The funeral was small.
No gravestone bore her true name; Melinda made sure of that. The hunters stood at a distance as Melinda placed white lilies on the fresh mound of earth.
Miyu.
No longer an experiment.
No longer a monster.
Just a girl who deserved peace.
---
Melinda
For weeks after, Melinda felt the silence in her house like a wound. No laughter in the mornings, no soft humming in the kitchen, no awkward questions about what it meant to be normal.
She kept Miyu's room untouched. Sometimes, late at night, she swore she could hear faint footsteps or the rustle of sheets. Not a haunting — just memories refusing to die.
---
Sam and Dean
The Winchesters left town, but they carried the weight of Miyu with them.
Dean tried to bury it with his usual sharp tongue and whiskey, but he could still see her eyes in that final moment — not human, not demonic, just determined.
Sam couldn't shake the thought: how many others like Miyu had they killed without ever giving them a chance?
Hunting was never simple, but now… it felt heavier.
---
The Whisper
One night, Melinda dreamed. She stood in the same field where Miyu had died, moonlight washing over the ashes.
And in the distance, she heard a soft whisper.
Her name.
"Melinda…"
She turned, and for a heartbeat, she saw Miyu standing there. Smiling. Free of pain.
Then the vision faded, leaving only the sound of the wind.
---
Melinda woke with tears on her cheeks.
She whispered into the empty room:
"You'll never be forgotten."
And somewhere, in the vast unknown, Miyu's soul — no longer bound by shadows, no longer hunted — was finally at peace.