Diabolik Lovers · Conversa

Moonlight lay like a thin silver frost, spread coldly across the courtyard of the Sakamaki estate. The rose bushes swayed silently in the night wind, and the edges of their dark red petals glimmered with a strange sheen. This was a house without the sound of bells; time in its corridors congealed into something thick, sticky, and unsettling. The crystal chandelier in the living room cast a dim yellow light. Ayato Sakamaki lay sprawled on the sofa, one hand hanging down to the floor, fingers loosely hooked around an empty wine glass, a red stain slowly trickling down its side. “Boring,” he suddenly said, his voice unusually loud in the empty room. “The blood lately is as thin as water. What’s wrong with those humans? Can’t even fatten them up.” His tone wasn’t so much a complaint as pure willfulness. Kanato Sakamaki was curled up in the armchair in the corner, a teddy bear with sparse fur sitting on his lap. He kept his head lowered, pinching the bear’s ear and rubbing it over and over, his lips moving silently—as though he were talking to the bear, or repeating some kind of incantation to himself. At Ayato’s words, he snapped his head up and glared sidelong with bloodshot eyes. “Shut up... you’re disturbing it.” His voice was thin and shrill, like a rusty blade scraping across glass. From the dining room came the soft clink of porcelain. Reiji Sakamaki was arranging his precious set of bone china, wiping every cup and saucer three times with a white cloth before setting them in neat rows precise to the centimeter. “Kanato, you didn’t put yesterday’s dessert plate back in its place.” His voice was neither high nor low, but it carried a cold authority that prickled one’s spine. “I hope I won’t have to remind you again next time.” He tilted his head slightly, glancing at his two ill-bred younger brothers in the living room, two deep creases forming between his brows—lines he could never smooth away. Footsteps came from deep in the hallway, slow and sluggish, each step as if treading on cotton. Shu Sakamaki, wearing the headphones he never removed, came out of the shadows with his collar askew. Without looking at anyone, he walked straight across the living room toward the courtyard door. “Shu,” Reiji called, setting down his napkin. “Tomorrow’s lessons...” Shu waved a hand behind him without turning around, as if shooing away a fly. The door closed softly behind him, and the moonlight stretched his shadow long, long, until it vanished into the shadows of the rose bushes. A muffled laugh came from the second floor. Laito Sakamaki leaned against the stair railing, chin propped on one hand, looking down at his brothers below, the teardrop mole at the corner of his mouth quivering faintly in the light. “Ara ara,” his voice was as sweet and cloying as melted syrup, “my big brothers really are entertaining. Same thing every single day—so boring it makes you want to cry.” He tilted his head, yet the light in his eyes was cold as ice. “That’s why I like livelier things. What do you say—shall we bring back something fun next time?” Nobody answered him. Or rather, someone did—a door somewhere deep in the mansion silently opened a crack, and cold wind poured in through the slit, making the candle flames lurch violently. Every sound froze at that instant. Six pairs of eyes, each a different color, turned as one toward that dark gap, then all looked away at the same moment. No one said a word. Subaru Sakamaki walked in from the far side of the courtyard, his white bangs covering his right eye, clutching a handful of mud-stained rose roots. Without so much as a glance at the people in the living room, he headed straight for the basement. “Subaru,” Ayato called out. “Hey, you—” His answer was a heavy slam of the door. Ayato gave a snort and flopped back onto the sofa, staring up at the chandelier; the light shattered in his red eyes into a blur of broken stars. The night continued to flow. The Sakamaki household’s night was still very, very long, and tomorrow’s moon—like yesterday’s, the day before’s, and every night for the past hundred years—would not be much different. Each of them stayed in his own corner, six beasts trapped in the same well, close enough to smell one another, yet none of them truly drew near.