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The mark is held up to the candlelight for but a moment before the young man who it belonged to is thrown across the pathway, his body hitting the cobblestone wall of a building with a sickening crack. There’s yelling but all the man can hear is a sharp ringing in his ears as he continues to be beaten bloody. He’s on the verge of passing out when a new voice is heard, and suddenly his body is being dragged through the dirt.
He’s tossed and left in a pile on what feels like soft, moss-covered ground. The chill of dew soaks into his clothes but he doesn’t shiver, his body incapable of such a response anymore. Finally, everything fades to black and his last thought is of the strong possibility that this sudden darkness is death claiming him.
The man is dragged back into consciousness when he hears footsteps approach him hesitantly. Gentle hands lift him from the ground and when he manages to crack open his eyes slightly, he swears he sees an angel who is surely here to collect his soul. He shuts his eyes again, his mind spinning from the effort of looking at the figure above him.
He’s unsure how far he’s carried in those arms, but with each step he can feel himself slipping away from reality once more. When he next tries to open his eyes, he feels warm and it’s no longer a struggle to lift his eyelids. He finds himself in a room and he’s not alone, quickly noticing the figure of the person he had mistook as an angel countless hours ago.
What he hadn’t mistaken was their immense beauty, which almost felt divine. The handsome stranger sits beside him, changing bandages before suddenly turning to him. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Much better now, thank you. May I ask who you are?”
The stranger seems to hesitate for a moment before replying, “You may call me Scaramouche. What happened to you before I found you?” He says as he starts on the bandages covering the man’s right hand and arm.
“I was exiled from the village I called home and I presume they left me in the enchanted woods in the hopes that I would be killed, either from my injuries or from some wild beast.” The young man calmly explained. Before he could try to broach the subject of why he had been cast away, Scaramouche fully removes the bandages and widens his eyes at the mark he finds covering his skin.
“What is your name?” Scaramouche asks, his voice not giving away any trace of emotion.
“Kaedehara Kazuha.” Kazuha should’ve expected this outcome. The mark upon his flesh was hard to hide, after all, especially when the meaning of it is well-known. It was the sign that he carried the fatal curse that ran through the Kaedehara bloodline, one that only manifests when the carrier of the curse grows to adulthood. Only a handful of his ancestors were lucky enough to avoid it, but Kazuha was not one of them.
However, he would count himself lucky that he seems wholly unaffected by it, at least so far. Scaramouche falls silent and for a long moment Kazuha wonders whether or not he’s about to be sent back into the woods. Eventually the other speaks. “You should leave, staying here with me would only hurt you further.”
Kazuha couldn’t help but feel confused. “But you healed me, if anything you should be concerned for your own safety, not mine.” It was a common belief that the curse could somehow be transferred to others, though the people of Kazuha’s village never bothered to try and test this theory.
“You don’t understand.” Is all Scaramouche says.
“So help me understand, then.” Kazuha states and the other’s hand curls into a fist, crumpling the bandages.
Scaramouche whips his head to face Kazuha as his voice raises, “I’m the reason you’re cursed! You should leave for your own good.”
Kazuha can’t help but protest, “That doesn’t bother me, I don’t feel any pain from it.”
“Well it should because whether or not you can feel it, it will still kill you.” But Kazuha makes no move to leave and Scaramouche lets out a sigh. “I’m a monster, you know.”
“Something tells me that’s not entirely true.” Kazuha can’t help but feel safe beside Scaramouche, even if he doesn’t know anything about the other. The news that this is the same being who had cursed his family long ago does nothing to make him feel any sort of fear.
“How would you know?” He snaps.
Kazuha gently replies, “I don’t, but I’d like to think you’re not telling me the whole story.”
Scaramouche lets out an irritated huff. He’s quiet for a moment, a look of contemplation on his face before he finally speaks, “Would you leave if I told you what happened?”
Kazuha nods, “I’d consider it.” The other takes a deep breath and releases it in the form of a sigh that speaks to countless years of deep-rooted fatigue. When he begins his tale, his tone is blunt and devoid of emotion, effectively trying to shut Kazuha out.
“Fine. I was an idiotically naïve dragon when I was young, I believed in the good of humans and even took on a human-like form in order to befriend them. It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with one human in particular; an ancestor of yours who had a similar red streak in his hair.
“I spent lots of time with him and we grew close. But one night when I woke up he was nowhere to be found and I felt a sharp pain from the top of my head and my back. My wings and horns were cut from me and taken, and it didn’t take a genius to know that the human must’ve been using me that whole time.
“I had divulged to him that I would be unable to return to my true form if my body was damaged badly enough. It seems that he must’ve run off before he could fully remove my tail, leaving some deep cuts around its base, presumably just before I began to wake.
“I was deeply hurt by his betrayal and filled with a rage I had never felt before. And so, I utilized my draconic heritage to place a curse upon the Kaedehara clan. One that I declared never to have a cure.” Scaramouche closely studied Kazuha’s face, watching for a reaction, but still the man couldn’t feel any fear.
“You didn’t deserve that.” He says earnestly, filled with a newfound understanding of the being beside him.
Something in Scaramouche seems to crumble upon realizing the human still wasn’t going to leave. “Don’t you find my actions reprehensible?” He asks, his voice desperate.
Kazuha shakes his head. “You clearly don’t feel the same way now and I have no desire to maintain a centuries-long grudge that belonged to people I never knew. It doesn’t matter much to me that they are connected to me by blood.” He had never felt any sort of hatred or resentment towards whoever created the curse, just towards the way others treated him because of it.
The dragon falls silent and resumes the task of placing fresh ointment and bandages on Kazuha’s arm, the bruises had cleared up but the cuts were still scabbing over. The ointment stings slightly when applied but it quickly numbs the residual pain of the cuts; an effect he hadn’t seen before but didn’t question.
There must be plenty of medicinal herbs that grow in the woods and it would make sense that Scaramouche would be able to pick out ones that had more magical properties to them. That would also explain how his injuries had healed so fast since it seemed that the dragon wasn’t using any of his own power.
When the bandages are secure, Scaramouche looks back up at Kazuha. “If you’re not going to leave I won’t make you. However I will warn you that you will most likely die here if you stay for long enough. I may have been powerful enough to make the curse but no one is powerful enough to reverse it. No magic can be taken back after it has taken effect …not even if you spend a century trying to ignore that fact.”
His voice is laden with remorse and it seems Kazuha’s intuition was right after all. He nods. “I don’t mind spending the last of my days here with you. I think my first impression that you were a beautiful angel sent to save me wasn’t all that far off after all.” Scaramouche quickly turns his head away so Kazuha can no longer see his expression, but he can see how the other’s pointy ears have turned red.
“Whatever. I’ll go bring you some food, you must be starving.” The dragon quickly gets up and leaves the room, allowing Kazuha an opportunity to fully take in his surroundings. Just as he suspected, he can see trees covered in softly glowing moss outside the window, so it stands to reason that they’re deep in the enchanted woods.
When he takes in the room, it’s a decently-sized bedroom furnished with a large bookcase stuffed with various books, a desk covered in papers, and a dresser that had handcarved details on its drawers. Kazuha finds that he lies in a bed large enough for two people, the covers and pillows soft to the touch and the sides of the canopy drawn to the bedposts.
He wonders what the rest of the home looks like but he’s still not in any shape to be moving just yet. He’s sure he broke several bones and those would take longer to heal than his external wounds; even when healing twice as fast it would still take a couple of weeks.
The door opens again and Scaramouche returns carrying a tray, upon which a meal and some water has been placed. The dragon carefully places it on Kazuha’s lap before taking a seat once more beside him in what looks to be the chair that belongs to the desk. “Don’t use your right hand, it’s still healing.” He warns and Kazuha doesn’t care much to pay attention to what exactly he’s eating before he’s digging in, his stomach suddenly hurting from just how hungry he had gotten.
The room is quiet save the clinking of silverware as Kazuha quickly cleans his plate and empties the glass of water that was placed beside it, heeding the other’s instructions. Before Scaramouche can take the tray and disappear again, Kazuha asks, “How bad were my injuries exactly?”
“You had 2 cracked ribs, a fracture in your left leg, a broken bone in your right wrist, a concussion, a dislocated shoulder and plenty of bruises and cuts all over your body. You passed out for a couple days.” The dragon says, counting out the injuries on his hands. He sighs, “Humans really can be such horrid creatures when they’re frightened of something—or someone.”
Kazuha just nods, that seemed to line up with the fragments he can remember of the beating he took that night. “Is what they believe true, that the curse can be spread to others?”
Scaramouche immediately shook his head. “I don’t know where they could’ve possibly gotten that idea but that wasn’t part of the curse. Of course, I have no power to correct that misconception.” There was a hint of contempt to his voice and Kazuha couldn’t help but wonder if it’s because he had gotten hurt so severely. But that’s most likely just from his selfish desire for the dragon to care for him as a companion rather than just a human he had an obligation towards.
He was being cared for, and that was all Kazuha thought would be appropriate to ask of such a powerful, important being as Scaramouche.
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A month passes in a similar manner, the dragon tending to the human and occasionally answering a curious question or two. Most of the time, their silences were filled with the sound of Kazuha’s soft humming, something which Scaramouche never points out or complains about. Sometimes it’s a song he remembers from his childhood, other times it’s a melody that comes to him on the spot.
And when it’s time for the two to settle down for sleep, the dragon insists on sleeping elsewhere, despite Kazuha later learning that he’s in the only bedroom of the home. Scaramouche always points out that he doesn’t wish to disturb the human’s healing wounds and so Kazuha always lets the issue go.
One day, the dragon comes in to change the remainder of the human’s wrappings, these being the ones stabilizing his broken bones. Kazuha wakes the moment he can feel the other’s presence and watches patiently as each part is unwrapped, examined, and rewrapped. They don’t hurt quite as much as they did the first time he was conscious for this process, the medicine only dulling so much.
A song finds itself in Kazuha’s mind and he begins to hum it on a whim. Scaramouche’s shoulders seem to relax slightly at the sound, but it very well could just be a trick of the light. Just as the imaginary melody reaches its end, the dragon pulls his hands back and places his supplies back underneath the bed for easy access.
It’s then that he delivers the news the human had been waiting to hear, “You’re healed enough to move around now, just be careful.” Kazuha is relieved, as patient as he naturally is he had already begun to feel more than a little restless whilst being so stationary for so long.
Scaramouche extends a hand towards him and gently helps him onto unsteady feet, already out of practice from the lack of movement. Kazuha takes a tentative step forward and the dragon quickly has to catch him before he crashes to the floor. Their faces are mere centimeters apart and Scaramouche’s face is red as he mutters, “Clumsy idiot.” But his voice is brimming with fondness rather than annoyance.
They stay there for a moment, breaths mingling before the dragon finally pulls away and repositions to let the human lean against him for support. Something wraps around Kazuha’s waist and he looks down to see a long, sleek tail the color of ink. He resists the urge to touch it, instead taking another, more stable step forward.
The pair walk together throughout the residence, Kazuha taking in the intricately crafted furniture and sparse decorations. They wander through the entryway, kitchen and bathroom; the place is a lot smaller than Kazuha had initially imagined it to be, quite a humble abode for a dragon. He also notes that he’s entirely unsure of where Scaramouche had been sleeping for the past month, the most comfortable place being a small armchair in the entryway.
Just as they’re beginning to walk back to the bedroom, Kazuha feels a sudden pain strike him as if he had been shot through the heart. He stumbles and doubles over in pain, coughing violently into his hand. Scaramouche’s tail pulls him closer so he doesn’t fall as the dragon rubs one hand soothingly against his back. When the coughing fit subsides, Kazuha’s hand is dripping in crimson.
He turns to see a horrified look on Scaramouche’s face. The dragon sweeps him up into his arms, carrying him the rest of the way back to the room. He sets the human down on the sheets gently before grabbing a cloth and wiping the blood off of Kazuha’s hand. They both sat there for a moment, the air dense as they both knew this meant the man had little time left to live.
Kazuha’s heart ached literally and metaphorically. He turned to meet Scaramouche’s gaze before letting out a humorless chuckle. “I guess that’s it, isn’t it? I could never regret having you beside me for the past month, though. I almost could forget that I was going to die here.”
His voice takes on a gentler tone as he admits, “Before I go, there’s something I need to tell you. I don’t hold any sort of resentment against you… in fact, I think it’d be more appropriate to say that I love you. I know that’s quite foolish of me to say when I’m on my deathbed, but maybe if things were different we could’ve had a happy life together. If these feelings of mine are mutual, that is.”
The dragon is silent for a moment before tears begin to stream down his face. He lowers his head and his voice cracks as he mutters, “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
“I do. I love you so much it almost hurts more to lose you than it does for me to be dying right now.” He says truthfully as the ache in his heart starts to spread through his body.
“You can’t. You weren’t supposed to feel the same, not when hearing it makes me feel like I’m losing a part of myself again. Gods, what have I done?” Scaramouche sobs, his voice shaking.
“You’ve given me the best time of my life, I couldn’t think of a better person to spend my last moments with.” Kazuha gently tilts Scaramouche’s chin so that their eyes meet. His hand trembles with the effort and he quickly loses control of his arm as it falls back onto the bed. “I forgive you. Please forgive yourself.” He can feel his voice starting to give out as he manages to whisper, “I’ll forever be with you in your memories, my love.”
The dragon cups his face as the human struggles to continue breathing, his heart slowing. His eyes slip closed and they don’t reopen. They never will.
“I love you too, Kazuha.” Scaramouche’s voice cracks with the emotion that floods him as he buries his head into the bedsheets. He sobs until his tears run dry, soaking the fabric but unable to move. The dragon lets out a whisper to no one in particular, “Why’d it have to be you?”