Her fingers were cold, her head was heavy, and the world was dark.

Kanade blinked away the dust from her eyes, thick from what felt like years of sleep and weak from disuse. However, the darkness did not fade, nor was she able to discern shapes or shadows. Slowly, she tried focusing her eyes, only to find that her eyelashes brushed against something clinging to her face.

Raising a hand to her face she found that cloth covered both eyes, and upon further probing, it reached far up her forehead, wrapping tightly around her head. Slowly, her hand moved down toward her nose, but found that the slight upward curve no longer stood out as it had before. Behind the bandages she blinked carefully, then tried to furrow her brow before a dull pain washed over her whole face. She started to pull both hands toward her head when her right hand caught against something.

She fingered the small plastic clamp that had been placed over her finger, and followed the cord until it fell off the side of the bed. To her right she startled to hear a low mechanical beeping.

She gave off a small gasp as she shot up in bed. The sterile smell of hospitals burned through her missing nostrils as she tried to inhale, and a paper-thin gown bunched around her waist. As the realization hit, Kanade found it hard to breathe, and as she cradled her broken face between her bandaged hands, she felt a thick warmth pooling from where her tears should have been coming.

She didn't notice the footsteps outside her door, she couldn't see the shocked faces when the nurses found her crying blood, and she didn't hear their voices calling her name.

But she did feel the familiar weight of a body sitting beside her. Through the smell of rubbing alcohol and her own blood she could smell grease and soy sauce. A pair of warm arms came around her cold body, face pressing gently into the side of her head. Still gasping for air, Kanade tried to make sense of the words whispered into her ears. But all she could hear was the warmth of the whispers and all she could do was cling to her father in the darkness.

'My child, why do you cry?'

A gentle hand pressed against her shoulder, shaking her awake. Kanade pressed her face further into the folds of her jacket, hoping the persistent voice above her could take a hint.

'My dear, if you do not rise, you will miss breakfast,' the voice chided.

A small growling replied to the man before she could turn her head to tell him off. She sat up on the bench she had been asleep on, blushing and clutching at her betraying stomach as the reverend kneeling beside her fell into laughter. He held out a small tray with a bowl of cooling porridge and a bottle of water. She turned away from the food to glare at him and was met with a handkerchief and a kind smile. One last tear slid down her cheek.

'Someone so young should not be troubled to tears in the House of the Lord,' he said as she quickly dabbed at her eyes. Still half asleep, she didn't notice the stain on the stark white cloth until the reverend reached for it, and she froze as he took in the sight of blood.

'My dear,' he began in a voice that had her internally cursing.

'It's nothing, I just… it's just that-' she fumbled for an excuse as her heart began to race. Shit, she thought, I can't be caught here.

'It's a miracle!' the reverend whispered.

'Excuse me?' She deadpanned.

Kanade found herself dumbstruck. Did this man seriously find her abnormality to be a religious marvel?

'It's as if the the spirit of God has entered you today and blessed you with His love and grace!'

The reverend's face glowed as though he was the one being blessed, she thought as she glanced around to see if his outburst had been heard by anyone else. Seeing that they were mostly alone, Kanade turned back to him, picked up the now cold porridge, shoving a heap into her mouth, trying to play off the relief she felt.

'Honestly, I'd rather be blessed with warm clothes than be a walking stigmata.'

'But my dear,' he insisted, 'don't you see, He has accepted you into His heart and-'

'Father,' she warned, cutting her eyes at him, 'being warm and fed will get you farther in life than living off of grace and love.'

The reverend considered her for a moment, stroking his chin. Finally he stood, and with a smile offered his hand. 'Let's see what we can do about that then.'

She was tall, almost as tall as the reverend, so finding something to fit her took over an hour of searching through the church's lost and found. The last shirt she had to her name was pathetic: thin, full of holes, and seemed to steal heat rather than preserve it. Her pants could have been blue once, but years on the road had stained them almost black, and they always smelled of ash and blood.

The old tattered jacket she'd had for almost five years now was reduced to a pile of rags stitched together, and though it had served her well, Kanade reluctantly agreed to throw it out. She remembered the countless times she'd tried to repair it, the loose threads tearing over and over until she had wanted to burn it for warmth instead of wear it.

Sitting next to a large pile of tattered clothes she mentally smacked herself for thinking that she would be able to find anything decent in a church's lost and found box. But when the reverend had offered her anything she could fit into, she bit her tongue, knowing whatever she could find would be better than trying to survive the upcoming winter in rags.

So she sat, trying on anything and everything. Countless shirts and threadbear tunics, a few pairs of pants, all of which were too big for her. Even several thin dresses, a couple skirts, and one pair of overalls that she eyed warily before tossing aside.

By the time she had reached the bottom of the box, she had found two nice shirts, a warm sweater, three pairs of pants - all of them too short, but who was she to turn away free? - and even a pair of hiking boots. Those got her excited as she tore off her duct-taped sneakers and pushed her feet inside. The warmth surprised her, and she wiggled her toes almost cheerily as she tightened the laces. She decided to part with her old shoes, as she had with her jacket, and reached out to set them inside the now empty box.

As she pulled her hand out, she brushed against one last piece of fabric. Not knowing how she had missed it, Kanade pulled out a thick piece of clothing that frankly confused her. She turned it this way and that, until she stood up and extended it and found sleeves, a collar, and finally, the cleverly hidden buttons running down the coat's centre.

Light in weight, yet as she shrugged into it, the jacket surprised her once again by surrounding her in a cozy warmth that she hadn't felt in years. Heat tingled up her arms with the long sleeves that fell to her fingertips and clutched at her shoulders when she stretched.

As she began to button up, she noticed the remains of what might have once been tailcoats on the front and back of the coat, now only slightly burnt and ripped pieces remained. She fingered the torn fabric, trying to convince herself that the dark stains weren't blood.

It was dark as she left the church, a small loaf of bread stuffed into her bag, along with a tiny bible the reverend had pressed into her hand as she left. He had promised her a place to sleep and a meal to eat should she ever need it. She thanked him, and waited until he closed the door behind her before hurrying into the nearest alleyway. She threw her bag to the ground, digging around her new garments until she found a length of leather straps.

Undoing the buttons on the coat, she tied it to her waist as she threaded the straps over her sweater, the bands crossing in an x over her back and fastening together across her chest.

From deep within her bag Kanade then drew out two neatly wrapped packages. She gently unwrapped and unsheathed a set of twin blades. Gleaming with oil, the swords shone briefly in the moonlight as she inspected them. When she was satisfied that they hadn't been damaged in her previous fight, she sheathed them, and attached both swords to two clasps attached to the leather bands at her back.

Satisfied with her work, Kanade adored her coat and bag once again and set out of the alleyway. She followed the light of the moon until she reached a beach. To her left, the beach continued seemingly forever, the water stretching farther than she could see. Endless amounts of waves and sand, miles upon miles she'd already walked several times. She thought if she looked carefully, she might be able to see her footprints still fresh in the sand.

But to her right sat a harbour. Loud and bright compared to the quiet beach opposite it. Dozens, if not hundreds of people working, drinking, singing, waiting for their next departure.

Every other week for the past three months Kanade had found herself on this beach, stuck with the decision of walking the beach, or riding a ship. To stay on this island, or to leave it; to go left, or right.

Tonight is no different, she finds as she kicks a stone into the lapping water. She has no connection to this island anymore, she has traversed every square mile, visited every bar, killed every monster…

A voice in the back of her head tells her that there is nothing left for her here, and she doesn't glance back toward the small town as she walks toward the docks.

Several miles away, a man sits upon his ship nursing a half empty bottle of wine. He's had a shitty week, his men are restless, and all he wanted to do was find a pretty lady and have a good night before shipping off.

He'd spotted a girl earlier that night, long dark hair, pale face framed with choppy bangs, a funny looking trench coat. She would have done, he thought, taking a swig of the wine, if she hadn't almost broken his hand when he tried to get her attention.

He'd just stumbled out of a bar with a few of his crewmembers when she'd walked by, and he turned to his men with a wink. He called out to her, but she had ignored him. He reached out a hand to grab her arm and before he could blink, she had his arm twisted at a painful angle. The street that was once busy and loud was suddenly deafening with it's silence. And then she spoke.

'Don't. Touch. Me.'

By the time she'd let go of his arm, the direction of his blood flow reversed, flooding his face a deep angry red. Eventually one of his men said something to another, and they both burst into drunken laughter. His embarrassment quickly returned to anger and he had knocked a tooth out of each of their heads before heading back to the ship.

The man now found himself sitting on the deck of his cargo ship, the bottle of wine he'd stolen that night now empty. He picked up the glass, wondering if he had become a seasoned drinker, or if the wine had just been too weak to affect him. When he noticed the label read 1967 he shrugged, muttering about 'cheap-ass wine.'

Chucking the bottle off the edge of the ship, he waited until it hit the rocks nestled beside the pier, and smirked at the sound of it shattering. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, stuck one in his mouth and tried to light it with a match. A breeze came up then and threatened to put out the lit cigarette as it fell out of his hand.

There was a scent in the air. Something that was so familiar to him that it rattled his bones, broke him into a sweat, and had him stumbling toward the edge of the ship.

She was near.

He could feel it in his blood. She was close, coming closer to him. His body suddenly slumped forward, his head knocking against his knees as he curled up on the deck. He smiled, cruel mouth full of pointed teeth.

She was coming to him, and this time, he wasn't going to let her get away.

chapter 1, revised! i like it so much better now. thoughts?