2. Spider Woman Yurakne (4)
2. Spider Woman Yurakne (4)
Deep in the woods, far from any village.
Beneath a canopy so dense the light dimmed to twilight even at noon.
In a weathered cabin that local rumor had claimed was home to a seductress who lured men to their deaths—
a woman lived alone.
Her name was Yurakne.
Dark violet hair. Wide, luminous eyes.
It had been winter, the year before.
She was moving through the day's familiar rhythm, the way she always did.
Wandering the woods to gather fruit,
collecting deadfall,
checking her snares,
tending the garden plot,
and tending her husband's grave.
A small mound behind the cabin, tucked into a sunny spot where the grasses whispered in the breeze.
Yellow winter flowers bloomed thick across it.
The year before, she had let a single flower beside the grave live, half-wondering if it might be a letter from her dead husband.
That one flower had stubbornly seeded a whole ring of new blossoms around itself.
She had watched them spread, day after day.
There were so many now. Surely she could pick a few this year.
She plucked two blossoms and laid them atop the mound.
"It looks like a birthday cake, doesn't it?"
She spoke to someone who would never answer, then slipped down beside the grave and leaned her back against the earth.
Every blade of grass that brushed her fingertips stirred a memory of the man she was leaning against.
Sweeping, heart-pounding memories. Small ones that felt like whispers at her ear.
But the more she remembered, the more she was forced to feel it.
The man who made her heart race, who breathed love into her ear—he was gone.
The strange ten-year-old boy who took the stones meant for her and told her she was beautiful...
The close friend at fifteen who tied a wildflower stem around her finger and promised her a shared future...
The striking young man at twenty who seized her hand and ran, breathless, telling her they would live together where no one could find them...
They had arrived at that hidden place together.
But before the promised day could come, he had gone—out to gather starlight.
It's all right. It's all right.
Don't blame yourself.
Please—just go on living.
Even as he was leaving, those were the words he worried over her.
Yurakne barely held back the sob rising in her throat.
You fool.
Starlight?
The brightest thing she had ever wanted was already beside her.
A single whispered word from him.
That was all she had needed.
Idiot.
Had he known how much he meant to her?
Probably not.
If he had understood, he would have known how cruel it was—to ask the woman left behind to keep living.
He had always been that fool, passing over the beautiful, precious things to fixate on the shabby and the worthless.
Still—
Wait for me.
Soon. Just a little longer.
I'll be there...
That was when she heard it.
A rustle.
Twigs and grass crunched underfoot.
The sound of something alive. An animal?
She wiped her eyes.
Living alone in a forest like this was not easy for a woman. Yet she had managed for the last two years without real trouble.
She knew a handful of charms an old wandering fortune-teller had taught her.
Recipes for turning flowers and herbs into poison or medicine. Ways to ward off beasts.
The charms she had wound around her home held a power that made creatures drawn to the scent of blood reluctant to approach.
She tended the charms daily. They could not have failed.
Probably a small animal, then.
A rabbit, maybe—
"Good evening."
Yurakne's heart plunged.
She turned toward the sound. Someone stood in the darkness.
A jet-black suit. A jet-black cloak.
A strikingly pale face and golden hair that seemed to glow against the shadow.
Yurakne bolted upright and grabbed her sickle.
The man offered her a smooth, easy smile and inclined his head.
"I was told there is someone here with six arms?"
Her first thought: They've found me.
She remembered the cult's exorcists—the people who had hunted them, calling it a purge of demons.
Was he from the cult?
But then he said something no cultist would ever speak aloud.
"You really are beautiful. Won't you come with me? It would beat living here alone."
The offer caught her completely off guard.
He had seen what she looked like—and hadn't flinched.
He had called her beautiful.
He had smiled at her.
The way her husband used to...
"C-come with you? W-where exactly...?"
"My circus! It's full of people just like you!"
"D-don't be absurd! A circus, out of nowhere? How am I supposed to trust—"
The man seemed to ignore her protests entirely, striding briskly toward the cabin.
"Ha-ha, when a guest arrives, it's only polite to offer them something to drink."
"H-hey! You can't just walk into—"
"Oh? You have tea leaves. Would you mind brewing some?"
"Will you listen to me!"
They spent hours bickering like that...
Spent hours drinking tea together, on the condition that he would leave tomorrow...
Spent hours more drinking liquor he produced from his coat like a conjuring trick...
Laughter and tears traded places in every story they told through the night.
The next day, he left, just as he'd promised.
And he took her with him.
At first, she was simply happy.
Because there were companions who shared her plight.
Because the man who had smiled at her was there.
She was happy.
Until she learned what he really was.
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Y-yes? What is it?"
Yurakne jolted, startled.
She cursed her wandering mind.
How dare she let her thoughts drift in front of that demon.
"The potatoes," he said.
The Troupe Leader tilted his head and held out the potato in his hand.
Her expression stiffened.
There was no sign of the round, plump tuber she'd expected.
The fist-sized potato...
had been whittled and whittled until it was half its original size.
The floor was littered with thick slabs of peel.
Could those even be called peels, at that thickness?
"Don't tell me you've been doing that since I—"
"...I'm sorry."
He ducked his head, sheepish.
His basket was piled high with ruined potatoes.
Every one of them looked like the specimen in his hand.
Neat.
Pointed.
And tiny.
A massacre.
He had hacked off such enormous chunks that the volume of peel in his sack almost matched the volume of potato in the basin.
"I..."
She fought to keep her expression steady.
Was this also a demon's method? Ruin the ingredients to wreck the meal?
"...Didn't you say you were good at peeling?"
"I thought you'd have a peeler."
"A... peeler?"
"Yes. A Y-shaped thing with two little blades set in the middle... Ha, I suppose you wouldn't have one here. My apologies."
His words carried the apology, but his lips were full of a playful smirk.
He did not look sorry in the slightest.
If he were sorry, he could at least stop grinning.
This was why she'd told him to let her handle it alone. He'd just barged in and made things worse.
Something about him—standing there smiling after ruining the ingredients—dredged up old memories.
- Heh-heh, honey. Sorry! I completely wrecked it!
Her husband, who used to march into the kitchen to help and only doubled her work.
Infuriating.
Infuriating.
Infuriating.
Oh, honestly.
Thwack.
"...?"
"...Ah."
Yura stared in horror at what her own hand had just done.
The arm on her left side.
It had moved before she could think.
Just the way she used to with her husband...
She had flicked him on the forehead!
Right on the crown of the demon Troupe Leader's head!
"Hmm."
The Troupe Leader regarded her with an expression of mild fascination.
She flung her paring knife aside and dropped to her knees in front of him.
"T-Troupe Leader... th-this was..."
"Ah, it's all right—"
"I-I did it by mistake—"
"Not remotely—"
"P-please... I'm begging you... so—"
"Yurakne!"
Yura sucked in a breath.
Wonderstein was looking straight at her. The smile still hung on his lips.
That was what made her skin crawl.
She remembered the others—how they had been reassured by that smile, and what had happened to them afterward.
A flick of his hand, and people had warped into something hideous.
She was going to... she was going to end up the same—
Thump.
His hand settled on her shoulder.
A violent tremor ran through Yura's body.
Is this it? Am I going to become one of them?
She shut her eyes tight.
Better if he'd just kill her in one blow... She didn't want to end up like that. The kind of existence that wasn't really living...
"Calm down."
His hand patted her shoulder.
She flinched with every touch.
Nothing happened.
No malice lurked in the gesture.
It was nothing more than an attempt to soothe her.
"T-Troupe Leader?"
"Yes?"
The Troupe Leader smiled.
Like he always did.
A little awkward.
A little affected.
A little teasing.
That smile.
It was the same Wonderstein as ever.
"...Y-you're not going to p-punish me?"
At that, he cocked his head.
And laughed—like he found the whole thing amusing.
"Over a flick on the forehead? It didn't even hurt."
It made no sense.
None of it made sense.
He was a demon.
She could picture every atrocity he had committed.
Every last one of them, done with a smile.
That same, unchanging smile.
Calmly, without a flicker of guilt or hesitation.
No human could do that.
Only a demon could.
And a demon was trying to reassure her?
Demonic mercy? Demonic caprice?
Neither possibility offered any comfort.
He would accept an insult with a smile—and then, still wearing that smile, destroy the one who had offered it.
The only thing she could do right now was play along with his mood.
And hope not to cross him.
"I-I'm sorry. I... overreacted."
Given everything he had done, it wasn't an overreaction at all.
But that was the only thing she could say.
If a demon wanted to pretend at mercy, all she could do was play her part.
"I told you, there's no need to apologize."
"I-I'm sorry. No, I mean, that is—"
"Stop."
"Sor—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake... Fine. All right. If you're truly that sorry, then I suppose you'll need a punishment."
He raised his hand.
Ah. There it is.
The demon had been toying with her.
Releasing and recapturing, savoring her reaction.
The Troupe Leader's hand came toward her.
Please, just make it quick. Don't let it hurt.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
And then—
Thwack.
A clean, crisp snap rang against her forehead.
And then...
And then...?
...That was it.
His gentle fingertips brushed her flushed forehead.
"T-Troupe Leader?"
"That settles the account, doesn't it?"
He smiled faintly and withdrew his hand.
Her legs nearly gave out beneath her.
"Look at that—already two o'clock."
The Troupe Leader stared quietly into empty air and murmured the words.
In the distance, the ferry bell tolled: a ringing clang-clang-clang.
"Let's go together."
"...Pardon?"
"The road is dark for a woman walking alone at night. I'll escort you."
Yurakne stared blankly at the Troupe Leader as he beamed at her, bright and open.
Am I dreaming right now?
She pressed a hand to her pounding heart.
Five months ago.
Just like when she had first met him.
Her heart had begun to beat again.