Emiko ran, the cold night air searing her lungs. She clutched her constellation lantern tight against her chest, its painted stars a fragile shield against the dark. The festival grounds should have been glowing with warmth and noise. Instead, they were a silent, closed-up stage — and she was the only player who didn't know the script.
Arare had made sure of that. From the shadows of a shuttered sweet shop, she watched Emiko's hurried approach, a smile playing on her lips. Her two friends flanked her like hunters in the gloom. The trap wasn't just set — it was already sprung.
In a blink, Emiko was slapped, her face meeting the cold, gritty pavement. Arare's minions hauled her upright, forcing her to watch as Arare held the constellation lantern aloft.
"There was no festival today, Slimeko," Arare smiled, her voice sugary. "Do you ever pay attention?"
"Arare, please... give it back."
"But I like it," Arare cooed, tracing a painted star. "It's so pretty. Don't worry... I won't ruin the designs this time."
For a second, Emiko dared to hope—then her heart shattered with the first rip of paper.
"So pretty~" Arare sang, tearing a strip. Her friends joined in, their voices a twisted chorus as they shredded the lantern, piece by piece, spitting on the fragments before hurling them into Emiko's face.
Arare and her friends took turns—spitting, slapping, a relentless rotation of humiliation designed to make the alien feel utterly seen, yet completely alone. Each dried spit stained her kimono; each slap left a burning brand on her skin. Emiko's sobs were swallowed by the empty street.
Hours later, a final, vicious shove sent her tumbling down the stone stairs. The girls fled, their laughter fading into the night, suddenly afraid a real witness might appear.
Emiko lay at the bottom, her body a map of aches. She tried to call out, but her voice was a shredded whisper. Above her, the starry night sprawled—beautiful, indifferent balls of gas that did nothing to stop her tears.
Then, a shadow fell across her vision. Her uncle knelt, his expression unreadable as he scanned the darkness. Without a word, he gathered her up, his grip tight, his eyes darting to ensure no one had seen.
--------------------------------------------------
Emiko awoke to the feeling of a cool, slick liquid being dabbed onto her bruises. Her uncle, Riku, was wrapping her scratches with careful, practiced bandages.
"You're awake, child. Good," he said, his voice smooth yet edged with something that made her skin prickle.
She tried to rub her eyes, but a sharp pain made her hiss.
Riku gave a low chuckle. "No need for that, Emiko. Your Uncle Riku was… lucky to find you. What would your precious mother think if I'd left you there?"
"Thank you, Uncle," she whispered, voice raw. "How long was I sleeping?"
"Only a few hours, dear. You needed the rest."
As the physical pain dulled, the memory of the girls' hands lingered like a stain.
"What troubles you, Emiko?" Riku asked, his tone deceptively gentle.
"I just… wish I was normal," she murmured, tears welling. "I hate that I never stand up for myself."
"Do not worry," he said, patting her hand. "Your uncle is here to protect you. Now, tell me… who was it this time?"
Emiko hesitated, unsettled as always by his dismissive tone—chalking it up to his age.
"Arare and her friends," she finally admitted. "Uncle… I think they truly wish I was dead."
Riku's eyes widened for a split second, but his smile remained, still and polished as a mask.
"That is an exaggeration, dear. Children do childish things. You must not dwell on such… fantasies."
The dismissal cut deeper than any slap. Emiko opened her mouth to argue, but a sudden, heavy drowsiness washed over her.
"Just rest now, my child," Riku murmured, his hand resting on her forehead. "Whatever happened today… you can tell me everything later."
Too exhausted to fight the fog in her mind, Emiko closed her eyes.
Despite his dismissive words… at least he means well, she thought, clinging to the last shred of trust.
Or so she believed...
-------------------------------------------
Riku closed the door to Emiko's room softly, the girl's drugged sleep ensuring she wouldn't stir. He moved through the silent house to his private study, lit only by a single candle before a small, ugly statue.
"She is prepared," he whispered, not to the statue, but to the shadow that deepened in the corner of the room.
From the darkness, Douma emerged, his multicolored eyes catching the candlelight like fractured jewels. A smile, beautiful and utterly devoid of warmth, graced his lips. "And her spirit? Broken enough to accept the gift?"
"The bullying today was... fortuitous," Riku said, bowing his head. "She is lonely, desperate for belonging. She will see your offer as salvation."
Douma's laugh was a soft, chilling sound. "Salvation. Yes. To become wholly... to shed this mortal suffering. You understand, don't you, Riku? This path is the only one that leads to the Pure Land."
Riku's eyes shone with fanatical zeal. He saw not a demon, but a Bodhisattva offering transcendence. "I understand. I will guide her."
"Guide her," Douma echoed, his tone shifting to one of casual, horrific finality. "But remember the terms. You must both ascend, or the covenant is broken. If she clings to her humanity... if she refuses the blood..." He leaned in, his divine smile never wavering. "I will take you, my devoted one, to the heavens you crave. And her? I will not waste such a delicate soul. I will simply... partake. Every last scream."
Riku trembled, not with fear for Emiko, but with a desperate, selfish awe. "She will accept. We will become demons together."
"See that she does," Douma said, fading back into the shadow as if he were never there. "Her time of choosing will come sooner than she thinks."
Alone again, Riku knelt before the candle, his prayers no longer for peace, but for the successful corruption of the girl sleeping down the hall.
Chapter End