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Anastasia – Part 01

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Translator: Kell

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—Bedroom 3—

Victorique’s breath filled the dark, cramped, and humid space. Her increasing temperature made her feel like she was going to black out.

She closed her eyes and exhaled hot breaths in the darkness. She felt dizzy. With her small hands clutching the edge of the comforter, she slowly opened her green eyes and groaned. She was weak, but there was still a fiery glint in her eyes.

“I’m never getting out of here,” she groaned.

A distressed sigh came from outside the darkness.

Ms. Cecile came through the flowerbed maze to Victorique’s bedroom.

“Victorique, there’s a phone call for you… Oh, Doctor.”

Ms. Cecile stopped and glanced around.

In a corner of the room stood a small, elderly man in a white coat, wearing a frown. A square leather bag lay open on the small table. Holding a large, translucent syringe in one hand, the old man stared at Ms. Cecile.

Ms. Cecile looked toward the bed.

Victorique was not there. The bulging comforter was quivering. Ms. Cecile almost burst out laughing at the thought of what was under the comforter.

“Oh, my,” she muttered.

“Cecile,” the village doctor said. “As soon as I told her I’d give her a shot, this happened.” He looked at Ms. Cecile with a deep frown.

“I hate pain! Achoo!” A breathless, husky voice came from under the comforter.

“It works because it hurts, Victorique,” Ms. Cecile said.

“Lies.”

“I’m not lying.”

“…”

“Victorique!” Ms. Cecile tried to raise her voice, but her puppy-like image dampened any impact it might have had. The comforter still showed no sign of moving.

The doctor shrugged. “When I tried to remove the covers, she screamed. An otherworldly scream, that. She’s your student, isn’t she? Can you do something?”

“I-I’m not sure what I can do.” Ms. Cecile thought it over.

Silence filled the bedroom. There was no other sound, save for the occasional sneeze coming from under the covers. A breeze set the French windows creaking. Leaves glittered under the light of the early-summer sun.

“Ah!” Ms. Cecile clapped her hands together, then pointed toward the room next door. “I almost forgot why I came here. You have a call from your friend, Victorique.”

“Y-You’re lying.”

“H-How would I be lying?”

“I don’t have friends,” Victorique murmured sadly.

“Then what is Kujou to you?”

The comforter moved a little. Then stopped again.

Ms. Cecile glanced at the doctor.

“Kujou?” There was a hint of joy in Victorique’s voice.

“He’s calling from Saubreme. He says it’s an emergency.”

“Hmm…”

Ms. Cecile clenched her fists. Almost there.

“He was panicking. He might end the call soon.”

“Hmm…” The comforter shifted. “Stupid Kujou. Slow as always. His dumb face must have done something dumb that got him caught in a dumb situation.” She rose, her voice sounding a little excited.

Both Ms. Cecile and the doctor looked surprised. Victorique remained completely covered by the comforter as she began to move slowly, looking like a ghost. She got off the bed and headed toward the next room.

Ms. Cecile and the old doctor exchanged glances. Nodding, the teacher put one foot out, causing Victorique to trip and fall. She sneezed as she hit the floor.

“Now!” Ms. Cecile shouted.

Victorique’s little face, peeking from under the cover, contorted in pain. Her green eyes widened, and she slowly turned around with a look of disbelief.

Someone had grabbed her exposed arm. She saw the triumphant face of the doctor and the syringe stuck in her arm. Her face scrunched up, and tears fell from the corner of her eyes.

Victorique took a deep breath and let out a mournful, unearthly scream.

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“You will both pay for this,” Victorique mumbled as she walked to the next room, crying and sneezing. “How can this bring my fever down? It just hurts.”

The doctor left triumphantly, bag in hand, and Ms. Cecile, chuckling, left for class. Victorique rubbed her arm, which still ached from the numbing injection.

She reached the next room and stood in front of the telephone. Weeping like a child, she wiped her tears repeatedly with the back of her hand. She reached for the receiver, sniffing.

With shaky hands, she put the receiver to her ear. She heard Kazuya’s frantic voice.

“Victorique? Is that you? Victorique! There’s trouble. Please listen. Hello? Can you hear me? Victorique!”

“Idiot!”

Victorique took her anger out on him. Kazuya was at a loss for words for a moment, then started grumbling furiously.

There was a rumble, and the sound of the receiver hitting something, followed by an unfamiliar, childlike voice.

“Twelve…” the voice mumbled.

Then a scream from Kazuya.

The call was abruptly disconnected.

Victorique stared at the receiver for a while. Then her cheeks bulged. She was mad.

“What in the world did you want, Kujou?! Do you know how much I sacrificed to get here?! You made me get an injection. It hurt a lot! Yet I still answered the phone!”

Victorique’s shoulders slumped, and she tottered back into the bedroom. With trembling hands, she picked up the feather comforter from the floor, heaving as if it weighed a ton, and somehow managed to put it back on the bed. She exhaled.

Breathing hotly, she flopped onto the bed, her face even redder than before.

Soon, Victorique’s labored gasps turned to soft breathing.

Silence filled the bedroom once more.

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Chapter 4: Anastasia

“Idiot?! You’re the idiot, Victorique! I haven’t even said anything dumb yet. Why do you always have to be so rude? For the record, I’m not being bold just because I’m on the phone. Anyway, I suggest you treat me better from now on. Hello? Victorique? Are you there?”

There was a drumming of hooves on the cobblestones.

Kazuya looked over and saw a carriage turning the corner at a terrific speed, coming to his direction. The carriage ran up onto the sidewalk, and the ladies on foot screamed and ran for cover.

A pale, thin arm, with dark-purple fingernails, reminiscent of the dead, reached out from inside the carriage, stretching toward him.

A warm wind blew.

The street urchin stood shocked as the creepy arm grabbed Kazuya. His eyes darted to the clock tower. “12:51!”

Screaming, Kazuya was pulled into the speeding carriage with terrifying force. The blackish, dirty face of the kid who was just with him on the street receded into the distance.

Kazuya tried to resist, but the pale arms gripping him tight would not let him go. The carriage accelerated. He couldn’t jump off at this point. Slamming his head on the seat, he shook off the arm and turned to his captor’s face.

“It’s you!”

Like a fishing line being reeled in, the arm retreated back swiftly, and the girl shrank back into the corner of her seat.

Her pale arm was shaking violently, even more than the carriage running across the cobblestones at incredible speed.

Wearing a grimy, simple white gown, she was hunched over, her scrawny kneecaps lit by the lamps swinging on the carriage walls. Her bony chest and full breasts, a discordant sight, peeked in and out of the gown’s chest.

Her ears were covered with trembling fists, and her face was half-hidden by her disheveled, sandy-colored hair. Her pale lips were parted, her mouth wide open like a gaping cave.

The girl inhaled, and let out a piercing scream. It was the shrill cry of an animal. Her hair rustled, allowing a glimpse of the wide-open, purple eyes sitting above the pale hand that covered her mouth.

Misty, pleading eyes, cloudy like a drop of milk in water.

“The girl in the crate?”

The girl raised her head. When she saw Kazuya’s face, her large, purple eyes widened. “Demons!” she gasped. “There are demons in here!”

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