Anemone Under the Sea

If she hadn't been her and he hadn't been him – could they have lived and seen tomorrow?

The man looks at her with leering eyes. She feels the urge to retch as his gaze lewdly and unabashedly follows the lines of her body. He is too old but she doesn't have the luxury to refuse him so she lets her kimono drop to the floor, its cheap fabric forming a crinkled heap on rough wood. Her owner does little to hide his excitement, and with wrinkled hot hands, he reaches towards her.

His movements are clumsy but frenzied, as if he was a starving, rabid, animal. She's frightened by the intensity of his grip, and instinctively attempts to push him away with her small hands. At this, he grows impatient, mad, tearing her hands away, holding her wrists until she feels them grow red and raw. The girl calls out, for help – for anything.

"Hush little rabbit," his voice comes out hoarse with a hint of annoyance. "I've paid good money to fuck you."

Overwhelmed by fear, tears well up in her eyes and her body goes rigid. She can't move, she won't. And so she resigns herself to lay there obediently and helplessly as he has his way with her.

He's at her entrance, and as a triumphant smile appears on his sweaty face, a scream echoes through the building. The man freezes, and she uses this opportunity to push him away, gathering up her clothes and exiting through the door. He shouts after her, cursing her soul, delivering vile threats, but she does not slow down. Her heart is pounding in her ears as voices dance around her in a panic and flames flicker from behind closed doors. She knows not what is happening, but won't let this chance pass by.

As if the world were tormenting her, she finds herself at a dead end. The shoji screen won't slide open no matter how hard she tries, and she quickly becomes aware of the heavy footsteps approaching. She turns around, her arms in front of her poorly clad body acting like a barrier. The monster turns around the corner, and at the sight of her, his eyes darken and lips open to reveal a yellow-toothed leer. He lunges towards her just as her eyes dart to the sharp piece of glass that lay by her leg.

She rips into his face, leaving a deep gash from his cheekbone to his jaw. A gargled scream escapes his thin lips as he staggers backwards, hands clasped to his face. Livid, blood dripping down into his mouth, he lets out a roar that causes her to recoil in fear.

"You filthy whore!"

As his hand swings, ready to deliver a pain she was all too familiar with, she shuts her eyes tightly.

It is only when a few moments have passed and her cheek is left untouched when she opens her eyes. The first thing she sees, is pure white. A beautiful ivory that dances with the breeze, gracefully yet fiercely that is illuminated by the flames that flicker behind closed screens. She doesn't notice the pig's body drop to the floor as she stares, captivated by the man that stands before her. His eyes, of jade, are looking straight at her, with an intensity that is foreign as it is terrifying. But she can't bear to look away.

The man, clad in a soldier's uniform, sheathes his sword, a long metal thing that gleamed, and straightens. She feels his eyes sweep over her body, and she instinctively gathers up the loose fabric in an effort to retain some level of modesty.

"Are you injured?" His voice asks quickly, barely audible over panicked screams.

The realization of what might have occurred suddenly dawns upon her and she begins to shake. She can still feel his coarse and wrinkled hands wrapping around her thin wrists, his looming shadow above her, his horrid, sickening sneer. Her breaths turn into gasps, sweat rolls down her forehead, she can't think of anything but the feeling of utter helplessness that threatens to consume her. The world spins.

She's brought back to the present by the man's voice, laced with urgency. He kneels slightly before her, white eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.

"Hey, we need to get moving! Can you stand?"

After a few moments of shocked silence, she manages a small nod. Almost immediately, the man turns his head behind him as hurried footsteps echo around them. The woman follows him through the labyrinth that had once been the brothel as it was dyed in crimson and fire, bare feet padding against warm floorboards.

Running behind the man, she notices his dark uniform – western style – and bites back a snide remark. He doesn't deserve it. Instead, she turns her attention to the man that wears the clothing. He's taller than her, but compared to the men she saw stumbling in and out of the brothel, he was of average height for his age. Still, the way the man stands, head held high, a straight back, causes her to feel even more like a child.

He turns around, and for a moment, she's afraid that her stares had not gone unnoticed. But the man merely glances at her for a second before looking away. She wants to dispel the awkwardness that lingers in the warm air but the situation that they are in didn't seem like the best time for casual discussion. They turn a corner and her thoughts are interrupted by loud, hurried voices. The man pushes them back against the paper screen and she attempts to cease breathing.

A scream penetrates her eardrums, and her mind becomes consumed by fear.

She slips out from underneath him, both hatred and worry boiling in her veins like liquid fire. The scene she sees as she comes to a stop is one that almost causes her to retch.

A child's familiar body, tattered and worn, blood seeping from gashes on her burnt skin. Homura lays there quietly, unmoving as two men – no, beasts – tower over her body. She can't think. Her limbs move, kicking one of the men away as she stumbles towards the child. Rough hands grab her neck, and she recognizes the man as a frequent customer of the brothel. She is slammed into the wall, with an amount of force that almost causes her to lose consciousness. Her vision is blurred by tears, but she manages to make out a sharp, angular face framed by dark hair.

"You wretch," she can smell the scent of alcohol on his breath. She has never smelt anything so vile. The scent seemingly lessens for a moment as he turns to his companion. "Oi, what do you want to with – "

She's dropped to the floor unceremoniously, holding out her hands to soften the fall. Looking up, all she sees is the back of the man who held her captive just seconds ago. The sword that pierces his heart is pulled out, and the corpse slumps to the ground. Looming over the body, the man with hair as white as snow sheathes his sword.

Teal eyes watch coldly as blood as red as wine pools onto the wooden floor. She tears her eyes away from the carnage that surrounds the man in the western uniform, too afraid to look any longer. But even though her eyes are tightly shut, she can still see the body of the little girl she loved so dearly.

"What…" she clasps her hands to her face, willing weak tears to disappear. "…just what is this?"

Sensing the man approach her, she lifts her head. His handsome face was contorted into an expression of pure anguish – but it's gone as quickly as it appears. He turns away, and she averts her eyes.

"You recognize those men, do you not?"

She remains silent, unsure of what to say. Would her cut her down as brutally as he did them? However, it seemed immoral to lie to a man who had saved her twice. She at least owed him the truth.

"They were customers here," she says quietly.

"Fitting," the man smiles bitterly, continuing before she can pry further. "They are part of a foolish group that opposes the government. Idiotic people who believe the emperor and his band of tyrannical aides should have remained in control of the country."

She had never cared much for politics – preferring to focus solely on the things that happened directly around her – and she had always thought that the town she lived in was located in another world. It was dingy, and dangerous, but people wore their desires on their sleeves and one always knew what awaited them. The people were simple – and that was how she preferred it.

"Why are they here then?" She can't help but ball her hands into fists, frustration clear on her face. The unfairness of the situation, of the fact that they had become unwittingly involved in a struggle for power, bites and claws at her very being.

"Because they thought they could take this town. This brothel is nothing more than a casualty."

An image of Homura's body, battered and bruised, devoured by a cruel fate she did not deserve consumes her mind.

A resounding slap echoes.

She glares at him, with violent violet eyes. Her hand stings. His eyes widen. Letting her hand drop, she looks away, unable to control the feeling of sudden animosity that courses through her body. She watches the soldier's own glove clad hand go to the side of his face. Before she can say anything, a loud crash penetrates her ears. Turning around, she sees a wooden plank, burning, tumble to the ground. The hallway behind them is collapsing, falling. Consumed by fire. She lets him drag her away by the arm, as she watches the flickering flames.

They push through the crowd of people, screaming and yelling, sharp bursts of panicked words that make no sense. She recognizes the girl who helped her with her kimono that day with her leg charred a dirty coal black and turns away, blinking away frustrated tears. It was unfair. So, terribly unfair.

Yet she isn't able to bring herself to burn along with them.

Through a hole in the roof, she can see the night sky, a deep black littered with stars. Her chest tightens. She wants desperately to go home.

"Get back," his voice, sharp, able to be heard even with all the noise, stirs her from her thoughts.

Ahead of them, a single man stands. Though to call him human would be generous, it was large, towering a few meters over her and draped in rags which must have been clothes at some point. The thing's head was shaved completely and was pale apart from a crimson streak that ran down to his face. And it's eyes – they burned a violent green.

She doesn't register him launching towards her or the arm that pushes her out of the way. The two clash, metal meets metal, producing a painful screech.

The white haired soldier jumps back, shielding her with his body, gaze never leaving his opponent. Again, the beast lunges towards them, his sword a long metal thing splattered with blood grasped tightly within its grasp. Its attack is parried, and with expert swordsmanship, the soldier continues to deflect its assault.

However with each step he's being driven back. The foe is relentless, cruel, beastlike – showing no signs of fatigue. Sweat trickles down the man's forehead, and she notices a crease in between his eyebrows. She's afraid, panicked. Even her inexperienced eyes can see him faltering.

A shout escapes her as he's pushed against the wall. His uniform is slashed, revealing a deep gash in his shoulder.

He presses his hand against the gash, vision blurring.

When he realizes, it's a second too late.

The girl in the kimono throws herself in front of him and he watches as the sword pierces her body.

A/N Hello! I hope you've enjoyed reading the first chapter of Anemone Under the Sea! Updates will be a little irregular due to other commitments, but please look forward to the next chapter!