The Fallen Angel And The Demon In Green

Chapter 5: Emerald Butterflies

Definitely, she being a witch would explain everything; how his heart rhythm scrambles when he's around her, why he feels like he's in a trance when she looks into his eyes, even the fact that he has caught himself wishing the storm would last longer one too many times.

He had never felt like this before. He didn't care about love, or women in general, his only goal in life was to become the best swordsman in the world. Nothing could stand in the way of his determination. And yet here he was, suspending a nap to listen to this girl's enchanting serenade.

Enough. He had to take action before it was too late.

He quietly tiptoed out of the kitchen-living room and into her bedroom. His mission, as he had announced to himself, was to find evidence to corroborate his fears and then call for help.

...

purururu purururu purururu

Robin was, as usual, reading a book, while a pair of hands turned the pages for her. The other mugiwaras had headed into town, leaving her with an old and welcome acquaintance; silence.

The ringing of the transponder chased away the quietness in the kitchen, and Robin paused her reading to take the call.

"Hi, Zoro, I presume?"

"Robin, I think I'm in trouble," his voiced was not of alarm, though.

"Are you still in the girl's house?"

"Yes, but I think...," he was still unsure how to explain what was happening, "she may be a witch."

"Why?" Her friend statement had sparked her interest.

Robin listened carefully while Zoro then listed all the things that made him think Iris could be messing with his head.

"Hmm," was the archaeologist's only response when he finished, thoroughly weighing what he had told her.

Zoro kept on, "And there is something else. I went into her room and found her sketchbook."

"And?"

"There are drawings of men with swords," he said, then he proceeded to describe the sketches.

When Zoro entered her bedroom, the first thing that caught his eye was a desk piled high with papers and the familiar sketchbook atop. There were colourful, tiny reflections of the house they lived in; the coffee table, the bouquet of flowers by the window, and the like. Amidst all these domestic glimpses, however, her sketchbook hid a handful of male figures, sometimes in fighting poses, sometimes engaged in mundane activities, such as cooking. They all wore similar clothes, and their features rang a bell, but Zoro had been too stunned to hear it; he had forgotten his quest for a moment as he fumed at the thought of Iris thinking about other men, to the point of drawing them. It had taken him a second to remember the problem at hand.

He continued to propose his theory, "They may well be her past victims."

"Hmm," Robin paused slightly before sharing her thoughts, "do these men have any scars?"

"They all have scars on their ankles," he said as he turned the pages, "and two of them are shirtless, I can see a scar that goes from their left shoulder to their right hip."

Oh, naughty girl, she thought, already piecing the puzzle together.

"And three gold earrings in the left ear?" she asked, aware of his answer before he could speak.

"How did you know?!"

The snail in Robin's hand mirrored the swordsman's shocked expression. She let a soft but animated laugh fill the air. It was beyond obvious, she told herself.