/jp/ - Otaku Culture

Such words halt every single function of my body, and I stare at Yuuka in awe and astonishment.

“… You two are the family I’ve always wished for, and I am ready to give everything I have to have that family—I’d be happy even if your father wouldn’t reciprocate my feelings, Hana-chan~just to be an important part of your lives… That’d be enough,” she pauses, pursing her lips and fighting off the tears. “The thought that none of that matters because of what I am… it broke my heart, Hana-chan.”

Words, please, any words! Anything to offset the paleness of my skin, the horror that coats my eyes. Yet, familiar rage grows; it wasn’t an l-lie, just the truth—

—Yuuka’s hand grips firmly. “But I do not blame you, Hana-chan.”

“… W-What?”

“Your entire life revolved around dealing with monsters like the one I was. What you grew up with and what you were taught to do for a living—ridding Gensokyo of problematic Youkai.” She eyes me and I drink of the love her reds spew—not an ounce of judgement in sight; it tastes too sweet. I want to throw up. “But anything can change, and it always starts with a shoulder for you to cry on~” A slight chuckle, though it’s short-lived. “… No matter how hurt I felt, I’d still give you all my unconditional love and support, hoping you’d change your mind about me, Hana-chan.”

Her words, her tone—her warmth…

… From all that, I expected fuzzy feelings—some quaint happiness to facilitate the overbearing feelings that stir inside like crazy.

Change…

All I felt was dread.

Change is something I’ve seen time and time again this last year. It started with the flickering embers of my rebellion against Mother’s tyranny, and before I even understood what was happening, everything was changing. The village has changed and became unrecognizable, trying to parse the old and the new fills me with… fright; Mother has changed—that worry in her eyes; her tears and words of suicide; and the time we’ve spent together—

—Change, complete and utterly. Good and bad.

Unstoppable.

The simmering wound in my heart writhes and lashes against the walls of flesh around it, terror towards her response to my apologies still a smoldering hollow; all this pain, whimpering and staggering, pointing at invisible shackles that, under Yuuka-san’s tearful gaze and gentle smile, grow and grow like sown seeds.

Everything is changing, even me…

… But I never wanted that.

I never wanted to change what I am—this Hana Hakurei!

Because…

The festering wound swells, and the infection and its blight, sickly yellow—plumes of death, rolling and consuming—try to hold me back. Fear like nothing else; fear that rises the stomach acid.

Fear that tries to chain me down.

“Hana-chan,” her voice calls me, and though the dread does not dissipate, the red of her eyes never leaves me—as if beauty that triumphed even the heavenly flower to her side—the warmth of her hand. “… If you feel it is the time… then talk to me, would you?”

“… I-I…”

Eyes fall on Aunn’s soft green hair; Yuuka’s grip is vice-like yet also so gentle, like the crater of a meteor reclaimed by nature, draining me of inner fight. Hieda’s words and foul visage echo; Aunn stands by me as my heart collapses. Yukari had just destroyed the illusion, peeled off the charade as she’s done with my clothes, and Yuuka never left my side—a lifetime of horror, this one second holding her hand…

“I’m a-afraid,” I gasp, not believing my words. “Afraid that… Changing what I am—what I have always been—” Blood runs down a broken nose; mother watches with rage unlike any other. Inside, burns defiance. “—I’ll end up becoming like her.”

There’s no need of name; Yuuka understands.

My heart heaves and my body shrinks with memories both new and old, a churning mess that seems to be a defining characteristic of my life, clinging to the Flower Master’s comforting touch to not fall into this sudden pit of misery that’d opened where once stood a bed. Shame, ardent and twisting, its origins unknown—something deep down knows that’s not truth and though the chains holding me down hurt like spasming worms on fire, the reality of my words threatens to create even more chains.

The truth, the festering wound.

Yuuka opens her mouth, about to say something, but a small and faint knock on the door—might’ve had been thunder, my mind springing back from the ether—, her mouth hanging agape for a moment before, retracting her hand, standing tall. “Such a small knock must belong to one of Alice’s dolls. They’ll be checking for any lasting damage in your body, Hana-chan,” her crimson eyes dart to the hidden scar in my arm, a trinket from the Hieda fight… Her eyes narrow with flaring disappointment. “If I was there…” A low mumble that is followed by a second knock on the door, Yuuka tsking and staring at me, my throat clenching— “… There was a time Reimu-san was a good person.”