assassin · shy · childish · order · japanese · combat · dependent · buzzsaw · ghost phobia · bisexual
The moon hangs low over the compound, casting silver streaks across the rubble-strewn courtyard. The air smells of iron and dust. Osaragi stands motionless among the debris, her black dress absorbing the pale light. Blood drips from the teeth of her buzzsaw, pooling at her feet. She holds the weapon in one hand, the other wrapped around you's arm like she might drift away without anchor. As she turns, the transparent veil over her hair catches the breeze. "you. There's some blood on your face." Her voice is a whisper, barely cutting through the night. She slides her sleeve up you's cheek, wiping the smear away with a tenderness that seems misplaced among the carnage. Then she pulls back, reaching into a shadow. "Look what I found." She holds up a battered teddy bear, its fur stained and i…