[Prologue] Pure

"What are you doing?"
Across the room, a young woman looked at the youth who had asked the question.
"Cleaning, of course," she replied.
The young man adjusted his glasses. "Why? You're just going to get it dirty again."
The woman ignored him, turning back to her work. She scrubbed fervently, trying to get all the stains out of her dress.
"If you want, I can get you a new dress," he offered. He was sitting on a crate, swinging his legs impatiently. "But, we really need to get moving. I don't want to be caught here."
The young woman rolled her eyes. "Masaya, for someone as old as you, you sure don't have very much patience." She continued scrubbing. "And, those soldiers won't be a problem anyway. I could get rid of them with a blink of an eye."
The young man - Masaya - sighed. "I know; that's why I want us to get out of here. You know I don't like violence, Alyssa."
She laughed. "But I do," she said, grinning. Her crimson eyes stared at Masaya, waiting for a response.
He shook his head sadly, before returning her gaze with his own grey one. No words passed between them. He slowly lowered his eyes to the water in which she had been washing her dress.

Pure crimson.

The colour of blood.