His

1. The first rain

A rather miniature town— swarming up in the frosty cocoon of midwinter season, schleping the unwelcoming glacial flatulence through the window pane of an oddly particular house.

A dimly litted earthen lamp was flickering it's pastel yellow hue decrepitly as if wrestling an futile venture in opposition to vanquish the gust of breeze.

It was Ishita's 18th birthday Eve and there she was— clenching the rigid, hefty holder of a whetted knife in a close proximity with her carpus.

Her unruly raven locks scattered against her forehead while her unclad arms were enfolded with miscellaneous horripilation yet her lips didn't quiver for just a mere second. The scorching flame was reflecting in her amber orbs no match to her inner fire yet the typically stream of hot tears were nowhere to be found.

Her lashes did tremble for once when the precipitous intervention of the rough wind extinguished the small flicker of light— the small flicker of hope, swallowing the room in its deadly cold clutches.

The silvery moonlight illuminated its dainty glow in the adjacent along with the effigy of an amicable foreigner who she was busy gaping at the whole time.

It was rooted with one leg draped over another as it's lustrous bronze skin glistening up with luminescence. A tiny flute on lip and a levitating morpankh was adoring his ever so delicate grin.

Despite of her dishevelled morale her bleeding heart couldn't help but awed at the indescribable scene.

His smile, as if filled her long crumpled soul with the obscurity of existing in her not so vibrant life.

He was her salvation in her perished body and wounded vivacity.

And she needed to put an end to her dead anatomy to save her almost at the brink of dying soul. Because it was occluded with all of him.

The chamber was inundating in pungent crisp as the dead lantern meticulously inflating the darkness within her lonesome benevolent soul.

A conversation so quite and geniune was exchanging between their two pair of lifeless and undead eyes as an devoid of consolation was revolving around her strong memory of how her macabre soul just like any other soul wanted to live but the unabusive toxicity of her parents murdered it in a scathing way. To the extent that her once gleeful heart wanted to do the most gruesome murder that day.

It stabbed her bleeding soul whenever her mother would accuse her for the nasty things she had never think of doing, repeatedly. It stabbed her everytime whenever her father would tell her he was ashamed of her and wished she had never born. It stabbed her everytime whenever she tried to explain her friends how she once almost died from panick attack and they would congrats her rather jokingly that atleast she was alive. It stabbed her a little more whenever the world would call her unworthy of kanha's love.

Or was she really?

There couldn't be a day when she won't sleep with drenching eyes with a heart so full of longing to witness her lover in her dream like a dying pied cuckoo under the grieving shade of sapling. Even if for a second, even if from afar- a glimpse of his otherworldly mystifying phantom was all she ever wanted. Only to wake up with an inadequate heart with tears of resentment in her crimson eyes.

Rather it would start with her parents reminding her for the umpteenth time what a worthless and disgrace she was. Her only parents did make sure that she would never pretermit the bone chilling words in her ordeal.

Fragmenting the child within her little by little.

She could enclasp the soul rupturing torment again and again if it meant for her to get the short spanned jubilation, she pessimistically seeked to have.