The recollections returned to me more—painful, sluggish as though a frozen hand were reopening a long-healed injury.
The pictures transformed into my childhood bedroom.
I wasn't present. Little Yura sat on the ground silently engaging with my toys her small hands seeking joy in a world that never offered her any.
The door swung open suddenly.
My father entered.
He was unquestionably intoxicated. He stumbled. His eyes appeared empty yet remained filled with spite.
Young Yura rose with politeness, innocent gentle…. Apparently he didn't even recognize her as a person.
He struck her face with the back of his hand.
The blow threw her down onto the ground. Her small frame landed gently. Her pale skin flushed red at the point of impact. Her lip was cracked. Blood trickled down her chin, crimson, against the wooden floor.
She didn't rise more. Not, due to incapacity—. Because fright had taught her to remain still.
Beside me the current Yura clutched my arm shaking. Her breath was irregular. Her eyes were wide open as if trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape.
A feeling—powerful and overwhelming—was blazing within my chest.
Overflowing with fury I moved closer to my father my fury roaring aloud as if I could seize his collar and rip him away, from existence—
However my hands passed through him.
Just a recollection. A prison constructed by history. One I was unable to break free, from.
He seized Yura by the hair—so tiny so delicate—and pulled her across the room like she was merely a scrap of trash. Her small hands clawed at the floor attempting to halt the pain. He was indifferent. He always was.
He pushed her onto the ground in his room.
Then he chuckled—the chuckle of someone whose spirit had been decaying for ages.
"Are you aware of the circumstances of your parents death?" he inquired, his tone icy and sharp, as a blade.
Young Yura was silent unable to speak. Her body trembled.
"I killed them " he declared, smiling as though it were the hilarious thing ever. "I liked your mother. That bitch picked your father instead of me."
Yura appeared as if a quiet scream was emerging from, within her.
"So I ended his life. I believed she would care for me afterward…. She never did." His grin broadened further. "Despite his death her love remained with him. That's why I splashed acid on her. I watched her skin dissolve."
With soft gestures he cupped little Yuras cheek.
"And see… that girl is exactly, like that woman."
Every single one of his statements felt like a blade intended to wound me. My hands shook uncontrollably. Yuras grip, on me tightened; her body quivering as though she were freezing.
Obviously she was unable to look. It was her trauma carved deeply within her soul.
My dad leaned toward Yuras ear. His murmur was akin, to a shadow quiet yet lethal.
"However the fact that I caused you pain… brings me satisfaction. You wish to be, with Akira correct? Then behave properly. Stay silent. If you reveal anything to him… I'll end his life before your eyes."
Memorys Yuna, standing beside us trembled with fury—her heavenly glow shifting into a shadow of anger. She advanced, arm raised to tear him asunder. Another angel grasped her wrist.
Lucarious.
My father smiled broadly the wickedness, in his tone was unmistakable.
Surprise… You have your own fallen angel.. The person who handed him or her to you made sure to keep him distant, from me… and Yura.
Then a faint sound came from the front of the house.
"Dad! I'm back! I've got Lint with me!"
My younger self appeared in the memory oblivious to the horror unfolding, within the walls.
My father gazed at Yura with detachment. He seized her hair more drawing her nearer.
Head to Akiras room. Silently.. Remember the consequences if you speak.
She offered an agreement.
After that she departed—
not as a child,
but as a prisoner.
She brushed her tears away with the back of her hand before opening my door… to keep anyone from noticing her tears.
Yuna was shouting at her to run yet Lucarious gripped her wrist, not out of choice but, by force. His eyes showed pain. He was trapped well… ensnared by my fathers wickedness.
Young Yura entered my room while I was, with Lint immersed in reading comics. She settled into a corner retreating into her world.
"Yura what's causing your lip to bleed?" my younger self inquired.
She forced a smile. A grin that no child ought to learn.
"I simply tripped… Hey Aki. I created something for you."
She pulled out a bracelet crafted from rubber bands. Tiny. Beautiful. Simple.
She fastened it around my wrist her hands slightly shaking.
Lint leaned in to get a look. "Wow, Yura! You're incredibly skilled! Could you make one for me well?"
Yura replied with a nod and a grin—
behaving as though everything was fine.
She acted as if her life wasn't falling apart.
She acted as if her heart felt no pain.
She acted as though nothing occurred… since purity always seeks to endure.
Next, to me the current Yura murmured quietly her tone faltering:
"Aki... kids are really innocent, aren't they?"
She addressed me with the name we shared in our years. The pet name that held affection, for her.
I observed the weight of her existence—a life marked by suffering, dread and isolation.
I was the child of that man. The child of the man who destroyed her years.
On that USB drive… the very one that claimed I was responsible, for my fathers death—
If I truly accomplished it…
Then I would be.
Because a monster is worthy only of death.