"You...altered his mind to resemble me?"
Kafka's throat went dry, as he heard the absurd thing that his mother was saying.
Vanitas nodded faintly.
"I simply helped him remember how to be you. And before long, I had something so close that, sometimes...sometimes I would forget who I was speaking to."
She gave a small, broken laugh.
"There were even moments when I honestly couldn't tell if it was him or you. That's how convincing it became. It scared me."
Kafka could feel the blood rushing in his ears. His mother's words made him feel so utterly sick that he felt like vomiting on the spot.
"But even then..." Vanitas continued softly. "I realized that fear didn't matter. Because I'd found the solution. I had created a way to live with my feelings...the ones I could never show you."
Her eyes glistened as she smiled, fragile, guilty, heartbreakingly sincere.
"The feelings of love that my true son could never accept. The love I could never voice. He became the vessel for it."
