[ When they finally meet again, the woman is up on a platform where the puppet cannot reach. The music is a stilted version of their love song, made uncomfortable by the coldness that has seeped into her violin.
She offers the puppet the knife, held out in the empty air between them. When the puppet shakes its head "no" and reaches up imploringly... She turns away from him. She walks off into the darkness, the music intertwined with the sounds of a storm brewing.
The puppet runs circles in the city beneath her, trying to find its way to her. Her march across the raised platforms is slow and purposeful, her determination set. She faces down the rising storm with her dagger brandished. The music tense and seething upwards. The puppet has almost reached her when the gunshot rings out.
Deafeningly loud, it makes the entire stage shake. It hits her in the chest and sends her sprawling into a puddle of blood.
And he's there over her in an instant: his expression shocked and so very sorry. He cries over her, the soft piano notes that sometimes haunt them interspersed into sounds of softening wind gusts. Everything mellowing in the aftermath of violence, what must be her death sinking in...
Until the puppet gets to its feet. It clutches its head and starts to scream, the black of its hair extending outwards in tendrils, thorny with knots and hatred. What the puppet becomes is obvious, as its hair strangles out all the light and even the hands that have been pulling their strings. It is the hannya that has always been painted in to Majima's skin. The pale demon screaming with rage, betrayal, hatred.
It screams, tearing the world to shreds around them before its attention turns to bleeding woman now lifted in black tendrils of hair rather than strings. Maybe it will tear this apart too, so that it can truly... be... alone... Hot, angry tears stream down its face and its smile is a grimace of agony. ]
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She offers the puppet the knife, held out in the empty air between them. When the puppet shakes its head "no" and reaches up imploringly... She turns away from him. She walks off into the darkness, the music intertwined with the sounds of a storm brewing.
The puppet runs circles in the city beneath her, trying to find its way to her. Her march across the raised platforms is slow and purposeful, her determination set. She faces down the rising storm with her dagger brandished. The music tense and seething upwards. The puppet has almost reached her when the gunshot rings out.
Deafeningly loud, it makes the entire stage shake. It hits her in the chest and sends her sprawling into a puddle of blood.
And he's there over her in an instant: his expression shocked and so very sorry. He cries over her, the soft piano notes that sometimes haunt them interspersed into sounds of softening wind gusts. Everything mellowing in the aftermath of violence, what must be her death sinking in...
Until the puppet gets to its feet. It clutches its head and starts to scream, the black of its hair extending outwards in tendrils, thorny with knots and hatred. What the puppet becomes is obvious, as its hair strangles out all the light and even the hands that have been pulling their strings. It is the hannya that has always been painted in to Majima's skin. The pale demon screaming with rage, betrayal, hatred.
It screams, tearing the world to shreds around them before its attention turns to bleeding woman now lifted in black tendrils of hair rather than strings. Maybe it will tear this apart too, so that it can truly... be... alone... Hot, angry tears stream down its face and its smile is a grimace of agony. ]