Life is a mistake. No matter how many millions of years of evolution we go through, it will never live up to the hype. Then again, what can you expect?

Fame and glory are in the end just words on paper, or droned by gaudy suits on any number of programs available. The profoundness we so eagerly attest to…? Meager pleasantries of those desperately struggling to stay afloat on a sea of meaningless numbers.

As lowly humans, we wade through the slop we have brought upon ourselves, but a thread among many. We are trash, and like trash, we are thrown away when the time comes. The bounds of the human limits only extend thus far.

What mechanism could possibly drive the heart of man to continue its insipid existence, despite having full knowledge of the fruitlessness that it entails? I cannot, and most likely nor will I ever understand.

“Uuuuu”

My mouth is becoming dry from thinking of such mundanity… Nestled in the darkness, I reside in the tiny crawlspace under the stairs of my mother's aging townhouse. Like a grim specter, my visage is illuminated only by the screen of the laptop sitting on my childlike computer desk.

Grabbing a can of cola out of the tiny bar fridge underneath, I crack it open and listen to the CO2 bubbles rising to the surface. The soothing sound causes my constantly racing brain to calm itself a bit, so I relax myself, as I stare blankly at the darkness beyond the screen's glow.

Minutely, I sense the presence of a sinister aura from behind me. In the case that this presence was a threat to my being, I would act accordingly. But I know of its transience, so I choose to ignore it. Ever since returning home from that damned facility, I have been put on enough pills that the symptoms have at least become somewhat manageable.

It will not erase what I have done. But just as birds have a responsibility to feed their young, I will carry the burden of these sins for the rest of my life, however long that should last. It is the least I can do to atone, no matter how cliche that self-centered belief may be.

“Forgive me, Gwyn...”

Sensing an opening, the entity behind finally makes its move, and like a million needles, it embraces me. With its cold and viscous oil, the flesh begins to dissolve from my bones. The heavy mucous entombs my being, submerging my entire body and wresting me of breath.

It takes all of my negligible strength to break free from its hold, and as I gasp air into my lungs, a chilling sweat covers my entire body.

(Hah… That… A slime this time, huh...? Speaking of which, I wonder how that web novel is getting along…)

Scratching my beard quizzically, I adjust my vision to the screen and ignore any baseless things that cling to my consciousness. As my pupils constrict in reaction to the glowing LCD’s added stimulus, the earlier anomaly dissipates. Presence thwarted.

This is by no means an uncommon occurrence, happening more times in a day than I care to count. I am constantly fettered by the chains this illness has brought upon me. Though, over time I have become inured to its wrath. Honestly, you can ignore anything if you try hard enough...

But the day is long. Even more so when you are constantly at war with your own mind. Each battle brings with it a new battle, and the cycle never ends. I can only pass my time meandering through the web, finding things to watch and read. With no obligations to speak of, I have only to take my pills and stay out of trouble.

Without her, I really am… empty.

“Urggggh!”

Pain! Flickering jolts of searing agony rampage through the left side of my body, as my heart contracts, as if squeezed under a metal press. The air in my lungs expel in muffled groans, and the urge to vomit becomes overwhelming, taking hold of my bodily functions.

Fortunately, I point myself in the general direction of the waste bin on my right side before my stomach’s contents escape. Shortly thereafter I plummet forwards, grazing my head against the desk in the process. I am unconscious before I even hit the floor.

------------

I remember my childhood… A scene from before I was diagnosed with the plethora of mental disorders. Before I disgraced myself, and with my own hands destroyed everything that I held dear. Watching from a short distance away from the scene, I am like a bystander to my own memory.

“Ahh… This must be a dream…”

Alone, yet not so much, I mutter into the prevailing soundlessness, as if confirming my own cognizance.

“How unfortunate…”

A young boy, appearing around the age of seven or eight, is sitting at a small, cluttered desk. Its surface is piled with thick books, nary a single space left. The youth himself has propped in his lap an elegant book titled ‘The Knight and the Flower Maiden’.

To his left he holds gently onto the edge of a cradle, rocking it back and forth. The baby inside coos with a contented face, as it listens to the boy read the heroic and romantic tale.

After a few moments, time begins to blur, and the scene fades away into a colorful cloud of dust, whilst another one takes its place.

In this scene, the boy looks to be about the age of ten and is sitting at a piano. His sibling, now a five-year-old girl with short, glossy, black hair, is seated on his lap. The boy, who likewise has short, black hair, plays a very calming song for his sister, whose head cheerfully sways side to side.

“I wuv da Cwoud Song Wade.”

She chimes gleefully, though with muddled words, as children her age typically tend to do.

“I wich I was a cwoud.”

The boy simply smiles at her childish notion, while continuing to play the peaceful tune for the girl. Rather abruptly, he stops and looks over his shoulder. His face is devoid any signs of emotion, much unlike it had been when interacting with his sister.

Our line of sight connects, as we both stare emptily at one another, neither of us uttering a word. Eventually, he turns back to the piano and begins the tune again, though his playing feels distracted. It is quite obvious the boy is unsettled by my presence. Despite this, he manages to remain composed enough so as not to disturb his sibling.

The scene changes once again, and two years seem to have gone by. It is late evening, and the siblings are walking home from school. Hidden behind her long black hair, the sister’s puffed cheeks denote a displeasure of some sort. The brother appears to be frantically searching for a way to relieve the situation.

“I-I'm sorry I didn't come pick you up right away, Gwyn. Something… Unfortunate happened after school as it were. I’ll do anything it takes to make it up to you, so… Just this once, could this cute little sister perhaps forgive me?”

“Hm~mph!”

The sister looks away stubbornly while pouting. Thus the brother scratches his cheek while smiling wryly, wondering whether his carefully planned words have had any effect on her mood.

After taking a quick peek at him, and apparently feeling at least some forgiveness, the sister instead becomes curious as to what could have possibly taken priority over her.

“So why were you late?”

The big brother winces quite visibly at this question, and for a moment, looks conflicted. Finally, although an unfortunate decision, he lies.

“I-it was the class president. She asked me to help take care of some papers after school. While I of course objected, her authority is hard to deny. Honestly, I'm willing to do anything, so can we overlook it just this once?”

This is a plausible reason which would explain everything, but no matter how much the boy wishes it had been, such an innocent prime-of-youth situation is far from the truth. It still manages to fool the seven-year-old girl, however.

“Hmph! Who does she think she is? I had to wait a whole hour! It's your fault too, Wade. You never stick up for yourself like a man.”

“Ahahaa... I'd like you to spare me from the indelicacy of such implications…”

“Boo, Wade is too soft, especially to women.”

While the sister crosses her arms in frustration, the brother simply shrugs his shoulders. Conflicting thoughts of how ‘She is just too cute.’ or, ‘That last part sounded kind of ominous…’ do cross his mind, but nothing really matters when compared to the fact that he has just lied to this innocent little girl.

Watching this whole scene, I reminisce upon the actual events which took place back then. While there is little, if any, truth to the boy’s statement, the lie was not in malice; But rather, to protect the harmony of the relationship between these two siblings.

Everything was for her...

No matter how far this accursed sickness spread, I buried it all behind a tidy smile. As long as I could uphold my outward appearance, whatever ran rampant beneath the surface was an irrelevant matter. I enforced this mantra strictly, but it was never enough.

Although most symptoms could be easily dismissed, they grew and grew at an unmanageable rate. I could feel its hold increasing, like tendrils stretching into the depths of my mind.

As the hindrances became worse, and no matter how desperately I tried to ignore them, the peculiarities in my behavior led my teachers to take notice. I was eventually given a detention… Hence the reason for being late.

The Principal just asked how I was doing, and if there was anything I should be telling her. Having little interest in the pity of such a geriatric sow, I simply brushed her off by saying I had been feeling ‘distracted’, or ‘exhausted’. I did not need any unnecessary information reaching my parents' ears, and I definitely did not want to cause trouble for my sister.

Being hailed as having considerably higher intelligence than my peers, my achievements were often singled out by those around me. Thus I made an effort to keep up such appearances in front of her. Someone as ill as myself pretending to function like a regular human being was bound to have terrible ramifications.

I will never disgrace that person by saying something like, ‘I wish I could go back and do it again’. But it stands to be said that my skewed values were one of the main causes of what has come to pass.

Let me just say this… I was the catalyst for my own demise.

The scene changes to a more solemn display. The deafening chorus of rain blankets the earth, smothering the life out of the last vestiges of the evening's twilight.

The men garbed in blue uniforms carefully handle a gurney as they drag it onto the crowded street. The subtle hint of depravity emanating from the scene draws onlookers, like flies to a carcass.

Someone notices a figure emerge from the front door of the house and garners the others' attention to the otherworldly scene. Their faces distorting into a mixture of disgust, surprise, and horror.

The figure in the door, a teenager around the age of sixteen, wears a school uniform, accented by deep, bleeding gouges on his face. All the way from his head to his toe, he is covered in a red splatter, like an abomination straight from a nightmare.

His eyes remain skyward, devoid of any emotions, just staring beyond the ember glow of the setting sun in the distance. Something unfamiliar creeps behind his icy expression.

Two Police Officers emerge after the boy, and it is soon apparent that this youth is handcuffed at the wrists. What deplorable acts could have led to the boy's current condition can only be speculated by the crowd, as he is led from the doorway to a squad car.

A guttural and chilling laugh leaks out from the boy, as he tilts his head unnaturally to the side. It is then that his eyes become fixed upon mine. I house no pity for his wretched form.

Now drenched in the rain, the blood begins to seep from his clothes and stains the ground where he walks, like the depravity bubbling forth, tainting its surroundings. A sense lingers in that place, as though nothing will ever be the same there again; A perverse feeling, that cannot be explained.

No doubt, looking at the scene of devastation from that day is disturbing to the viewer. Even I, who have experienced this all before so many times, look on in stoic distaste.

The smell of blood on my hands never comes clean. Like a stigma, I have been cursed for my sins. Whether my frigid heart can truly appreciate the significance of such a reminder is doubtful. However, the smell… Her life essence… Being stained by my sister’s memory is at least somewhat comforting.

I know well that I am already broken, just as I was on that fateful day. Standing here in the rain, listening to the faint remnants of the sirens fade into the distance, I am once again reminded of unnecessary things.

“Haa. The purifying feeling of rain is nice every so often… I suppose…”

Whimsically, I think aloud to myself.

“{I th0uGHT y0U h4TeD tHe RaiN?1!}”

The garbled voice, filled with static and other mechanical noises, sounds from my right side. It is an unearthly voice you would only think that a demonic creature could mutter, yet the faintest hint of a smile quivers upon my lips.

Suddenly, tiny cold fingers grip my soaking wet hand. While it is a gentle embrace, the other hand lacks any of the body heat of the living, like a cold piece of bony meat.

I make a momentary glance to my right and confirm the presence. Sure enough, a petite figure now stands motionless at my side.

Skin like smooth white porcelain devoid of any color, and an elegant, black, gothic one-piece dress. Black glossy hair cut straight at the bangs and hanging long in the back. It is a cute young girl that could warm the hearts of many a tired soul, save for that one thing.

This child has no eyes. Just black gaping darkness, behind long dainty eyelashes. An eerie miasma leaks out of the sockets, like a shadowy fog, devouring the light.

Standing hand-in-hand with this child who resembles her yet not, I gaze upon the scene from the dream, which begins its obligatory cycle of transformation.

“Well, that is true enough. Do not worry… Simply a passing whim. Your blood will not wash off so easily, you know…”

The girl stays silent, neither assenting nor otherwise, just blankly watching ahead. Likewise, I stand stalwartly as the scene breathes into life.

Harnessed with a straitjacket, he sits on a cot, staring at the wall of a small room. This languid and sickly boy briefly looks towards us but eventually turns away. The listlessness in his eyes is smothering, like all the world’s darkness has passed through, leaving them blind to the light.

“I sure got used to small spaces, huh? Even now, after they finally let me live at Mother's, it is the same type of cramped room. I wonder how long this dream will keep going for? Watching these old memories over and over again is a little dry.”

There is meaning in holding onto certain memories, but that does not mean I want to see them every time I close my eyes.

“{Di5s4tISfIeD!1?!}”

“Hmmm, more like… Bored…?”

I let it slip out… What a grave mistake I have made. Please tell me she did not hear my foolishly uttered remark.

The grip of her hand slightly tightens, and a small twitch can be seen from her brow. For someone who normally lacks any kind of emotion in her facial expression, this is a significant change. She definitely heard me!

“{UnGr4tEfuL!!1!}”

“No, not like that! I just meant that having the same dreams all the time has become kind of repetitious, you know? You are my only highlight in this dreary place.”

“{HmMpH!!1!}”

Phew… That was close. Fortunately, I seem to have reasoned my way out of something most unpleasant. This girl sure is heartless...

If she is supposed to represent the bright and innocent sister I once knew, she could at least try a little harder on that front. Though perhaps her jaded and harsh representation is due to my own influence. If I were told such a thing, I would probably believe it.

Apart from her personality, or lack thereof, the appearance is mostly as I remember. Though this gothic dress is more like a manga character’s choice of clothing, rather than my tomboyish sister’s. In fact, it is odd… Oh well, just seeing her is enough.

Come to think of it, I seem to remember my sister implicitly wearing bear-printed panties. Is this child…? This is bothering me...

‘Peak’

Discreetly, I make the decision to lift up the reverse end of the dress and ascertain the existence of said bear logo. However, I instinctively halt this ill-advised expedition before it reaches its conclusion.

“{…}”

My shoulders stiffen. I feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck erect in defense, and all the fluid in my veins turns to ice. Is this thick, ugly sensation perhaps what they call bloodlust? Did she somehow read my mind?

Feign ignorance… As long as I do not admit to thinking it, she cannot prove otherwise...

'Sniiip' 'Sniiiip'

Oi, oi! Whatever happened to innocence until proven guilty!? And why scissors? What are you planning on cutting off with those things? Let us not jump to any hasty conclusions here. I may have been thinking it, but I doubt they would even be visible in this dimly lit cell.

“{PuN1sHm3nT!1!}”

“Pass…”

This solitary confinement room can only be opened from the outside; Nonetheless, such trivial boundaries are but a trifle in a lucid dream. With finesse, I reach for a newly imagined door handle… Of which none appears.

In this sort of situation, you can only apologize and make up.

“I apologize…”

‘Sniip, sniip’

Not good enough?

“I am sincerely regretful of my decisions, you know. I honestly have no idea what came over me. I beg for your forgiveness! Please just keep those things away from me Ojousama!!”

Even whilst I have become a bubbling fountain of apologies, the rusty-looking scissors inch closer and closer. Trapped with my back against the door, I crumple into a seated position in defeat. I suppose I deserve whatever is coming, I only ask that she make it quick.

“{PeRv3rT!!11!}”

Finally, I hear her dissonant voice, ever so close to my right ear. Turning away, I am greeted with the sardonic smirk of my younger self, as he now unconcernedly watches my predicament from his bed. So useless…

'Sniiip!'

A searing pain assaults my groin. Such a devastating amount of pain that the sound will not even escape my mouth. Rocketing upright from where I lay on my floor-strewn blankets, a cold sweat covers my entire body. Quickly, while gasping for breath, I check my groin… Nothing… No wound, that is.

As my eyes eventually adjust to the darkness, I estimate that it has been approximately twenty minutes since I lost consciousness. Just to be certain, I check the time on my laptop. Sure enough, it is now 2:54 AM.

Now that the small space is lit by the screen, I scan my surroundings. No signs of any of the earlier apparitions. But you can never be too careful. Taking a deep breath, I focus my sensory perception and close my eyes. Thus, I sink into darkness.

What was once dull silence becomes more intricate, as I pick up on things above the range normally perceivable. The purr of my laptop's fan and buzz of my slender mini-fridge are one thing, but even the flowing of the wind as it circulates through this old house becomes clearer.

The smells also become more defined, however, contrary to the pleasant nighttime soundscape, the overpowering scent of vomit invades my senses.

“How… Unpleasant…”

Recalling the memories from before I passed out, I remember the gripping pain that had caused me to collapse. You could call it a heart attack, but this would be incorrect.

The simple explanation is that the pain I was feeling had been an illusory pain. It can be attributed, like so many other symptoms, to my illness. There is no end to what kind of madness my illness brings. Fortunately, since I started taking pills, I must only endure mild symptoms like these.

That I consider a heart attack to be a mild symptom only proves how nonsensical my illness originally is. As well as how mind-numbingly powerful these drugs must be to suppress it to such a degree.

That aside, my safe place is now contaminated with the stench of bile, which warrants a merciless scrub down of every visible surface. I dislike any type of strong smells, so I always personally prepare my own scentless cleaning solution.

It is likely due to me training my sensory faculties so much that they have become so delicate. Am I perhaps doing more harm than good?

After a rigorous cleaning, I leave the room momentarily to take a shower. Though it is still very early, I pass by my Mother making tea in the kitchen. The clock now says 5:40 AM so she must be getting ready to head to work.

“Mother…”

“Mmhm. Good Morning, Wade…”

Despite what I have done, we have managed to at least bring our relationship back to the point of having such meaningless interactions. I will not be forgiven, nor do I believe it necessary for her to do so; Words are meaningless. I desire nothing from her, and likewise, she remains ambivalent in her feelings towards me.

Back when we first saw each other again at the facility, after having been cleared for visitors, her expression was utterly disdainful. I half expected for her to burst out in anger and slap me. Instead, she began to cry, holding her head in her hands all the while.

Unfortunately, by then I had already deemed the useless facade, upon which I so desperately clung, no longer of importance. Without it, whether it was within my power or not, I had no way of relieving her pain… I just sat there and watched her tears fall to the floor. It was a scene that cemented in her heart the emptiness that I had become.

She happened by occasionally, and eventually, she decided to take me home. There was little hope for me to live in society… I mean, would you like a criminally insane person to serve you your fries, or to bag your groceries?

The pills can only do so much; I am just barely holding on. As if pushing the filth beneath the surface, I remain quietly in my chamber, reading manga and light novels, watching anime, and weathering the tides of darkness.

“Uaaaa… That is going to leave a heck of a bruise!”

Usually, I tend to stay away from mirrors. They never lie, and you can never fool them. In their depths, I am shown the true nature of the abyss that I have been cast into. This illness that I have been gifted with.

Like the corona of a black star, it shadows me, blotting out the light. Swirling and tumultuous. An everlasting presence that looms on the brink, waiting for me to fall so it can finally finish consuming the last of the shattered fragments I have left of my mind.

In spite of this, I am currently standing in front of a mirror at this very moment, having finished scouring the filth from my body. Out of pure whim, I gaze upon my decrepit self.

Coal black hair, akilter, and a silver-streaked, thick black beard adorn my unhealthily pallid skin. Around my eyes is puffy and dark, and diagonally below my left eye are two discolored scars. These, along with the few on my arms and chest, are an open reminder of the shame that I have committed.

A positive person might say I give the impression of a middle-aged regent, but I would frown at such a person’s facile mind. I am barely twenty-four but give off the bitter aura of an aged homeless man, tempered by the cacophony of life.

It does not help that my mismatched wardrobe, a mustard colored shirt, and unshapely, cyan pajama pants, hurt my eyes just by looking at them. Even someone as aesthetically-challenged as myself can tell my style is faulty. But I could not care less.

I pick them randomly, keeping the rest of them neatly pressed into little bags inside of a shoebox under my desk. The shoes themselves rarely get worn, as I only leave my house when it is absolutely necessary. Very infrequently I am required to pay a visit to that idiot psychiatrist. Apart from that, I am practically a shut-in.

‘Tch.’

The red welt only becomes visible when I pull up my bangs. Nonetheless, it is quite large, about the length of a finger. It appears I struck far harder than I anticipated. Since I have always been somewhat numb to most pain, it is a simple miscalculation. Whether you could call it lucky or not, I still feel the realistic, albeit illusory pain from my hallucinations.

It would be no joke if I were to knock something loose and get stuck with yet another brain problem. Well, whatever… I can deal with such things when they come.

Speaking of problems, a certain thing has been hanging out of the bottom of the mirror for some time now, slowly advancing towards me. It can only be described as an ugly, undead appendage with skin peeling back like aging paint. I have been ignoring it, but having pretty much finished in here, I should leave before it levels up.

Things like this are what keep me from looking at mirrors. I mean, I had almost forgotten what I looked like until just now, you know.

Stepping languidly through the dim halls, I return to my safe place. My mother must have left while I was in there as I am without interruption this time. The faint whir of noise caused by the electronics in my cramped crawlspace immediately soothes my mind.

Duchess and Beautiful. Those are the names I have given to my fridge and laptop respectively. It is trifling to denounce me for it, you will get no reaction. I have long since discarded any obstructive notions like etiquette or propriety. Besides, they told me their names themselves, you know…

Beautiful is still open on the page I left her on before my “nap”; She is quite loyal that way, so I will be sure to give her another good cleaning soon. A bit of cola remains in the bottom of the previous can, so I drink it while I peruse the otaku news forum I often frequent.

Ironically, spreading my tendrils through the web, and absorbing all there is to know about such things is the most human aspect of my daily life. I particularly focus on light novels and web novels, as I find their worlds more encapsulating due to my own powerful imagination.

I have a very vast and deep well of imagination, which if used methodically, could structurally recreate any number of possibilities. Even more so if most of my mental capacity were not siphoned away by the heavy intake of medication.

Even if I were to cease taking them, I doubt the benefits would outweigh the demerits. With the gargantuan weight that the medication places on my mental facilities lifted, the darkness would run rampant, until I am once again… Well, it would not be pleasant, that much is for certain.

Besides, I cannot, such a thing. If I should lose control and harm anyone else… The pittance would be too great for me to ever repay, and I swear by this… I will repay my debt.

It was back when the aftermath of the event had just been settled. Since it was blatantly obvious I was in no condition that even resembled sanity, the court ordered me to be put into a psychiatric facility. That disgusting place… The hypocrisy of that destitute establishment causes bile to once again churn in my stomach just from remembering it.

Heavily sedated, I was left in a daze for the first week so I hardly remember much. What I do remember is replaying the events of that day in my head over, and over again. It was burned into my retinas, as I festered in my stupor.

I thought about when I went wrong, or what I could have done to avoid this situation; How I could have protected her, shielded her from the evil that this world so incessantly harbors. I came to a realization… She was gone. I would never see her again, never hold her hand, the frigid chill sunk in, so cold it burned my heart.

What nonsense. Even knowing this would happen, I still could not change her fate. The incongruity of the whole thing took me by surprise, leaving me unable to find an answer. When I finally thought about it, the answer was quite obvious… I caused this. My arrogance. My irresponsible egotism.

As I created my great house of cards, built atop a lake of filth, laughing all the while, I looked down on everyone in their petty squalor. “I must be better than them, for I am higher!” I mused. How laudable. That we can delude ourselves into thinking such fallaciousness.

Before I realized, my cards came tumbling down, and I was left crippled and broken. There was no difference between those bumbling fools and I. My eyes were blinded. I tried so hard to fill in the gaps, that I forgot the very reason I even bothered in the first place.

I fucked everything up, and now I was lost. There was no longer a reason for me to stay in this bleak place… Or at least that was the conclusion I came to in that week or so. Thus, once I was let off of the sedatives and finally able to move again, I decided to end this madness, once and for all.

Perhaps with that, I could repay my debt to her…

“{N4iVe!1!}”

It was upon me before I even noticed, as I lie on my bed in that tiny room, embraced by the confines of my straitjacket. I was wondering just how I was going to manage my final task when she suddenly appeared.

This was my first meeting with her, this apparition that so resembled my dearly departed sister. She was straddled atop my waist, her cold, lifeless fingers, wrapped around my throat with an inhumanly strong grip.

It hurt. The squeezing was with such force that it caused a kaleidoscope of colors to flash before me. My arms, which I had finally gotten free from their restraints, were pinned down by her thighs, and so I could do nothing. That said, rather than all these things, what hurt the most… Was the searing agony that radiated from the wounds on my chest and face.

Why did she come? She must scorn me now, right? Is that it? Is killing me what she wants? That may not be so bad. In fact, it was perfect. If it is what she wishes, I should just succumb to her wrath, then my debt to her will be paid, I thought.

Whilst I waited for my end, I watched her fragile looking frame wrest the life from my body. But suddenly her grip weakened, and she removed her tiny fingers from my neck.

Air greedily flowed into my lungs as she placed her right hand on my face. I was confused and reeling from the pain, unable to piece together why she would release me. But this did not seem to bother her too much. It appeared that the bandages that covered the wounds on my cheek were obstructing her, so she peeled them off without restraint.

'Riiiip'

Cold air now graced the exposed wounds, and the utter disregard she showed for my well-being as she ripped the bandages from my face was no small amount of discomfort. No matter how much the sedatives had abated, this kind of pain was odd.

Over and over she traced the stitches they had put in place, leering at them. It was hard to tell where she was staring, but I got the picture. If you looked past the chasms of miasma in place of eye sockets, her features were fine; My sister was also thus. Her figure was delicate, ethereal even, like an angelic ray cast down to this realm that if disturbed, would evanesce before my very eyes.

I could only watch as she continued to weave her fingers through the stitches playfully, and a drop of sweat was starting to form on my forehead in anticipation. What was I waiting for exactly? I have no clue… But she never fails to impress.

In one quick motion, she stabbed her index and middle finger into the wounds and tore out the stitches in a clawing motion. The fact that I had not made a sound was mostly because of the damage she had done to my throat earlier. My fingers dug into the bedsheets as my body convulsed in agony.

She looked elated, that demon eyed girl, and after I stopped my spasms and became calm once again she placed both of her hands on my shoulders and leaned her head next to mine. I was paralyzed as I felt the coldness of her cheek, and how she smelled just like in my memory.

“{DiD y0U ThINk iT w0uLd bE s0 E4sY!?1}”

I see… I was wrong. There is no way such a simple and painless death would be forgiven. My debts are grave, stretching into the heavens and beyond; A crushing tower of sins. How foolish, to think I could repay her with just this. I could only laugh at myself in nihilism, the taste of blood on my tongue.

I did not know when it happened but the phantom was standing beside the bed on my right, emotionless. She looked down at me as I basked in my futility. What then, did this child want? How was I to balance the disorder I had caused? Did she not want retribution? Come to think of it… Back then… She was smiling, was she not?

“{LiVe. ThIs KinGd0M oF fiLtH Is y0uR pUNiShM3nT!!1!}”

“T-that seems a little harsh?”

“{…}”

“… J-just kidding. Ehehe… Haa…”

This is kind of shit, you know?… I did not dare say…

Well… I do deserve it, I guess. To be left broken and alone in pain and anguish was almost too good of a punishment for what I had done. I would have been fine with anything really, since my desire to repay my debts was genuine. Where will this choice take me, in the end? I wonder...

“I promise…”

My resolve from that day will never falter. At least the drugs should help… A bit… Who am I kidding? This is going to be a thorny road…