001: Misplaced

It was ten in the morning, and she was the only one awake.

A stranger to the land may find this odd; a castle, filled with servants and members of the Ruling Family, was nearly dead to the world, the Shinma guarding the outer walls of the estate being the only souls—besides herself—that were not dormant within the Kyuuketsu Manor. Had she not grown so used to the silence during the hours of Light, she may have gone insane; but as it was, she’d found a sort of solace within the silence, reveling in the peace and calm it gave her.

Padding softly upon the carpeted floors, she searched for her lost flute.

Asatamashii Miyu was the sole-surviving heir to the Kyuuketsu throne—a daughter born into a cursed family and an equally cursed future. At birth, it was said she’d share the fate of her ancestors and parents before her, becoming yet another vampire within a long, long line of vampires—Watchers of the Shinma. Of the six children the King and Queen had, only one—Miyu—had lived past her first birthday, bringing forth a Prophecy long ago forsaken; a Guardian. Ironically, however, Miyu, now the ripe age of ten-and-six years, did not even possess the ivory fangs that trademarked the vampires, let alone the bloodthirsty genes that consumed her bloodline. Her period of puberty would soon reach an end, and still, her heritage did not overtake her—for this, her parents were thankful.

Though of Kyuuketsu blood themselves, not even the most ruthless of parents would wish such a fate upon their offspring—especially if it was the only child that still lived. It was their wish that she live as a human—the proverbial rabbit in a den of lions, albeit, a rather well-lavished rabbit within a den of lions that would not harm said rabbit if they valued their lives. For the most part, she was like a human, living without fear of the Sun and sleeping when the nocturnal creatures were just awakening.

But there was still a strangeness about her—a darkness that tainted an otherwise innocent soul.

“Where could it be?” She wondered, mentally rummaging the many corners of her mind. “I know I put it in the case . . . and yet, it is not in there.” A few tendrils of stray chestnut hair fluttered when she sighed, signaling a frustration that she’d never fully show. “I’d never be so careless with such a thing; I swear, if Shiina decided to play some sort of joke, I’ll kill that little thing.”

As the sole Heir to an Empire, there were many responsibilities; many she wished she did not have. As future Queen, she oversaw and protected her people—the Shinma of the Eastern World. At a young age, she’d been trained to protect herself with her bare fists in place of the natural instincts one received as a vampire; she was born to eliminate any threat to her people, although that time in her life had not yet come (and she was also the daylight protector of the household, should the guards fail)—she’d inherit the throne in a mere two years, which meant she had that much time left to be what she was.

A teenage girl.

Unfortunately, her eighteenth year would mark more than just her ascension.

War had been brewing amongst the Shinma of the Realm—a world parallel to the Human realm, named Styx—and a bloody feud divided the Western and Eastern Shinma brutally. The initial reason for the animosity had long since been forgotten, but the hatred and meaningless bloodshed still carried on. Thousands of years passed on ruthlessly before either side realized that this was getting nowhere—and thus, a plan was formed.

The Ruler of the West met with the Osa of the East somewhere amidst the barrier between Styx and the Human Realm, where both of their powers were rendered useless. After a week of non-stop negotiations and countless debates, the two great Commanders came to an agreement. Miyu recalled having stayed up for that entire week—one of the few times she’d been able to interact with the people in her nocturnal household—until her father had returned, and the relief when he finally had. Her smile had been genuine, her eyes glimmering with a childlike elation. The look on her otou-san’s face, however, stopped any sort of welcome she’d been about to spew; he looked put-out, but more like the Osa than her father—her loving, caring father.

Although sunlight didn’t kill vampires, it did severely weaken them—almost to the point where it could be fatal. Her father was a strong man, however, and had stood with his shoulder back and head held up high beneath the mid-afternoon sun upon his return. His blue eyes were dark. Saddened. It wasn’t until he’d spoken privately with his wife that he told his young daughter—nine at the time—of the fate he’d given her for the safety and future prosperity of their people. Of the fate he’d altered.

‘I am getting aggravated,’ she thought to herself, turning yet another corner in pursuit of her wayward flute; where in Hell was that blasted thing? She was the only one that touched the instrument—so where could it be? “I’m going to destroy Shiina.”

Though raised as a princess, it had taken almost an entire year or two before she was able to accept the nightmare to come—she had to, for there was no other choice. She’d taken the news in stride, yes, but that did not mean it hadn’t disturbed her greatly. At nine, she’d still believed in fairytales and romance; Love at first sight and Knights in Shining Armor. Her dreams had been shattered on a catastrophic scale upon hearing that her hand had been all but tossed into a marriage with the second-oldest son of the Western King. A complete and total stranger by the name of Aubrey G. Ashbourne—dubbed ‘Lava’ because of the unnatural color of his eyes . . . or so they said.

The young Miyu had learned first hand at the age of eleven that ‘Lava’ did, in fact, fit him; she’d accepted what she couldn’t help and it had been arranged that she would visit him—or he visit her—at least once a year. It was a poor attempt from her father to try and make up for this disastrous turn of events, thinking that if she could fall in love with her future husband, that all would be well.

But this was not the case.

The first thing she noted upon stepping foot into the foreign manor was that Lord Aubrey G. Ashbourne did not have lava-colored eyes—they were red. Deep, endless, swirling pools of red. Red like roses. Red like her hair ribbons. Red like the blood that sustained her family—the blood and heritage that had not been passed onto her. They smoldered dangerously when they met her own, plainer chocolate ones. His voice was low and warm, but it carried with it the undercurrent of dark, forbidden secrets and oh-so-tantalizing sin. A man of slow, rumbling laughter, spontaneity and smoldering flames. With sapphire hair and a devil-may-care smile, he was handsome, charming, and the epitome of a nineteen year old in the prime of his life.

It was hard to like him. Even a little.

But she had tried for her father’s sake. When she’d turned twelve, and he twenty, things only went downhill. She wanted to read books of fiction and romance—he wanted Hash and a glass of wine. She enjoyed playing with two of his four younger siblings—Gerald and Garnet, both twins at the age of seven at the time—whilst he galloped off at odd times of the night with his older brother, Garline (twenty-two), in search for some vulnerable, gullible little thing to share in bed.

It was obvious the prince did not like the idea of being tied-down to a child of twelve. A girl—a mere human—eight years his junior. He scoffed at restrictions, and this was no different; he was forced to spend the rest of his life by this chit’s side? Meh. He was a horrible womanizer—too put it mildly—and, if left to his own devices, he could cause havoc and chaos the likes of which Hell has never seen. A demon, this one; and, unfortunately, the princess knew this all too well. During her month-long visits to his home, she often stayed in the higher, topmost levels of his manor in the hopes to avoid him and his own. Long gone were the days when she played with the younger of the Ashbourne siblings, for they’d grown out of ‘playing’; even the youngest—five year old Gemmy—preferred his toys over her.

“This is the seventh floor I’ve tried; perhaps it’s in my tower?” Thinking aloud, the brown-eyed Miyu continued down a corridor, tugging her morning robe tighter about her small frame. She was beginning to grow weary of this; Lava was due to arrive any day now, and losing her flute did not add to her already-frazzled nerves.

His visits to her home—they alternated every year—always made her feel either five or fifty. When he wasn’t treating her like a child, he loved to tease her something awful, as if she were his sister rather than his fiancée. To top it off, there were times when he came that they all came—every last Ashbourne tagged along with Lava, coming to stay beneath the same roof as the human princess of the Kyuuketsu and Eastern Shinma alike. It was during those rare times that Lady Miyu Asatamashii wished she were just a normal girl in the Human World; they never went through times like this, she’d heard.

Must be nice.

A long time ago, she recalled a brief conversation with her husband-to-be; one of the few interesting and serious conversations they’d had—and that was saying something, since Lava being serious was like Lava being celibate. It just didn’t happen. It had been about his name: Aubrey.

As far as she knew, their mother, Lady Marlene—may her soul rest in peace—had been overly fond of names beginning with the letter ‘G’; their father had been extremely indulgent to his wife, which resulted in each one of their children being named thusly. From the youngest, it was Gianni (Gemmy), Gerald and Garnet, Ginji, and Garline—but Lava, just two years younger than Garline, was named ‘Aubrey’. Miyu could not help but notice—and, ultimately, ask why.

“Funny you should ask,” he’d replied, sipping the red liquid in his glass. “My name’s actually Gabriel; notice the ‘G’ after ‘Aubrey’.”

That made sense. But . . . “Then why—”

“I felt like being different.” He smirked, but it didn’t seem as off-handish as it usually did. There was a frown darkening those bloody pools of temptation, but she knew better than to pry. “Dad agreed to it as long as I changed my name back once I married.” The shadows leapt and danced across his face, the fireplace hiding more than it revealed. “I think ‘Aubrey’ sounds better than ‘Gabriel’, don’t you?”

She’d shaken her head, not answering.

Of course, the conversation had ended not two seconds later when the gorgeous blonde-haired Lilith and come to claim her lover, completely uncaring that he was spending quality time—or something—with his fiancée. With a smile and a farewell, he’d left the young fourteen year old by the hearth to stare blankly at a wall for the rest of the night. Of course, she’d always wondered who would be the one to have moved her to her own bed come morning when she woke up, but she figured it to be a servant or some such; who else would carry her petite frame whilst she slept?

Bare feet padding softly up the winding stairs of her own, private tower, she scanned the area for the flute she looked for.

The flute was custom made from a rare alloy only found on a small island in the Western half of the world. It was smaller than ordinary flutes and designed with embedded evergreen vines twisting intricately around the surface of the instrument, the silver of the metal shiny and cool to the touch. When she played, it sounded beautiful. Ethereal. She cherished it more than anything; even though, of course, it had been a gift from Lord Aubrey Gabriel Ashbourne.

It was cold up here in the Observatory. With a small, audible shiver, she cinched her morning robe ever tighter around her waist, futilely trying to keep warm. On Spring days, she loved coming up here to watch the beauty of the landscape in silence, where no one or thing could disturb the serenity. When she wanted to get away, she came here to think—to focus. To accept. With the cool breeze tickling her skin, she could sort out every difficulty in her mind and work it through, fixing any problem and ultimately calming herself down. In the place of the friends she’d lost long ago, she had her own little getaway that provided her with the comfort and escape from reality she so lacked in her life. Warm words and strong embraces—she needed none of those if she had this place.

But now she was cold. It was mid-winter and the little lady was freezing up here—but she refused to give up. Slowly, she looked in every corner and crevice, searching for her precious instrument—to no avail. Minutes went by in frustrating silence before, a frosty hour later, Miyu slumped against the wall, exasperated. “Where could it be?” Her peaches n’ cream complexion had paled to an ashy, snowy pallor and she felt her insides quaking. ‘Dammit.’ She wanted her flute. It wasn’t often she wanted something, but when she did, she’d do almost anything to get it—most of the time anyway.

Almost angrily—almost, for the princess was not known to be expressive—the human girl came down from the tower, cold, annoyed, and fatigued; she’d never gotten along with cold weather for some reason. ‘Where could it be!’ Dragging a hand through her wind-tousled hair, she went down to the kitchens—a mug of hot chocolate would make her feel better. “I just wish I could find the bloody thing.”

“Looking for something, princess?”

She just barely kept herself from jumping a mile into the air; with a choked breath, she turned, her chocolate-brown eyes revealing nothing to him, though it was beyond obvious that he’d given her a damned good scare—his smile was wide and toothy. Sometimes she wondered who was the younger of the two—him or her? Mentally screaming every foul name at him that she could think of, she took a moment of pause before her brain could formulate normal words. Her English skills were pitiful at best, so she did not even attempt at communicating with him in his native tongue; he knew Japanese pretty damn well anyway, so what was the point? “Ne; when did you arrive?” No Hellos, no How Are Yous—no beating around the bush.

He switched to Japanese, speaking beautifully in spite of his background. “A few hours ago, actually.” Another cheeky smile. “Seeing as we came ahead of schedule, I guess your father didn’t know to send an escort; Garline had no idea where the Hell we were going and when we landed, we were lost until Garnet asked someone for directions—pretty sad state of affairs, considering how long we’ve been making the trip over here, ne?” He chuckled. “We had to listen to Garnet’s lectures on ‘men and directions’ the whole way.”

Interesting—and bizarre. The Ashbournes were never early; they’d be fashionably late to their own graves. And Garline had piloted the ship? From years of observing the siblings, she knew Garline loved ships . . . but usually the Western King had an entire crew—complete with guards and caretakers—to pilot the kids (and the King, when he came) over to the Eastern shores; and usually, it was just Lava that made the journey over, for the others had no obligation to visit the Kyuuketsu Manor. So why now? “Your otou-san’s not with you?” It didn’t make sense; when they came, they never really saw her, so what’s with all the hubbub this time? Did she miss something?

“Iie; otou-san decided to stay home this time,” he answered with a look that screamed how much he longed to be back there as well. “It’s just us.” His lips curled a little, his eyes boring into hers; she stared back emotionlessly. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”

It was then, belatedly, that she noted of her inappropriate state of dress—or lack thereof, rather. She moved to pull it back with something—anything—but he was quicker, stilling her hands before they reached her soft brown tresses. “No—I didn’t mention it for you to put it back up; I like it like this.” His smile was genuine. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs; that’s why I came up here.”

It suddenly clicked. “You were waiting for a maid to show you to your rooms.” It wasn’t a question. Nodding to herself, she headed down towards the foyer, the amused Lava trailing behind her. “You should call before you show up unannounced,” she told him as they descended yet another winding staircase. “We were unable to get the rooms ready; no one is even awake right now because no one knew.” She was not used to playing hostess—that was her mother’s job, and had never been written into her own’s description. Although, one usually didn’t find your guest by way of scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Ah, Lava; I thought you’d gotten lost.”

“My sense of direction is much better than yours, Garline.”

“I beg to differ,” muttered Garnet with a huff.

“Oh, don’t start this now!” The other twin, Gerald, looked weary.

“Ugh—I still feel queasy from the boatride. . .”

“It’s a ship, Ginji!” Garnet looked about ready to explode.

“Whatever—I’m still sick.”

“You promised me a cookie, Lava!” This was Gemmy, tugging cutely on one of his own locks of hair.

“Can you wait till we unpack, at least?”

“. . . No!”

As they bickered amongst themselves, she felt like an intruder—and outsider in her own home. She stood off to the side, unintentionally concealed within the shadow of a column; she was an honest enough person to know that she envied them, as despicable an emotion as that may be. She, the sole-living child of the Kyuuketsu royal bloodline, had never known a brother’s love. Had never known what it was like to bicker and argue—to laugh and joke with someone so close to you. To have someone there that was tied to you, whether you wanted them to be or not.

And though her parents loved her, their nature did not allow them to be with their daughter during the day. An hour or two here and there—that was all she saw of her parents. She knew no friends, for Shiina was more of a pet than a friend. Despite the fact that she was human, she was a true creature of the Night; alone.

Try as she might, the ache in her chest would not leave; she spoke in her heavily accented English so that they could all understand her. “The West Wing will be yours to do with as you wish during your stay here.” Her voice cut through the chatter, all attention focusing upon her; she was small, but her presence was not. It demanded allegiance. Respect. “Excuse the state of the Manor; we were not expecting your arrival, and so I’m afraid it is in a state of Rest.” She bowed her head slightly, apologizing formally. Everything seemed to be in disarray—someone had to be organized about this. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Garline’s smile was wide and welcoming, an exact replica of Lava’s—it was no small secret how alike they were. “Princess! How good to see you! I haven’t seen you in so long—if I had, I would have noted what a fine young woman you’ve become. I fear I’m turning green from envy, dear brother.” He was as playful and teasing as Lava, only on a much more flirtatious level. “I bet you’re bombarded with suitors, eh?” He chuckled.

As always when dealing with others, she favored him with a cool disregard. “I’ll awaken the staff to carry your things; follow me.”

And so they did; what else could they do? The only available Lady of the Manor had all but ordered them to follow—they couldn’t refuse, even if they had wanted to. Dressed in a mere night-slip and morning robe, she looked younger than her sixteen years warranted, although she stood no less regally. Even attired thus, one could not mistake the future Queen, her long tresses curling slightly in the morning light. For the first time that day, the siblings noticed how dark some corridors were, whilst others were bathed in sunlight. Some hallways were long and twisted—others short and simple. Gemmy clung to Lava subconsciously.

The line of Ashbournes that trailed the princess would seem comical to any random observer—but as it was, the troop became oddly quiet until Miyu herself broke the silence. “If you happen to venture onto the eighth floor, beware of the third corridor to the right of the main staircase.”

“Why?” It was Garnet, unable to contain her curiosity.

“It is unstable.” Her English truly was terrible, but they understood her nonetheless; the twins and Gemmy knew next to nothing of Japanese, and Ginji, although nearly-fluent, was not overly-fond of the language. Because of her inadequacy in languages, she explained no further, hoping that they’d heed her warning; one of Miyu’s training sessions had gone wrong, and thus, the foundation there was shaky at best. One misstep and it would all come tumbling down.

A little while later, they arrived in the West Wing; a large, round room at the end of the hallway—complete with doors that led into separate rooms with their own bathrooms. It was here she left her guests to choose whichever chambers they wished, making her way down to the servant’s level to awaken the household—afterwards, she’d awaken her parents. She was approaching the main staircase when she felt a presence behind her. His. “Is there something amiss?” She walked down a few steps and stopped, turning to face one of her houseguests for the next month or so. Perhaps he was hungry? If so, he should have simply told her before; she felt awkward with him standing there.

He was leaning casually against the banister, his eyes hooded. “What were you looking for earlier?”

She was surprised at the question, but chose to not let it show. “My flute.”

His smile was warm—but oddly dark. “The one I gave you?” She nodded. “I’m surprised you still have that thing; I didn’t know you played the flute.” Seeing her furrowed brow, he answered the question he saw there. “I just thought it was a rather pretty instrument—I didn’t think you actually played it. Girls usually like just having trinkets like that simply because they’re pretty; baubles and useless knick-knacks, you know?” He offered by way of explanation. Her unmoving expression bothered him a little—he was compelled by mysteries, but this was one he was not sure he wanted to delve into; after all, in a few more years, he’d have her entire life to figure her out, seeing as Shinma outlived humans by several centuries easily.

She said nothing. Standing there motionlessly, he was vaguely reminded of a doll—a sad, lone little porcelain doll. When the silence reached a fever-pitch, she finally spoke. “Is there something you needed—I am headed for the staff right now.” She was escaping something; him. They both knew it, and yet he couldn’t fathom why.

He shook his head and she nodded, turning and leaving him to ponder the enigma she embodied—and then shake them away.

They were mysteries for another day.