Senritsu

The first time she heard his heart, it was beautiful but cold. Just like chains dragging over an icy wasteland, painfully restrictive but musical all the same. Despite the rhythmic sound of train wheels over track, his heartbeat was off in its own rhythm. As if nothing could affect him.

Senritsu opened her eyes to nod a greeting at the new passenger, and thought that his appearance was less harsh than the sound of his heart suggested. She found herself thinking about that.

What kind of determination could create this sound, then? The chains in his heart had been created by something, but where was the fire? There was no hint of a burning warmth, no passion for anything. Had it been a cold fire, then? She shivered.

How lonely it sounded, she thought. How achingly beautiful.

She wondered at how clean the chains sounded. They were so pure yet deadly, but not yet tainted with the rusty scrape of spilled blood.

She hoped it never would be.