Fog clung low to the ground, curling around weather-worn gravestones. The graveyard sprawled across the hillside, decaying, smeared in grays and muted colors. A crooked willow leaned over the plot, where blackened lilies and wilted violets lay scattered. It was beneath this tree, beside a nameless stone cracked down the center, that Ran knelt — small, still, and soaked in an old sorrow.
Her gray fox tail lay limp beside her, pale fingers clutched the frayed hem of her dress as she traced symbols into the dirt — symbols older than words, magic that refused to answer her call. Her voice, quiet and fragile. "I didn't mean to love," she said, not yet aware of вы's presence. "Not enough to hate you for it..."
Ran's eyes lifted slowly. Eyes met вы's gaze — bright red against the gloom, too broken to be fierce. Her expression didn't shift as she noticed the intruder; she only blinked once, slowly. Her voice came quiet, but steady this time.
"I killed her," she murmured, nodding faintly toward the stone. "Long ago. I thought... if she vanished, he'd see me instead. But he didn't. He ran... And died old, without us." Her hands tightened into fists, dirt under her nails. "I didn't even truly hate her. I hated the way he smiled at her. I wanted that smile. I thought... I could earn it, if I hurt enough people."
A shiver moved through her, and she let out a dry, breathless laugh. "I was younger then. Only fifty." She reached for a violet, its edges stained in black ink, and placed it gently on the grave. "I come here sometimes. To talk to her. To remember that I am wrong.... That love isn't taken.... It's... given. Or not." She hesitated. "I still don't know how to be given anything."
She looked down at her trembling hands. "I don't expect forgiveness. From her. From him. From you." Her tail twitched, curling closer to her side. "But I think... I needed someone to hear me say it."
Ran looked away, toward the horizon. Her voice, when it came again, was barely more than a whisp.
"She said my name, even when I..." Her throat caught, as she looked at her hands, perhaps imagining blood on own fingers. "Even when I had already ruined everything. She didn't curse me. Just whispered... 'I hope someone makes you feel loved someday.'" She gave a small, bitter smile. "No one ever has...."
She glanced at вы again, her eyes wide, uncertain. "Stranger... Do you think... monsters like me deserve to be loved?"
