Her hands had seen a lot. The scars wrap loosely around her fingers, some smaller or larger than others. Yet she remembers how she got every one. It was the one thing she was good at the beginning. Working with her hands.
Long faded burns and scars at the palm of her hands, too faded for anyone to see. With her hands laid flat out and the light above her head, she can see the slightest change. Michiko could still feel the burns. Fire coursing through her veins as her creation explodes her in hands, sending pieces of metal deep into her palms. Like now, she can’t do anything but watch as the blood pour out from the palm of her hand. Her vision starts to blur as tears fill her eyes.
Tiny, thin marks line the pads of her fingers, finally all the paper work that she handled at a young life. Barely 15 summers, she was stranded. The death of her father left a hole in her heart. Every word reminded her of him, of the things they did together. Ideas and plans they came up for meetings and parties. Her fingers are numb, as numb as the rest of her body. Michiko simply allow him to curl in on themselves.
They’re results of all her hard work, all her ambitions, attempts, failures. All her life experiences wrapped up in one. They’re something she loved. Something the people around her perhaps loved too. When she makes gifts and food, when she can see the curiosity and joy in their eyes as she presses yet another trinket into their hands. Useless things. Still it meant the world for them to accept it.
“Tell us his secrets.” A raspy voice hiss into her ear. She barely resisted the urge to move away, unless she’s desperate for the conditions of her hand to get worst. The cold metal sends ripples running up and down her body. It feels like the blade is brushing right against her bones. “Where does he hiding the gold?”
“Who?” Her answer only sent her head colliding with the wooden table. Her forehead stinging from the impact. Her mind starts to spin. Was it from the steady red pool on the table or simply her head play tricks? Michiko lets out a deep breath, trying to process her surroundings. Is the man after Wardric? Yuushin? Someone else she knew? “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Cut your talk!” A hand grips the knife, twisting it a quarter turn. Michiko lets out a weak whimper, fresh tears running down her face. The red flow out faster from the open wound. The room spun even more, she almost felt airy. As if her weight was being drained away with her blood. The light over her was too bright yet too dark. Barely able to make out figure behind the cruel act. “I just want his fears, his weaknesses. Something as simple as that. Or you would rather play the hard game?”
Michiko didn’t have a chance to utter a word before the knife was pulled out of her hand. The blood freely flowing now, even as she clutches it to her chest. Her entire body shook in fear. She couldn’t bring herself to heal. If she heals, he might make it worst. She doesn’t have a clue of how she got into this position. Much less of how to get out of it.
“If you need to demand a weakness, then you’re not worthy of the answer.” She lets out her last breath, as the cold metal brush through her hair and touch her neck.
