Chapter Text
One day, Rumi had stopped touching people. It was hard to notice at first, just a lack small nudges and gentle shoves. But it built over time. It built into always calling over whoever wasn’t there when someone was crying. Into sitting on the very edge of the couch and ignoring snacks entirely when they were offered. Into skipping over meals because she was tired or had work to do.
One day, Rumi and Celine had been sparring in private. It was metal against moonlight on the edge of the property. Celine’s sickle had snagged the collar of Rumi’s shirt, had dragged and cut the fabric until it hung loose off of one shoulder. And her patterns, for the first time in years, had shone in the open air. Bright and purple and demonic.
Rumi couldn’t entirely remember what happened next, had flashes of her sain-geom hitting the ground and clattering. Of panic on both of their faces. Of her front getting soaked in something that stuck too much and smelled too strong to be water. Of Celine apologizing and a pressure on her neck. Of the Honmoon flashing in a blinding light that she had never seen before.
Rumi knew, if anyone were ever to go and look, that her grave was right next to her mother’s.
Rumi also knew that no one ever looked, not even her.
That day, Celine had panicked, had told Zoey and Mira that Rumi was sick and shouldn't be bothered. Rumi had stayed close and watched as a hole was dug and her body was covered with dirt.
Her headstone was not nearly as nice as her mother's, was nothing more than a scratched rock that had been nearby. It was not personal. It was not loving. But it was there. And it was hers.
Rumi had watched, detached, as Celine placed the stone with finality. Stood and brushed off her hands. Turned and froze because there was Rumi with a chunk of her throat missing and blood covering her shaking form.
"Rumi! How are you…" There was red on Celine's arm and her sickle was still holding a piece of Rumi's body on its edge.
"—" The first time Rumi tried to speak after she died, it was a staticky screech that made every nearby bird flee. That made her flinch like she could run from herself.
She swallowed out of memory, took a breath that did nothing, and tried again.
"What did I do wrong?" She has always tried her best. Had braided her hair and fought hard and trained harder and worked herself to the bone so Celine could try to see the worth that was drowned out by the patterns on her skin. And it had killed her.
But even dead, she was a fully-trained hunter. The Honmoon knew her. It loved her. And it wailed with it's grief. It pulsed, rippled and came back with twice the force. Placed itself over Rumi like it could apologize for failing to protect her so completely.
It's blue lines layered over the patters that had always stained her, that not even death could free her from, and they settled. They filled the hole Rumi could not feel or see but knew was in her throat.
And when Celine stepped forward, raised her hand and reached like she could ever make up for what she had done, the Honmoon screamed at her.
HUNTR/X moved out of the compound two days later and it was only then that the Honmoon stopped screaming.