Story: The Grave (chapter 1)

Authors: BeyondTime

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Chapter 1

Kirika worked silently as she dug the grave, never once stopping to look at the large bundle lying so very still at her side. Yuumura Kirika, ever the consummate professional, was unrivaled in her ability to hide bodies in the earth while leaving no trace that would clue any passersby to the horror that lay moldering beneath their feet.

Not that there would ever be any random stranger on this deserted island she had come to with Mireille a year ago. They had wanted to build a life for themselves outside the reach of the Soldats, and had used their wealth to buy a tropical island with a perfect climate, and no blood-sucking insects to make them regret their retreat into total isolation. Only the occasional supply boat that left food and other essentials on their dock, whose sailors came and left under the watchful eye of two sniper rifles without ever seeing the faces of the two women behind them, connected them to civilization.

As Kirika worked she thought about what had brought her relationship with Mireille to this unpleasant juncture…

After their flight from the manor it didn't matter to Kirika exactly how Mireille felt about her; as long as Mireille accepted her as a part of her life she was happy with things as they were, or at least so she thought. She wasn't even really sure if her own feelings for the beautiful blond were romantic or platonic. The idea of not being alone was so new to her she had yet to really figure out what exactly she wanted that "not alone" to be.

All that changed the day she saw Mireille sunbathing nude on the beach below the little house they lived in. At the very first glance the rush of desire she felt informed her that the feelings of love she felt for Mireille were decidedly not platonic. The greater wonder still was the night she awoke in bed to find Mireille lying on her side next to her staring intently at her face. The next thing Kirika knew she was being kissed, and nothing in her life had ever felt so right as that moment Mireille's lips met hers.

From that day forward it took all of Kirika's effort to keep herself from putting her arms around Mireille every time she was anywhere near her. She loved the feel of Mireille's skin against her own, and hearing the beating of Mireille's heart when she rested her head against her back, but even when the opportunity arose for them to embrace Kirika all too often felt a remnant from their past life in France coming between them. In the several weeks since their first night together as lovers it had begun driving her crazy.

Kirika knew exactly what this barrier Mireille kept erecting between the two of them was, and everything she had learned about Mireille in their time together clued her in to the fact that Mireille's passion for holding onto things she found important would make it almost impossible for Kirika to overcome this particular problem. As time passed its presence grew more and more unbearable to her. It finally reached a point where Kirika could no longer live with the pain it was causing her.

She was left with the realization that as long as something was separating her from Mireille - both physically and emotionally - she couldn't live with Mireille.

Kirika was a trained assassin not a psychologist. Her skills only gave her one very direct course of action when dealing with problematic situations in her life. When she realized she could no longer go on living like this she acted. She waited till Mireille was in the shower completely off guard, and then she began making her preparations for her crime without hesitation or remorse. Her victim in the end wasn't even able to put up a struggle, and before Kirika knew it she was dragging a heavy sack to a very remote part of the little island….

Kirika tamped the final bits of sandy earth down over the grave, and set about giving it the finishing touches that would perfectly blend it in with its surroundings. Even the most expertly trained assassin would never find what lay concealed underneath the earth here. She then began her trek back to the little bungalow, but as she rounded the final bend and thought about what she had done the guilt overwhelmed her and she heard a wail of despair as deep as her despair that rainy morning in the Paris cemetery ringing in her ears.

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