A/N: Erythrite is a pale red crystalline material. Though it is associated with Cobalt crystals, it reminded me of the crystals Chiropterans become when they die. I had a hell of a time with titles for this. I wanted this to be as elegant as possible. In case you don't catch on later in the story, the chapter names are the names of the movements of the Bach Cello Suite 5. I in fact suggest you listen to the Cello Suites as you read this; I did. I don't know how things work in this part of town, but I spell our favorite Chevalier's name as Hagi, not Haji. Why? Because my spell check curses at me when I spell it Haji. Deal with it.
Rating: I think it will be M. I think their may be a little blood, gore and language, so kids, let's play this one safe.
Disclaimer: Own Blood Plus, I do not. Own the Bach Cello Suites, I do not. Own your mother, I do. Go ask her. Do it.
This night was heavy with rain. The wet scent carried through the stone walls of a grave, soaking a silken cocoon with moisture. It's surface had seen ten long years now, it's massive webbing holding the precious being inside from the harsh summers and winters, the extremes of each year. The storm had just ended, the last few rolls of thunder causing the stone floor to vibrate. It was just the first of the spring storms, the loud entrance of April and it's graces.
Slow footsteps could be heard and soft voices traveled gently through the thick, humid air, loping over the steps to the grave. That same voice had been coming every spring for the past ten years. And surely, that voice would be hopeful like always, as the owner came to check on the tightly wrapped cocoon, looking for signs of any early awakening. Another voice was there too, an even softer one, an even more familiar one.
The being within the cocoon responded to the sounds of the voices, pulsing slightly, the flexible walls bending outward, then resting. Finally, the voices were at the mouth of the grave. The first one spoke very softly, saying a name with such care. Every year, that voice got deeper. Then the other one spoke, softer and never changing. And at the sound of this voice so close, the entity within the cocoon thrust roughly at the walls that surrounded.
The two voices went silent, waiting. When no other response was made, the first voice spoke, this time, loud enough to hear. "Can she hear us?"
"On an unconscious level, yes," The second voice replied. Again, at the sound of the voice, the cocoon gave way to another blow from the creature inside.
"She's responding to you," The first voice said, a smile in the voice. "It's probably because she thinks your gone. She's probably confused, even if on an unconscious level."
The other voice didn't reply. There was a silence for a few minutes, only small noises being heard, like the drops of stray rain, the rumbling of leftover thunder. Then the first voice spoke again, slightly in awe. "Will she respond to that?"
"She always does," The second voice said so quietly, it was almost inaudible.
Then it began. The Bach Cello Suite 5 in C Minor, Prélude. Within moments, the cocoon was pulsing evenly with the music, what looked like hands, pressing at the walls of the cocoon. They ran in circles, disappearing then reappearing. It looked as though the cocoon had it's own heartbeat, the way it would pulse twice, the first one strong, the second weaker.
Outside, it began to shower lightly, the gentle, yet mournful song of the Cello crying into the hollow echo of the grave. Each note, each chord rang against the cold stone, the emotions pouring from it's strings, dragging across the bow, it's vibrations going through the endpin, to the floor, traveling to the cocoon, filling it with a soft hum.
The soft crackle of the bow on strings, soaring to clear, high whines, then down to low, deep moans, the flutter of arpeggios and each note tripping into the next. The presence within the cocoon knew this song all too well. It pulsed more with the rising climax of sound, and settled when the notes quieted, lulling soothingly in the thick air. It finally ended on a breathtaking, major chord that resonated loudly and fully through the chamber.
"She knows that song so well," The first voice said in an appreciative tone.
"She was the one who taught me to play it," The other voice said quietly. The rain finally stopped outside, the many-layered whisper turning into a syncopated collage of different voices.
"We should get home before the next storm," The first voice suggested. "I'll give you a minute alone," The voice added. A series of footsteps and it seemed almost physically obvious that there was only one other being left in the room.
There were a few clicks, the slight hollow bump of an instrument being set in a case, then a last two clicks. Almost silent footsteps, and then two hands were set on the surface of the cocoon; one was warm and the fingers were spread over the curve of the wall. The other hand was oddly shaped and cold. The fingers weren't spread, but held together by some material, not to mention the hand itself seemed longer and bigger than the other one. Within the cocoon, two other hands pushed against the flexing wall, matching the two on the outside.
"Saya," The voice said softly, the sound full of devotion and love. "I'll be waiting like I always do."
The fingers on the inside wall curled, trying to lace into the other fingers.
"Saya," The voice whispered, the lips of the person against the cocoon. Then the lips, the hands, and the voice left, the footsteps carrying out of the grave, out into the heavy air. It smelled like another storm was coming, indeed. The two voices spoke briefly outside the grave, then their footsteps could be heard going down the long row of steps.
The cocoon quit pulsing entirely and fell still, resuming it's hibernation. The being inside, Saya, wrapped back into a fetal position and went back to sleep, the words of the second voice sitting gently in her stilled mind. The next storm began later on, the lightning cracking and spreading over the night sky, flashing inside the grave.
Suddenly, several voices, loud and howling, sounded from outside, then a rush of noise and footsteps, and they were inside the grave. Their approach must've been covered by the calamity the storm was causing.
"I hate storms," One of them shivered, sounding like a small girl.
"Where the hell are we?" Another one demanded, a teenage sounding boy.
"Who knows," What sounded like the oldest one - a girl - said. "At least we're out of the rain."
They were all so loud compared to the previous guest and Saya pushed slightly on the wall of the cocoon in protest. The three continued to argue or whatever they were doing, pacing around the confines of the dark grave, feet slapping over the moist floor.
"What's that?" The little girl said suddenly, sounding frightened. "Where's the flash light?"
"What's what?" The older girl demanded. There was a bit of rustling, then a sharp, blinding light erupted in the grave, shining fiercely through the membrane of the cocoon. "What in God's name is that?"
"Maybe it's an alien egg or something," The teenage boy offered. There was a sharp slapping sound and a cry of pain from the boy.
"That's ridiculous," The older girl snapped. "Give me your pocket knife and we'll see just what it is."
Saya, trapped in hibernation, couldn't do anything but push on the walls, trying desperately to make the strangers go away. Logic was not yet in her reach, only her survival instincts active.
"Did that thing just move?" The boy nearly exclaimed.
"You're hallucinating," She said in exasperation. She was in front of the cocoon now, the shadow of the knife visible through the thin membrane. "It's probably nothing."
"That thing is big enough for a person to be inside of it," The boy continued. "What if there's one of those freaky things in it? Those monsters we saw last week?"
"I highly doubt it," The girl said knowingly. Then she thrust the knife into the cocoon, inches from Saya's face. She pulled the knife downward, making a foot long slit in it's silky, stubborn texture. Light screamed into the cocoon as the girl discarded the knife and pulled forcefully on the edges of the opening she had made. The little girl held the flashlight, aiming it into the cocoon.
A piece of long, black hair hung out of the opening. The three got closer, trying to see though the webbing inside the cocoon. Then a thin hand fell into the opening and all three screamed and backed away.
"There's a person in there!" The little girl screeched.
"Let's get out of here, now!" The oldest commanded. They gathered their things and ran back out into the down pour, leaving the cocoon wide open.