-

Sets of hands, cold and rough like stone, were pressed to the mark. The skin around it was raw pink and peeling, and the monsters who grabbed for it were hasty, with disregard towards what she could feel and what mattered. The line between hurt and importance seemed paper-thin, in that moment.

Platinum hair cascaded down one monster's back, and his glasses gleamed in the bright light that trembled on the ceiling above them.

The taller monster—an opposite of the first—had hypnotic, feral copper eyes, and his pale scalp was topped with silky black. His voice was smooth like velvet but animalistic at the same time.

The monsters reached and prodded and tested. Anko growled in pain and scandal, and she curled up, willing them away.

Time stretched itself thin and they disappeared, but she heard their feet on the floor.

When she dreamed that night, it was of their feet; their muddied boots.

-

Warmth began in a cloud of black and dread that spun itself around and around like a necklace. Trailing down her back was the fiery curse that made her shoulders hunch and her fists clench.

She was on her knees and there was a monster near the door, but all she could do was sob helplessly. Salty streams poured from her eyes and bent over her cheekbones, dripping over the edge of her chin.

The monster's lean arms were folded neatly behind his body as he leaned against the wall, and he rapped on the brick with his knuckles impatiently.

"Anko-chan," He said, his voice like honey, "It's time."

When she turned her head to see him, her joints were all like hinges that had never been oiled. An audible creaking noise followed her smallest movements, and her eyes settled on him after a long while, unblinking and steady.

"I am not weak," She spat stiffly.

He chuckled and adjusted his glasses, and fumbled inside his sleeve for a moment. His hand emerged curved around a long syringe, his thumb ready.

"Sure you aren't," He whispered, "Of course you're not, Anko-chan."

The needle stung only slightly as it punctured her skin near the mark. She made to clutch for it—it was a habit—but the monster grabbed her by the wrist and chuckled once more.

"Now, now, Anko chan…" He warned, "I'm sure you're looking forward to perfecting the curse seal as much as I am. You wouldn't want to ruin this experiment, would you?"

The answer that met him was a cry of frustration.

-

On top of Anko's nose, crawling pathetically, was a moth; a creature as broken as she was. It was dusty and had intricate designs swirling across its wings. With an enormous effort, she brought her hand to her face and allowed the moth to rest under the shelter of her palm, which was quivering as it hovered, threatening to fall.

In that moment she had to power to destroy a tiny world, a tiny life. Her forefingers curled around the moth, and it twitched slightly but didn't make to fly away.

Her throat is dry but she has to laugh.

"You're a dumb little bugger, huh?"

Of course the moth does not answer, and of course there is a monster waiting just outside Anko's cell, ready to turn the knob.

When the metal door clinks open, the moth startles and escapes through the barred window.

…For Anko, escape is not that simple.

She wants to hate the moth for finding freedom, but instead she turns her head to the sound of footsteps on the stone, wondering if someday maybe she'll be free, too.

(But the needle is ready and she knows she won't be.)

Fin.