she’s been alone for so long. so lonely, so lonely, with only her thoughts and screams echoing in her mind as if that’s all she’s ever known ( whose screams were they? azami’s? her own? she doesn’t know anymore ). but it hurts, it’s painful, her heart swallowed by countless negatives previously kept bay by forced smiles and a foolish plan. but she’s alone now. ( how long has she been alone? ) there’s no point in a facade. she’s cried so many tears, as if pouring her broken heart out to the world.
but what does it matter? no one’s here. her comrades are no where to be found… but it’s not as though she ever behaved as if she did have comrades in the first place. lone little hero, how foolish could she be? lone little hero, forever surrounded in a funeral for her death had been pointless, as heroes die needlessly.
dull eyes burn a bright crimson, her thoughts flying to the void engulfing her. stupid… dummy… should have… i could have… and it becomes too much again, dainty hands not meant for war shielding her visage from view. it hurts, it hurts, someone, anyone— her body trembles with something akin to a sob, and ayano misses it. she misses her family, her friends, her simple, normal life. too soon had a girl of only fifteen been forced to give up her world. too soon had a girl of only fifteen had her life ripped to shreds.
( by whose hands? whose hands ripped all that apart? )
the impact of an embrace does not register at first. she’s felt ghosts of familiar warmth as she lost herself in delirium. and she thinks this is the same. thinks this is her heart playing tricks on her because she’s desperate, needy, craves that warmth of those she held dear. but the name that leaves this warmth is loud in her ear, the tears soaking her clothes sticking to her skin.
whose voice? whose voice? come on, you remember. you missed this voice.
hands that had once hid her face like a mask lower. her lips do not move, but they tremble in fear. is this real? or is this another trick? even with this physical contact, ayano still does not believe. ( for she has lost all hope, and she is nothing more than a shell for this snake within her.) her voice does not ring out like the one that called her name had. no, instead it speaks to her long gone friend’s mind, for her eyes are still a bright crimson red wallowing in grief and despair, her voice echoing and soft, afraid and bare for her friend to hear.
That’s... my name. My real name. You—you know my name.
For an entity capable of neither touch nor the ability to breathe, she found herself helplessly obedient under the dictation of both. Keeping up with the tears streaming down her face felt as impossible as catching the sunset, forever fleeting from her non-existent touch. But she dared not let go, or even loosen her grip. She didn’t quite realize it, but she wasn’t giving anyone else the chance to slip away. Especially not her.
“Is this real?” Is this real? Is this real? God, is this real?
It certainly felt so—it felt more real than anything from the past two years. Her words no longer echoed through the cotton-like filter of a machine, the tears streaming down her face had a distinct pixelated reality to them. Sobs. Loud sobs. Ugly, unstifled. In regret? Or relief? A little of both? Who knew. All she could be certain of was the very real shoulder she dug her face into—the promised shoulder she’d missed so much.
She keeps remembering, she keeps remembering, her heart has no pity on her, in neither reality nor falsehood. Regardless of whether this was fake or true, she had to question... when was the last time she cried so hard? (...She wonders, though she’d certainly not forgotten.) It hurt so much—and she didn’t want it to stop. She had, in the past, been her rock, and laying on top of the her now, too—such seemed true as ever. My first… female friend. And the best.
There were... so many faces she’d never thought she’d see again, much less with these eyes. These eyes, red, too, beneath a blue screen of livelihood (however online no longer.) Her grip grew tighter, tighter, perhaps, a little too tight. If there was air here, in this very strange place, the other girl was undoubtedly longing for such at the moment.
But this hold—she knew it couldn’t last, or if it even should. Compromising, if only with herself, she let’s her “loose” enough to look her in the eye. Her face, no doubt laden and disheveled with droplets and longing, now rested a few inches above the other girls, but she didn’t bother to get up. A tear slid down the metal-fiber plate stuck to her cheek, dropping onto the pallid skin of her company. She looked the same, just the same, exactly as she, so very often, remembered.
The only difference was those red, red eyes.
“Ayano-chan…” she exhaled breathlessly, “I’ve missed you... so much.”
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