil sang, or anyone. I don't think I have it in me to be that vulnerable."
"You're shaking," he spoke observing her, "It looks to me like you're already 'that' vulnerable."
Sarain took a deep breath, and replied, "You might be right." She stared at him for a moment without a word, and then she started to cry. She was tired of hiding her emotions, tired of bottling everything up. Winston rushed to her and took her in his arms. She cried against him and he comforted her as he soothingly said, "It's alright. I'm not going anywhere."
Sarain held on to him, it had been so long since someone had comforted her that she was afraid that if she let go it would go away. Then she found herself reaching up to Winston and caressing his face. He was handsome, a fact the she had often overlooked. He leaned down to kiss her and she didn't stop him. His lips were soft and cool, and this time his kiss didn't leave her feeling tainted; instead, surprisingly, she felt warm. Sarain wrapped her arms around him, and realized that she wanted to feel him. She wanted to feel him everywhere. And he wanted to touch her.
Sarain opened her eyes, it was nearing night again, and she had just awoken from a long sleep. Winston lay next to her, his arm around her; he, however, remained peacefully asleep. Sarain still felt sore from the night before, but her wounds had already healed a great deal. This was her time to rest, and she understood that the worst was behind her, but the feeling of incompleteness still lagged inside her. Her mission would probably never feel finished, and this she would have to accept, but something still felt off. Like there was something she had missed.
Sarain slowly rose out of bed. Winston’s cool arm dragged across the skin of her bare stomach, and she was careful not to wake him. She found the robe she had worn before and wrapped it around herself, then looked around the room to find something to help her pass the time. She debated leaving the room to see if Alorea or any of the other girls needed help cleaning up the place; it was still a bit in disarray and wouldn’t be having clients for a while. Sarain hated having nothing to do.
She gazed over at Winston who was sleeping soundly; he hadn’t noticed her absence from the bed yet. Then her eyes scanned the room again and she spotted something that she hadn’t observed the first time. The sheet covering the mirror had fallen. It must have fallen while she slept. She debated leaving it for Winston to fix, but then thought with everything she had been through lately, what more could it really show her. So she walked over to the mirror, and right away took a hold of the sheet. She tried not to look but something still caught her eye; in the reflection a scene played out, a scene she was very familiar with.
A violet-eyed girl cowered in a box, clinching to the ankh she wore around her neck, and watching a mess of violence unfold before her eyes. She had lost everyone. Her face was full of panic and fear as a scaly demon approached her hiding spot, and with its claws it reached for the lid of her crate. Her heart raced knowing that she was now all alone with no weapon and a fresh memory of what these demons did to people. Its nails scrapped against the wood of the box, and the panels groaned as the lid was pulled away.
Sarain could feel a gust of cold air come rushing in from the new opening, and with it she knew that she had been found. She looked up at the scaly demon; he was much larger than her and his skin reminded her of a pine cone. He looked hard and strong like wood and his eyes glowed red as they stared down at her.
Without thinking Sarain stood up, there was very little point in crouching, and if she were about to die she wanted to face her destroyer. She could see that other demons were now watching, waiting for the one that stood near her to make its move. It was all an entertaining game to them, watching the kill, admiring the corpses, they didn’t even seem to care that some of their own had fallen.
The beast tilted its head and appeared to smile at her, perhaps it was just showing its fangs, but it had a look about its face like it had found a prize. The demon put off a sense of smugness, and Sarain could feel herself growing angry. It was like it wanted her to be scared, it wanted to push her to the point of insanity, and only then would it be ready to kill her. She wondered how many of her people had this particular creature killed. Had it been one of the ones that fed on her grandfather?
The beast stood too close for her to have time to grab a weapon. It exhaled and she could smell the sticky sour stench of decay on its breath. She looked into its eyes and could feel herself growing hot. Its eyes glowed so fiery that she thought they would burn her, and she felt on fire. The invisible blaze around her grew intensely, and before she could realize it, she was screaming. The expression on the demon’s face changed, first to one of surprise, and then to one of agony. Everything but she and the demon appeared to be spinning, and it wasn’t until things began to focus once more that Sarain saw her own arm sticking out of the demon.
Her hand had completely disappeared into its chest, and now she was clutching onto its heart. How had this happened? She had let her rage take over her, and somehow found the strength to break through the demon’s hard exterior with her own bare hand. She gripped her hand down tightly then ripped her arm back out. The beast’s heart pulsated in her hand, and she could feel it squishing in between her fingers. The demon dropped dead to the ground while the others stood simply watching in amazement.
She could sense all eyes on her. She waited for the other demons to attack in an all-out flood fashion, but instead she heard the sound of a loud and deep horn blaring. She had heard this horn before, earlier during the raid right before another wave of attack. But this time instead of more monsters arriving, the demons began to retreat. Why were they leaving now?
The demons walked off, some even passing near, but none bothered her. She watched as they left her and the bodies behind. The demons no longer seemed to care or notice her presence. Until she felt a pair of eyes still watching her. She looked up and saw Orran’s and her grandfather’s killer, the massive demonic vil sang that had swept in and finished off her clan. He was staring at her; he had been watching her the whole time.
It was an amazement that this beast had ever been human with his gargoyle-like features and his fierce yellow eyes. He had not lost interest in her like the other beasts. He took a good long look at Sarain, like he was etching her into his memory, until finally even he began to walk away. They all were leaving her there, alone.
Sarain took a deep breath; it had been a long time since she had last finished that memory. But this time she saw something new; her clan’s killer was not just some extraordinary beast, he had a familiar face. It was Sephor. Why hadn’t she recognized him sooner? It was like her mind wasn’t ready to let her see it until now. It was all so obvious to her suddenly, why the whole battle the previous night reminded her so much of her clan’s raid. It wasn’t just from similarities; it was because Sephor led both attacks.
Then another revelation came to her, she knew what the source of her incompleteness was, and knew exactly where she could go to find it.