Brianne reaches the end of the runway, ready to turn and walk back with her back to the audience, when...
...she freezes.
She’s seen sothing, or soone.
Her eyes are wide, scared, her lips trembling as if about to speak, yet no sound escapes.
She’s paralyzed, her gaze fixed on the three far less elegantly dressed than the rest—the guy, the girl, and the old man in the last row.
At that mont, the old man stands up and points a finger at her.
«You, Brianne, should be ashad! How dare you call yourself a follower of the God of Light, only to display your body in such a disrespectful way? A prostitute, that’s what you are! Don’t you ever dare show your face in my church again!»
It doesn’t take long for security to roughly escort the old man and the two young people with him out, but it’s already too late.
Brianne doesn’t speak a word, but her body says plenty.
Her eyes swell, tears dripping onto the runway.
She falls to her knees, shattered, sobbing with heavy, labored breaths.
Katerina and the young designer rush to her instantly—they try to comfort her, but it all seems useless.
Brianne struggles to stop herself from screaming and crying under the spotlight, but she doesn’t even have the strength to stand and leave.
I try to catch her gaze, but she deliberately looks away, as if afraid of my judgnt.
What the hell would I judge? She’s done nothing wrong!
That old bastard is the one with the problem, not Brianne!
That damned... he’s probably the priest from the God of Light’s temple where Elaine and I once followed Brianne.
It could have been the happiest day of her life, but now it will probably be one of the worst, ruined by that religious fanatic.
An act that cannot go unpunished.
Maybe the right thing to do would be to stay here and try to ease Brianne’s pain, but I’ve never been good at that sort of thing.
There is, however, sothing I’m very good at and can do right now: destroy with my own hands the source of her suffering.
Those three can’t have gone far, and besides, this area of Central Park has been closed off for the show.
In other words, no witnesses, no Monster Reaper.
They’re trapped.
I jump up from my seat and start running toward where the three were escorted.
Thanks to my superhuman speed, I catch up to them in an instant.
They’re still far from the exit, but far enough from the runway.
Perfect.
«And you, who might you be, boy?» the old man asks after I block his path, planting myself in front of him.
«You’ve made a huge mistake speaking to Brianne like that. She’s a girl with a heart of gold, the last person in the world who deserves to be called a whore. And now she’s broken, at the rcy of photographers and journalists. Tomorrow the papers will talk about nothing else—the man who humiliated her in front of everyone. I’ll personally make sure this never happens again!»
«You... how dare you threaten a priest of the God of Light?! Don’t tell ... you’re the boy she spoke about? The one who dragged her into this world of sin and temptation? It’s your fault Brianne is suffering! She was such a good girl—a devout and pure follower—before she t you! I warned her! I told her that if she set foot on that runway, the church doors would be closed to her! And I am a man of my word, I assure you!»
Now I understand... yes, now it’s all clear—why Brianne was so anxious about this show.
It wasn’t fear of embarrassing herself in front of the world that unsettled her, but this man’s threats.
I can’t tolerate it another second.
My eyes, cold and rciless, filled with murderous intent, lock on the three.
«Say your final prayers, priest. You’re about to et the God of Light!»
My irises are about to flare red, the scythe just a breath away from taking form in my hand—ready to end their worthless lives...
...when a sharp, desperate voice echoes from beyond the trees—the voice of soone rushing toward us at full speed, shouting my na.
It’s Brianne’s voice.
«Ren, I finally found you...» she murmurs, out of breath.
She’s still wearing the elegant blue dress encrusted with diamonds, but her feet are bare—the nails painted a vivid blue matching her lipstick—she must have left the heels behind to run faster.
I don’t understand... why the rush to find ?
It’s almost as if she knew I was about to do exactly what I was about to do.
Strange, though—with her, I’ve never given the impression of being the type to solve problems in such a final way.
Sure, I punched that guy who harassed her, but that was simply self-defense, since he attacked first.
And looking closely, even though her eyes are still teary, now she seems more worried than emotionally destroyed.
Very strange...
«Brianne, how have you fallen so low? When did you abandon the righteous path shown by the God of Light to follow one of sin and lust? Dressed like this, with your breasts and legs on display... it breaks my heart to think that not long ago you were the most devout follower. Is this the kind of people you associate with now? Delinquents who threaten priests with death? You’ve disappointed , Brianne—you’ve disappointed more than I thought possible. I told you before and I’ll tell you again: never show your face in my church again, am I clear?!» the old man snaps, so furious and red-faced it looks like his head might explode.
Brianne doesn’t reply—she just lowers her gaze to the ground, demoralized—while I have to draw on every shred of self-control to stop myself from smashing his face in.
I don’t even want to imagine what’s going through her head right now, all the pain and suffering eating her from the inside.
I can’t just stand here doing nothing—I have to do sothing.
I step closer to her and hug her.
Tightly—tighter than I’ve ever hugged anyone before.
And she hugs back... and breaks.
Away from everyone, she can no longer hold back the pain, which bursts out uncontrollably in a heartbreaking, liberating cry.
I feel her weak in my arms—I have to hold her up so she doesn’t collapse to the ground—and her tears are so thick I can feel them through my clothes on my chest.
We stay like this, embraced, her damp cheek resting against my chest.
I whisper sothing to her—so cliché lines to try and calm her down, the kind you hear in movies like "Don’t worry, I’m here for you" or similar stuff.
Sohow, they work, but I think it’s simply because she appreciated my attempt to comfort her more than the overused words themselves.
Only ten minutes later does she finally calm down completely.
She leans her head back slightly—my blue eyes locked on her erald ones, made even brighter by the redness from her crying.
«T-Thank you, Ren... thank you so much...» she whispers, her voice still shaky.
«Don’t ntion it. It’s the least I could do...» I reply simply.
We stare at each other—my eyes lost in hers, hers locked on mine—in absolute silence.
Still, unmoving.
Then, sothing happens.
Our lips are closer now.
I don’t know if it’s mine moving toward hers, hers toward mine, or both of us leaning in.
Either way, I can feel the warmth of her breath brushing against my nose.
Closer. Even closer.
Our fingers intertwine, our lips separated only by a thin thread of air.
«Oh, there you are, Brianne! You really scared ! What were you thinking?! Why did you run off without saying anything?!»
Katerina’s alard, scolding voice shatters the magic—instantly, both Brianne and I pull away, and she lowers her gaze in clear embarrassnt.
«Y-Yeah, sorry Katerina, I’m coming right away...» Brianne stamrs, following her.
As for ... I think I might need a defibrillator!
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