Clash!
The sharp impact of a metal food tray striking a sturdy table should have echoed through the hall—if not for the chaotic symphony of voices, laughter, and clattering utensils that already filled the air.
This particular table, just minutes ago, had been occupied by a girl who seemed almost out of place amidst the rowdy atmosphere. She was delicate, demure, and strikingly pretty—her pale blonde hair framing an exquisite face, with big blue eyes that held a quiet, unreadable depth. Like a porcelain doll, fragile yet eerily perfect.
"H-Hmm, hello. Can I help you?" Cassie whimpered, her hesitance evident in her voice. After all, she faced an uncertain fate ahead of her—a blind girl thrust into the trials of the Nightmare Spell. She was still getting used to her new flaw: her blindness.
All the other Sleepers avoided her, a subtle but palpable distance in their gazes. She was always surrounded by a sense of death, an inevitable truth for someone like her.
"Oh no, this spot seemed the quietest, so I thought I might be able to eat in peace. Sorry to intrude," he said, his voice smooth, casual, as if he wasn't worried about the social dynamics of the mess hall. He had already calculated the potential interactions, his words as much a shield as an invitation.
"I... I see. I mean... not really." She managed a soft, almost apologetic laugh, the awkwardness clear. She could feel the tension around her, the space others had given her. Even though they couldn't see her flaw, they could sense the aura that clung to her—a deathly certainty.
Chrollo watched as Cassie's gaze remained distant, her eyes unfocused, as though she were staring through him rather than at him. There was a vulnerability there, hidden beneath the cold demeanor she tried to project. The way she fidgeted with her fork, avoiding his eyes, it spoke volumes. He wasn't sure if it was fear, discomfort, or something else entirely, but he could sense the unease radiating from her.
He chose his words carefully, his voice smooth and casual, but with a soft edge of curiosity. "Lonely, then. That's the feeling I was getting."
Cassie's eyes darted for a split second, as if startled by his response. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something but closed again. She took a breath, but it came out uneven, shaky, her fingers still gripping the fork a bit too tightly. "It's... not loneliness. Not really." Her voice was quiet, almost too quiet. "I just... don't know how to deal with all the eyes on me."
Chrollo watched her carefully, the way her shoulders hunched and her eyes avoided his gaze. Her body language screamed the same message: I'm different. Her flaw wasn't something abstract or hidden beneath layers of armor—it was on display, for all to see, and judge. It was something people couldn't help but notice, and that made it harder to ignore, harder to escape.
"You don't like being looked at, then?" he asked, his tone gentle but measured, as though he was stepping carefully around a delicate subject. He wasn't pressing her, just letting the question hover between them, open but unintrusive, allowing her to decide whether to respond.
Cassie's face flushed immediately, the color rising to her cheeks as her eyes dropped to the plate in front of her. Her hand trembled slightly as she poked at the food, the movement small but noticeable. Chrollo's eyes caught the subtle shake of her fingers, the way she seemed to shrink even further into herself, almost as if she wanted to disappear completely, to become invisible. He understood what she was feeling—he had read far enough into her story to know the weight of her flaw, the burden she carried every moment.
"I don't…" Cassie's voice faltered for a moment, almost breaking under the strain of the admission. She swallowed, and when she spoke again, her words were tinged with something raw, something fragile. "It feels like they're looking at a bug. Or a dying animal. Like I'm an object of pity."
Her confession hung in the air, heavier than any spoken words could carry. Chrollo felt the weight of it, a quiet ache that settled in his chest. He had read about her flaw and the burden she carried but hearing it from her own lips made it real, made it personal.
"I can imagine that's not easy," he said softly, his voice steady, though something flickered beneath the surface—a hint of empathy, or perhaps something else, something darker that he didn't fully understand yet.
Cassie didn't respond immediately. She just stared at her plate, her fingers still trembling, her body tight and withdrawn. The quiet between them stretched, as if the very air was heavy with the unspoken truth of her words.
Chrollo's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he leaned back slightly, giving her the space she clearly needed. He didn't push her for more, didn't try to fill the silence. Instead, he let it linger, allowing the weight of her experience to settle between them, unspoken yet undeniable.
Chrollo's voice was soft but sharp, his words cutting through the silence. "Does it scare you? That maybe, to everyone, even yourself, the only thing ahead is a wanted end?"
Cassie froze. The question hit too close, like a truth she wasn't ready to face. She stared at her plate, her hand trembling.
"I don't..." Her voice faltered. "I don't know. It scares me, yes. But I can't change it. It's just how it is."
Chrollo's tone softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. "You don't have to carry that fear by yourself, you know. When I was younger, I had a friend. She wanted to be a voice actor. We even dubbed shows for the kids around us, just for fun. But she couldn't reach her goals... she died of a bloodborne disease." He paused, his eyes distant. "Even with all the fear, the loneliness, she kept a bright smile. You should rely on others, you know. I'm here, even if we've just met."
Cassie blinked, caught off guard by the openness in his voice. She wasn't sure how to respond, but his words stirred something in her—a quiet, unexpected comfort.
Chrollo carefully summoned the memory, a small, timeworn box appearing in his hand. It rested on velvet, faded to gray with age, but the two rings inside remained as they had always been. One was a simple band of polished obsidian, cold to the touch, and the other a slender silver ring, its engraving too worn to read.
As he opened the box, a faint warmth lingered between them, a reminder of something once shared, a bond that had never truly faded. He picked up one of the rings, slipping it onto his finger, then extended the other to Cassie.
"Take this," he said, his tone gentle. "It's a memory. It'll let us communicate, and if the darkness ever becomes too much, I'll lend you my sight."
Cassie hesitated for a moment before accepting the ring. As she held it, the faint echo of a shared pulse seemed to connect them, though it was subtle—almost imperceptible. The memory, now Vowbound Ring, shifted in description, the enchantments remaining unchanged:
Memory Rank: Dormant
Memory Type: Jewelry
Memory Description:
Love is not merely spoken—it is known, felt, carried in the quiet moments between words. These rings were once exchanged, not from duty, but because two souls never wished to be apart. Now, the bond waits for another pair of hands to take them. But closeness is double-edged; to share someone's presence so intimately is to understand them in ways not meant to be spoken aloud. Sometimes, to know is to grieve.
Enchantments:
[Shared Pulse] – When worn and accepted, the rings link their bearers, allowing them to share glimpses of sensation, thoughts, and words across any distance. Only when both wills align does the bond open, and only as much as is wished.
[Borrowed Breath] – Should one fall too weak to stand, the other may lend them strength—not from magic, but sheer will. A portion of their vitality can be gifted, but giving too much is dangerous, for a flame that burns too brightly will eventually fade.
The enchantments' descriptions are only legible to him, but she, with her wits, would surely understand what they can do
Chrollo watched Cassie closely, his eyes unreadable as she absorbed the memory . His intentions remained carefully concealed beneath the gentleness of his actions—this connection, like everything else, was for his benefit. The first step in binding her to him before she could form any lasting bonds.