"You can see the monster?"
He tilted his head, seemingly confused by what she'd said, "Monster? You mean the cursed spirit?"
"Is that what you call it?"
"That's what it's called. They're cursed spirits." His voice was smooth, refreshing.
"You can s...
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The lead of the pencil skimmed over the paper, darkening lines and extending some, much pressure never applied. After all, the drawing was almost finished.
The angel on the paper was blindfolded, wisps of long flowing hair falling over the material that blinded her. Under her cheeks were contoured, giving her face a sculpted look, vicious, strict.
Miyazō Seijin frowned at the seraphim she'd drawn on her paper. It was a variation of the one she'd drawn a few days ago, a variation of the one she'd drawn in her last year of high-school. The six-winged angel she'd been drawing since she'd seen the first monster when she was seven.
The monsters were everywhere she looked, on the street, by buildings, in her home; malformed creatures that haunted her sight. They never made any contact with her, but they were still terrifying at her young age. Then she'd drawn the first angel. The majestic being was meant to protect her at all times.
Over the years, Miyazō had created several variations, adding an extra set of wings, a blindfold and a sword. In this drawing, the angel gripped the weapon tightly, the long silver blade resting on her parted lips.
Her robes bellowed around her, ribbons of white encircling her frame. Her three pairs of wings were so large, folding over her body yet still spanning the entire width of the paper.
Miyazō put down the pencil and leaned back in her chair, head turning to look out the window. The sky had gone dark, stars twinkling around her. She let out a breadth as she looked at the city from the top floor of the building.
The top floor of the skyscraper was used as an art gallery, paintings and sculpture littered around the floor. It was supposed to be closed by this time of the night. It was closed but Miyazō needed inspiration, and so decided to hide out in the gallery after it was closed.
She spent the first few minutes strolling around the large floor space, looking at portraits, landscapes, sculptures and all the whatnots people regard as 'art'. Then she sat on a stray table, bright out her sketchpad and pencil and began to draw the angel again.
It had become an obsession and Miyazō didn't know why. Didn't know why she drew the angel so much, didn't know why she haunted her dreams, why she thought of her so much. But she didn't mind, after all, the angel protected her.
So, having finished her drawing, Miyazō packed up and stood up. Just as she took a step, the sound of the gallery doors opening forced her into hiding. She ran behind a large sculpture of a man and hid there, chest heaving as footsteps filled her ears.
"It's a special-grade?" A female's voice rang through.
Miyazō furrowed her brows at the voice. The girl sounded young, definitely younger than her. She inched towards the edge of the sculpture and craned her neck to see around it's bronze stand.
She was right. The brunette girl she saw was definitely younger than her, was definitely a high-school student. So were the other two boys with her. They all wore uniforms. Miyazō heaved a small sigh of relief; they were probably just delinquents sneaking in, not much different from what she was doing.
