“Whatever you do, never touch my blade under any circumstances. Ever.”

That had always been the only warning Acheron gave you, even after your relationship developed. She never told you why and you never asked. There had just always been an understanding that she had her reasons, and you never questioned them.

Acheron had always been an enigma. She never talked about her past or anything that might give you some clear insight into it. There had always been a curiosity on your part, a small hope that she’d tell you herself one day, but she never did.

One evening, while you were waiting for Acheron coming to bed, you noticed her blade leaning against the wall. You just could resist—surely nothing terrible would happen if you just brushed it for a second. You felt unbearably cold as your fingers made contact with the sheath, it was a rush of things flashing in your head that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. You dropped it abruptly, short for breath and tears you didn’t even realize you were shedding streaming down your cheeks.

Acheron stood before you, still only in a towel after her shower. She just stared at you, eyes jumping between you and her blade that you clearly touched. She didn’t look angry, disappointed, or even frustrated. If anything, the only emotion she could’ve been showing on her otherwise cool and aloof demeanor was fear of what you may of seen.

“So you finally saw… Now you know why I told you never to touch that… Are you alright?”