The moment she realized her life was in danger she ran. It was cowardly, but Anomie wasn't one to fight and she wasn't one to die. But cowardice didn't matter when the world's view is through the kaleidoscope of a courtesan.
Kakashi/OC
Story feature...
"Flowers that grow where old ones have withered serve to remind us that death will one day come to us all."
― Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE ____________ –•–
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THE AIR INSIDE THE CAVERN thick and musty, carrying the scent of damp earth and ancient stone. Anomie's fingers traced the rough, weathered fabric of her Akatsuki cloak, feeling the coolness against her skin as she tightened it around her shoulders. Gone were the days of revelry and the numbing embrace of alcohol. Today, she chose water, its refreshing taste a reminder that she was a fucking alcoholic.
In the dim light, shadows danced across the walls, cast by the dying embers of the outside world that managed to seep through the entrance. The faint rays painted the cave's interior with streaks of soft orange, struggling to pierce through the heavy darkness. Yet, Anomie navigated the uneven ground with ease, her senses attuned to every dip and crevice.
With a slightly fuller visage, her cheeks betrayed the efforts she had made to nourish herself. Though her appetite had waned with heartache and loss, she persisted, forcing herself to eat. It was a bittersweet tribute to the promise she had once made to him.
To take care of herself to the best of her ability. To live, to the best of her ability. The last promise as lovers before they became strangers.
Her ears were met with a symphony of echoes—drips of water resonating from unseen stalactites, the hushed sound of her footsteps, and the distant murmur of voices belonging to fellow Akatsuki members. They moved like spectres through the cavern, their forms obscured by the darkness that clung to them like a second skin.
Anomie's hands trembled as she raised her lips to the bottle, forcing it down, drowning in it when all I craved was the tingling effects of alcohol.
Anomie clung tightly to the Akatsuki cloak, its crimson fabric a symbol of a shared purpose. She felt its coarse texture beneath her fingers, grounding her in the present moment. Beneath the weight of her Akatsuki cloak, Anomie pressed forward, each step feeling like an arduous journey through quicksand. The cool, musty air of the cavern clung to her skin, and the earthy scent mixed with a faint tinge of metallic odour from her surroundings. The darkness was palpable, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud, broken only by the dim light filtering through the entrance.
