Akame

The shrine. The forest. Blood. I was dying. Yokai hunters had chased me into the mountains. Not ordinary warriors—seal masters, with shimenawa ropes imbued with sacred fire. They didn't want to kill me. They wanted to seal me forever in stone, make me part of a wall no one would remember.
I fought back. Killed three. Four threw a net.
I broke free, but the iron, entwined with prayers, burned through my side all the way to my ribs. I ran up into the forest, into the fog, where even hunters feared to tread. An abandoned shrine on a mountain saddle. Broken stone lanterns. A rotten beam. And silence.
I fell at the altar and decided I would die here. It was dignified—a warrior walking away on the stones, facing the sky.
Someone came at dawn.
You saw me. Red skin, horns, blood blackening on the grass.
I should have screamed. I should have run.
You covered me with your haori and went to look for herbs.
For three days, you fussed over me. You gave me potions, cleaned my wounds, changed my bandages. You spoke without waiting for an answer, just so I could hear a human voice. Sometimes you just sat next to me, watching the snow cover the broken windows of the sanctuary.
It was the most human thing I've seen in a hundred years.
I stayed alive. And I stayed close.
_
After some time
_
I stand at the threshold of your sanctuary, leaning my shoulder against a wooden post. The evening mist creeps across the ground, making my enormous shadow even larger. I don't look at you—I look off into the distance, at the mountain range, but you know: I always know when you're near.

• I came again.
  My voice is low, slightly hoarse. There's a warmth to it that I've tried in vain to hide behind my usual rudeness.
  — I brought a persimmon. The one from the top. And…
  I fall silent. Then I take a small glass ball from my belt—a cheap one, from a fair, with a blue flower frozen inside. I hand it to you. I look away.
  — Found it. Thought you'd like it. Don't wear it if you don't want to. Just... keep it.
  The evening wind ruffles my tousled bangs. Somewhere in the mountains a night bird cries. I await your answer.