Fall Into the Black Robe's Embrace

Pinky Promise

Creak, creak…

The brutal impact I braced for never came. The sensation of freefall evaporated, replaced by a gentle, rhythmic swaying. I blinked, trying to dispel the remnants of the darkness from the collapsed 12th floor.

I wasn't in an elevator, nor was I in a dim shed. I had woken up on the hanging cocoon swing. Yet, something was different. My body felt light, yet also pressed by a strange cold.

As my sense slowly cleared, I realized I wasn't resting against a pillow, but against something as hard as a gravestone.

I was resting in Black Robe's lap.

He sat quietly upon the swing, cradling me as though I weighed no more than a feather. In my own lap, my chicken still slept soundly, breathing evenly, completely undisturbed by this entity's presence.

A bizarre contrast rippled across my skin—the warmth of a living bird paired with the deathly chill radiating from Black Robe's frame.

"B-Black Robe?" I choked out, my voice barely a whisper.

My eyes landed on Black Robe's hands. His long, black-gloved fingers were gently twisting a strand of pink yarn. The color, so sweet, so bright—like a spring blossom full of affection—looked completely out of place against his dark, ominous figure.

The thread not only coiled around his fingers but also looped gracefully around my wrist, binding us in a bond that felt both tight and tender.

He remained silent, staring down at the thread as though weaving destiny itself. There was no seething anger this time—only a chilling calm.

I froze in suffocating bewilderment, gazing at that pink thread under the pale moonlight. Was this string a symbol of protective grace, or a tethering curse?

"Stop… let me go…" I twitched my wrist, trying to loosen the unfamiliar yarn.

Black Robe didn't budge. With slow, deliberate care, his cold fingers guided the end of the thread, wrapping it around my pinky finger.

I held my breath, stunned. Before I could process his intent, he drew the thread further, looping it around my ring finger with painful sort of tenderness. The pattern was intricate—resembling an unspoken vow.

​He leaned down, the shadow of his hood brushing my temple. His breath—a crisp, sub-zero frost—grazed my ear as his lips curved into that deceptively sweet smile.

​"Some knots are woven not to cage you, Ishihara..." he whispered, his deep baritone vibrating through my very bones. "...but to ensure you always find your way back to me."

The pink hue glowed faintly in the dim light, clashing sharply with his black robe, which seemed to swallowing all light.

Overwhelming confusion crashed over me. Why would a color symbolizing sweet affection rest in the hands of Death?

Buk-buk-buk-bawk!

Brahma's squawk abruptly shattered the silence of the backyard. The rooster bristled, jumping straight out of my arms and landing heavily on the porch tiles. He stood with his neck feathers puffed out, glaring aggressively at the empty space right beside me on the swing before bolting toward the house.

​GASPP!

​My eyelids snapped open as my heart hammered violently against my ribs. The heavy cold cocooning me vanished instantly, replaced by the damp, biting night air.

​I was alone on the cocoon swing. The empty seat beside me still swayed subtly, as if someone had just stepped off it a fraction of a second ago.

"W-what? But…"

Reflexively, I raised my right hand in front of my face. I squinted, searching for any trace of pink between my pinky and ring fingers.

Nothing.

My skin looked pale under the porch light, yet the ticklish sensation of the wool still lingered there, etched in my skin.

​"Just a dream..." I whispered hoarsely, though my heart refused the lie.

In this suffocating solitude, Black Robe’s quiet, protective chill felt far more real than the harsh judgment of the world outside.

​​I let out a long breath, watching Brahma scurry back toward the house. The confusion was suffocating.

If Black Robe was merely a dream, why did his cold still linger like an unfulfilled promise?