anthy. oh, anthy. born a girl and paid so dearly for it. love and hate were always the same to you. maybe, in some lost, past life, you may have known what it was like to know the difference, but i am afraid we have both forgotten. the only truth that exists now is his fucking self insert fanfiction in which his tiny little sister has sex with him to save him. he now uses this as an excuse to "save" you over and over and over. the duels hurt you and you are possessed by the spirit of an object that never knew the difference between love and hate. and over and over and over the swords of hate fly into you and rip apart your seams but oh, my beloved anthy, you were not meant to feel. you know what it is like to have swords thrust into you and it is disgusting and dry and bloody. you are encrusted with fluids and your rose is dyed a rusted red. you do not even know what it is to be pure. you are stained and drenched. you cannot cry nor sweat nor come nor vomit. over and over and over and over. maybe you were 4000. maybe you were just 14
but here's the thing, anthy. you wish so badly to physically be as hollow as you feel inside, but you are not. you are wonderfully fleshy and throbbing and alive! anthy, you are alive! and things that live can feel pain like objects simply cannot. don't you get it, anthy? they may objectify you, they may sexualise you, they may fill you with their own bloated desires, but you are your own! doesn't this prove it? don't you feel the excruciating pain of every single blade? every. single. year? anthy! you are 4000! or maybe. you are just 14.
what makes you so unbelievably wonderful, though, my beloved anthy, is that you learnt to love. i would say "again" but i don't know if you ever have, before. you learnt to love. did you even know that that was what you were doing? you had no fucking idea what to do about it. you tried killing her, you tried killing yourself. anthy, akio told you: a blade is but a toothpick without its wielder. but did you forget? you, my flower, have a calyx. she encompassed your developing bud and, even now, she remains at your base and supports you. she is so inextricable from you that her wielding you feels like masturbation. holding her hand feels like holding your own. you've never held yourself before. oh, anthy. did you even know that being held could be a good thing? or did you think you would prick yourself on your own thorns and stain yourself further red? oh, anthy. you were always pure. you set out, now, in search for her and yourself. who even are you? can we find out, together?
have you heard? have you heard? she's only 14
