Chapter 1: The Night She Watched
The hallway floor was cold through her pajama pants. Lisanna pressed her shoulder against the doorframe, ear aligned with the sliver of light escaping her sister’s room. Her own breath sounded too loud in her head, a damp rush in her ears that almost drowned out the other noises.Almost.
There was a low, rhythmic thudding, the familiar complaint of Mirajane’s bedframe. A gasp, sharp and sudden. Then Mirajane’s laugh, breathless and rich, a sound Lisanna knew better than her own voice.“Easy,” a man’s voice murmured. Zeref.It was always Zeref lately. “You’re impatient.”
“You’re slow,” Mirajane shot back, her words slurring slightly with pleasure.
Lisanna’s eyes found the gap where the door hadn’t fully latched. She shifted, just an inch, and the room opened up to her like a forbidden painting.
Mirajane was arched against a tangle of sheets, her long white hair fanned out like a halo. The single bedside lamp gilded her skin, highlighting the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast under Zeref’s hand.His back was to the door, a landscape of tense muscle and shadow. He moved with a controlled, ruthless grace that made Lisanna’s throat tighten.It wasn’t rough. It was precise.Like he was taking something apart.A flush crawled up Lisanna’s neck. Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs, a frantic counter-rhythm to the sounds from the room. She watched her sister’s hands, one tangled in Zeref’s dark hair, the other gripping the headboard, knuckles white. Mirajane’s head tilted back, her eyes closed, mouth parted on a silent cry. She was so unapologetically there, completely consumed.Lisanna felt like a ghost in her own home.
Her own hand moved, a traitorous instinct.The soft cotton of her pajama bottoms was a poor barrier. The pressure was a shallow, clumsy imitation of what she saw, but it was enough to spark a low heat in her belly.She imagined the weight, the solid presence of him.Not just any him. Him.Zeref. What would it feel like to have that focus, that intensity, turned on her?To have Mirajane’s eyes, her knowing smile, watching from the corner? No.To be Mirajane, for just one moment. To know what she knew, to feel what made her sigh like that.The thought was a jolt, shocking and clear. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore.It was a sharp, possessive want that bit deep.
Inside the room, the tempo changed. Zeref’s shoulders bunched, his head dropping to Mirajane’s neck. A low groan escaped him, a raw, unvarnished sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. Mirajane’s legs tightened around his waist, her answering cry soft and satisfied.It was over. The movements slowed to a stop, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing.Lisanna froze, her own hand stilled, cramping slightly. Shame, hot and sudden, washed over her. She was slick with it, inside and out.
“You’re going to evaporate,” Mirajane said, her voice throaty and amused. “I can feel your heartbeat in my teeth.”
Zeref chuckled, a dry, quiet sound.“Dramatic.”
“I’m serious. You’re like a furnace.” A rustle of sheets. Lisanna saw Mirajane sit up, reaching for a glass of water on the nightstand.She drank, the line of her throat working. “Want some?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” Mirajane settled back, pulling the sheet up to her chest. She looked over at Zeref, her gray eyes sharp even in the soft light. “You’re quiet tonight.Even for you.”
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime.”
A pause. Lisanna held her breath.“Your sister,” Zeref said, the words casual. “Lisanna.She’s always watching.”
The air in the hallway turned to ice. Lisanna’s blood went cold.Mirajane laughed, but it was different now.Protective. “She’s shy.And she adores you, for some reason. Thinks you’re all mysterious and deep.”
“Is that what I am?” Zeref’s tone was flat, unreadable.“You’re something,” Mirajane said, her voice dropping, turning playful again. She traced a finger down his arm. “Something I don’t need to understand to enjoy.”
Lisanna couldn’t listen anymore. She pushed back from the door, her movements stiff and silent, and retreated to the darkness of her own room. She closed the door, leaning against it, the wood cool on her burning forehead.
The shame was gone, burned away by a new, more powerful emotion.He had noticed her.He knew she watched.The thought should have horrified her. Instead, it pulsed like a beacon in the dark.
She crossed to her window, looking out at the quiet street.Her own reflection was a pale, wide-eyed ghost in the glass. Behind her, the room was just a room.A nurse’s sensible room, tidy and quiet.
But in her mind, she wasn’t here.She was back in that pool of lamplight. Not watching.Not imagining.Being.
The longing was a physical ache, a hollow space inside her that she now knew exactly how to fill.It was simple, really. She didn’t just want to watch.She wanted to know.She wanted to have what Mirajane had. To feel that power, to be the one who unwound that control in him. To see if she could make him forget her sister’s name.It wasn’t about betrayal.It was about completion. A way to stitch herself closer to the only person who had ever mattered.To finally understand her.
A car engine turned over outside, headlights cutting through the night.Zeref was leaving.
Lisanna watched from the shadows as his tall, lean figure emerged from the front door below. He didn’t look back at the house. He walked to his car, a sleek black shape, and got in.The headlights flared, illuminating the empty street for a moment before he pulled away.
She stayed at the window long after the red taillights had vanished, her hands pressed flat against the chilled glass.The house was silent again. Mirajane was probably asleep, a serene, satiated smile on her lips.Lisanna finally turned from the window. Her body hummed with a new, terrible purpose.The fantasy in the hallway had been a seed. Now it had roots, deep and grasping. She looked at her plain, orderly room, at the textbooks stacked on her desk, the stethoscope coiled neatly beside them.
None of it meant anything next to the image burned behind her eyes: Zeref’s dark head next to Mirajane’s white hair. Her hand, not Mirajane’s, speared through that black silk. Her breath, not Mirajane’s, against his skin.It was a secret, this new wanting. Sharper and more real than any she’d ever kept. She would hold it close, let it grow in the dark.And she would learn.She would watch more carefully now. Not just the acts, but the details—the words he liked, the touches she responded to. She would study it until she knew the script better than the players.Then she would find her moment.
The plan was a cold, smooth stone in her gut. It felt like the first honest thing she’d done in years.