Mourning Doves | Tokyo Ghoul

8 | L o c k e d

He was borne from a pair of star-crossed lovers, blended into this world with nothing but harmony and amity. He was blessed - a human, out of everything that was unholy and sinful in this tormented world. The fact that he was human promised him a destiny of serenity and peace, a single lock that held that fact in place - at least, that is what his parents believed. For this reason, they had named him "Ichijou."

The youngest of three to a pair of businesspeople, he was raised in comfort and luxury. Preached under the word of God and blessed with every talent possible in the human physique, he grew to be a model figure for all to gawk and praise.

And within all of that flawlessness and perfection, he was pricked by the thorns of Sin.

The deviation began to occur in his early teens, when he refused to attend church service every Sunday and broke the sacred rituals of prayer and worship. He rattled up his classes with profane jokes and teasing remarks, causing discomfort and trouble for both teachers and students alike; he attended a Christian academy, so that created an even more undesirable situation.

He was, however, an excellent speaker, a natural leader who knew exactly how to manipulate and use the people around him in various shapes and forms. He was a fallen angel, borne into light but degraded down into the depths of Hell.

And that was where he met her.

They were childhood sweethearts, both dying to break free from their religious clutches and save themselves from the overwhelming pressures of perfection. They sought freedom from the expectations of purity and ideal worship, and for years they had struggled to fight against their peers to keep the dignity they had been graced with. They disagreed with the system, and that is what united them.

She was an avid reader, drawn to books that had illustrated more demonic themes - a sin in all its essence, and she was shunned for that. Still, she defied them and read the books, despite the numerous occasions where she had been sent to the office to be counseled; her parents saw her as a hopeless case, and could only pray that the purity of the school, as well as frequent visits to church service, would purge her from her sin.

He saved her, in his own little way, by approaching her one rather gloomy afternoon. It had just rained, and was still sprinkling a bit as she sat on a concrete bench under an old beech tree, completely immersed in the yellowing pages of her book. He, in all of his confidence and ego, approached her rather easily and introduced himself as the class president in the year just above hers. Her violet eyes shimmered as he did so, eying him intently as if she expected him to insult her. Instead, they ended up talking past the recess bell, and were late to both of their classes; however, it was hardly any bother to them both, and from then on they became practically inseparable.

She was thin, contrasting greatly to his muscular and athletic physique, and had a delicate white, creamy complexion that could be compared to milk. She was curvy, to say the least, and harbored a heavy and robust gleam in her violet eyes, despite her lithe frame; back then, she was short enough to fit right under his chin in her little uniform heels - he could remember that. She was a scary one to deal with at first glance, but was a charming and promising young girl once a man got to know her - and that is exactly what he intended to do.

A year after he had met her, in his first year of high school, a rumor had gone around that two female students had been murdered on campus. Fearing for her life, he reassured her that he would be the one to protect her at any cost, even if he ended up losing his own life. He was persistent and insistent on doing so, his pride getting the best of him and clouding his reason; he believed he was in love, and that was a foolish thing to believe.

Wandering about the campus one day after school, after a student body meeting, he had heard the most earthshattering scream erupt from the library. His blood drained from his face, for he could have recognized that voice from a thousand miles away. Without any hesitation whatsoever, he bolted towards the isolated building, which was cut off from the rest of the campus by a large lawn of emerald-green grass; he ran faster than he had ever ran before, and exploded through the great double doors of the hall with a loud and solid slam of wood. The remaining blood melted away from his cheeks, turning his skin a sickly, icy white.