Work Text:
Killing becomes easier each time, especially when every time you're killing the same person.
Mokou let out a sigh of relief, stretching her arms as she sat cross-legged beside Kaguya's lifeless body. She felt a bit bored, hoping Kaguya would wake up soon, though there wasn’t much she could do to help. Propping her chin up with her hand, she spaced out, noticing the still air and the softness of the dew-covered grass beneath her. In the forest around them, birds cautiously began chirping again after being frightened off by their earlier commotion. Kaguya lay there, as serene and beautiful as ever—like a princess in a fairytale slumber. Her clothes had long since burned to ash, yet her skin remained flawless, glowing white under the moonlight. Her long, jet-black hair spread around her like a luxurious fur cloak. Even her famously lifeless face wore a peaceful smile, something that irritated Mokou to no end.
What if I shaved her head? Mokou thought with a twinge of mischief. Maybe she’d look even more interesting, more beautiful. She leaned in, studying Kaguya’s face. The slight rise and fall of her chest showed she was still breathing, her long lashes trembling faintly with each breath. If Mokou didn’t trust her own skill in killing, she might have thought Kaguya was only pretending to sleep.
“All that nonsense about her breath smelling sweet like orchids,” Mokou muttered. “I’ve always thought it strange—this woman has no scent at all. Is that just how moon people are? Hey, what are you, really?”
Reaching out, Mokou lightly slapped Kaguya’s face. Unsurprisingly, there was no reaction. Her fingers brushed against Kaguya’s cheek, unnervingly smooth and soft—not something her rough, calloused hands were used to touching. It annoyed her. “I’m going to keep touching it, then.”
Grinning, Mokou grabbed both sides of Kaguya’s face and pinched her cheeks, feeling their elasticity stretch like mochi. “Hah, you’re actually kind of cute like this.”
She began kneading Kaguya’s face like a kitten, and a strange, uncontrollable urge welled up inside her—a mix of wanting to keep caressing and wanting to crush the head in her hands.
Suddenly, Kaguya’s eyes snapped open, locking onto Mokou’s startled gaze.
“You’re awake?” Mokou asked, instinctively pulling back. Kaguya blinked slowly but remained unable to move. “Haha, that’s perfect—I was just about to mess with you more.”
Mokou, with exaggerated tenderness, began caressing Kaguya's face. Kaguya rolled her eyes ungracefully, but couldn’t stop her. Mokou's palm traced lightly over Kaguya’s face, cupping her chin, thumb brushing across her brow, down the bridge of her nose, over her philtrum, and slowly rubbing her lower lip, revealing those pristine little teeth. She then pinched Kaguya's chin, lifting her head to expose that delicate throat. On instinct, she wanted to press down and squeeze, but then realized that Kaguya probably wouldn’t even react by choking—maybe next time. Instead, Mokou’s hands slid down the slender neck, admiring her elegant collarbones, arching like a precious pair of bows.
Any poetic admiration she might conjure up for this body had probably already been written by someone, maybe even by her own father. The thought irritated Mokou.
Annoyed, she dug her fingers into Kaguya’s chest, leaving red marks that somehow still looked elegant.
Moving lower, her hands traced over the smooth, flat stomach and slightly rounded lower abdomen. She let her fingers slide down from Kaguya’s abdomen to her waist, then down her back, feeling like she was touching the petals of a flower.
Any further and… Well, she suddenly felt a bit awkward about going that far with a half-dead body. Just then, Kaguya moved slightly, startling her again, though she seemed able to move only her right arm and hand. Kaguya grasped Mokou's hand but didn’t stop her. Instead, she guided Mokou's hand up her side, along her ribs, to her armpit… then up to her shoulder. In a quiet voice, she murmured, "Skin."
Mokou understood. She wasn’t exactly sure what she understood, but that perfect skin seemed to have awakened along with Kaguya, subtly guiding her, hinting at something.
From the shoulder to the upper arm—skin. The forearm—skin. The hand—skin. The other shoulder, upper arm, forearm, and hand—skin.
The front of the torso, the upper half—skin. The lower half—skin. The upper back—skin. The lower back—skin. The left hip—skin. The right hip—skin. The thighs, the calves, the feet—skin.
Kaguya breathed quietly, her body peaceful and smooth. The stillness of that perfect skin brought Mokou an inexplicable sense of calm.
She reached Kaguya’s feet, which were inexplicably spotless despite lying on the ground. She noticed a small, unhealed wound there. As if knowing what to do, Mokou placed her fingers into the wound, pulling the skin and flesh apart. She tore the flesh bit by bit, widening the opening, red quickly consuming the pale.
Kaguya didn’t flinch. Instead, she spoke again.
“Flesh.”
And so, Mokou peeled her away, piece by piece.
The feet—flesh. The calves—flesh. The thighs—flesh. The right hip—flesh. The left hip—flesh. The lower back—flesh. The upper back—flesh.
The front of the torso, the lower half—flesh. The upper half—flesh.
The hands—flesh. The forearms—flesh. The upper arms—flesh. The shoulders—flesh. The other hand, the forearm, the upper arm, and the shoulder—flesh.
The neck—flesh.
Still, the air remained clean, untainted.
Kaguya smiled at her, her expression a silent encouragement to continue.
Then came the face—flesh.
The skull—flesh.
Mokou slipped into a trance-like state, her body radiating heat from within. She continued, almost instinctively.
The skull—bone.
The face—bone.
The neck—bone. The shoulders—bone.
The forearms—bone. The hands—bone. The other side—shoulder, upper arm, forearm, hand—bone.
The torso, upper half—bone. Lower half—bone. The upper back—bone. Lower back—bone.
The left hip—bone. The right hip—bone. The thighs—bone. The calves—bone. The feet—bone.
The skeleton lay before her, as flawless and elegant as a ceremonial set carved from white jade
She felt an unprecedented calm wash over her, and, utterly spent, collapsed onto the ground.
The moonlight bathed her without judgment, the grass cradling her, with the occasional carefree chirping of birds. The night air was crisp and cool. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed; she almost felt as if nature had swallowed her up, as though she were simply a part of it all, and that nothing else had ever existed outside of this moment.
But then, a faint rustling, writhing sound came from beside her. She thought it might be a small animal approaching, so she lazily turned her head, not bothering to open her eyes. Shortly after, a steady tapping sound began to emerge amid the rustling.
She snapped her eyes open, suddenly realizing that her fingernails were filled with scraps of the decaying flesh of the dead, her clothes soaked through with blood and bodily fluids. And the dead… was growing. Kaguya’s heart was pumping robustly, large blood vessels slithering like snakes over the body, winding together like wild vines. At first, they were transparent, but with a single heartbeat, they filled with fresh blood. Nerves wove themselves intricately like spider silk, muscles layering themselves in precise, masterful strokes like the finest weaving machine. Within moments, most of the internal organs were reformed, swiftly concealed by perfect white skin.
The torso was whole; through the eye sockets, the brain could be seen swelling and filling. By the time she looked back, half of the limbs had already formed, with flesh rapidly extending to the tips of the bones. Soon, clean, beautiful skin was tracing itself over the fingertips, delicate and fresh like a newborn’s. The skin met the smooth, dark hair at the shoulders, closed over the neck, and then came the soft red lips, the charming nose, and graceful eyelids, all seamlessly restored. As the newly formed vocal cords met the air for the first time, they emitted a soft, fragile, meaningless murmur.
Mokou watched all of this, feeling a deep, unsettling dread—a primal fear that made her crawl backward on the ground, cold sweat pouring down her face, a wave of nausea rising within her. Kaguya opened her eyes again, slowly sitting up, stretching her shoulders in a relaxed, leisurely way. She tidied her hair, looking refreshed and full of energy, and gave Mokou a pleasant smile.
She said:
"Congratulations, Mokou. You’re beginning to understand our existence."
Mokou immediately threw up, her hands trembling as they tried to support her on the ground, only for her to collapse right into her own vomit. Shivering, she felt the bile on her hands, but there was no scent, no foulness—just nothingness.
Kaguya, however, was thoroughly amused. Her warm, soft, freshly formed body moved in close, enveloping Mokou from behind. Her beautiful, smiling red lips, radiating warmth, fluttered with kisses across Mokou’s neck, spine, and back, while silk-like black hair slipped down over Mokou’s shoulders. Everything about her felt so pure, soft, gentle—devoid of any scent of blood, sweat, or human taint. Mokou remained still, letting Kaguya do as she pleased, tears slipping down her face in response to an understanding she couldn’t put into words.