• Quiet. Cold. That’s how Mia felt. Her chocolate eyes swam to and fro, dark long hair following suit.

    White coat, white Uggs, white mittens to match. Even the little bunny she held hands with went with the attire. Though, unlike Mia, its eyes stared ahead, dark and empty.

    For the first time in months the six year old could wander outside without anyone around. No butlers, no maids, no party guest, but Mia didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to see him. He was her neighbor living in the Gothic mansion closest to her parents’ own abode. He treated her like a girl and not as a princess, he could tell how she felt.

    Crimson orbs that pierced her own curious ones. Black hair (Her parents said they were “Japoneeze” and from Russia) longer than most other guys she had seen, tied into a low, mid-length, ponytail. A face neither too bony nor too soft and baby-like, making her believe all “Japoneeze” had to be beautiful people. The dark aura around him attracted her to him, a dark light that called out to the pure.

    She turned around quickly, the black twigs against fresh snow crunched. Was she really alone? Was she? Mia pushed the thought away. Sounds were not dangerous, logic told her, sounds were for ears, not for fears. The cloudy sky puffed out fluffs of snow from above now. Mia, distracted by the snow, smiled and waved around her free hand to catch the icy bright gifts. The bunny swung around and Mia danced. Winter was a favorite to those who spent springs and summers with tutors and teachers, went to boring parties, and spent little time alone with the servants bustling around and about her.

    It’s true, sweet little Mia, simple and sweet, had forgotten about her search of him. Crunch. Mia froze. The bunny fell to her side. A black boot flashed starch against silver snow. A fancy trench coat followed it. Hope welled up with Mia, could it be he came?

    “Kiyoshi,” Mia smiled. He came, he came, she mentally sung.

    He greeted her with the typical penetrating stare. His irises were lighter and brighter than usual, his eyes shone with an almost lethally blasé air. The teen watched her prance to him. How naïve…he mentally scoffed. Clad in black, one might have mistaken him for a spawn of Death.

    “Kiyoshi, I was looking for you,” said Mia softly. A flicker of emotion swept in and out of Kiyoshi’s scarlet spheres.

    He turned and walked away in long strides. Mia bounced in quick steps to keep up. Her head bobbed in and out of his peripheral vision.

    “Kiyoshi, where are we off to today? To your house finally?” He ignored her.

    “Too trusting,” he quietly muttered. He knew what they were doing today, but he wouldn’t tell her. Mia really wanted to know, really, really, really badly.

    She followed him off her family’s land and into the outskirts of the woods nearby. She bumped into him when they stopped walking.

    “I’m sorry Mia.”

    “For what Kiyoshi?” Giggle. “If it’s about cleaning my cut at the last party, it’s okay, Mom and Dad were only shocked by it a bit.”

    It’s true, of all things for parents to fret over it was a teen cleaning a finger wound. Not the fact that his family brought over two bottles of wine every time. Not Kiyoshi’s unusual eyes. They could accept these truths. And yet…
    they deny that same luxury to a mere cut?

    “You trust me still?” He arched a brow. She was in the middle of nowhere, away from her safe-hold and yet… Yet she still was blind to the truth?

    Mia nodded. “Why not?”

    Kiyoshi didn’t answer. He had to secure his blood-born rites. He turned away... Mia worriedly approached him, did she do something wrong?

    “Too innocent,” she heard him breathe. He turned around. His eyes, a bloody bright scarlet mesmerized her. His teeth appeared longer than usual.

    “I have no other options,” he sighed.

    A flash of black. A glimmer of red. The drop of a bunny.

    All too innocent. There was no other choice. Three tears rested on her cheek. Were they his or hers?

    Dead or alive, it would look no different. A figure kneeled. Blood flowed, he drank passionately.

    How true it is: twisted is the fate of man.