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“You take care of her for a while, Dihui Star.”
She stares down at the child, a restless, squirming thing, splashing about in the basin. Guileless, round eyes widen in delight as her tiny hands make ripples in the few inches of warm water. Yoshihide has been bathed before, but she giggles and plays as though every sensation is new to her, pleasant even. There must be some sort of natural, instinctive wonder in watching a young, newly-formed world expand before your very eyes. Shiomi grimaces, feeling the ends of her long, flowing sode grow wet and cling to the edge of the counter.
It’s because this child is of her blood, that she’s been reduced to dealing with these mundane, tiresome tasks. Shiomi finds herself ill-suited to such chores. Her hands have only ever known to wield a blade, after all, and she has never needed to spare a thought for any future but her own.
Without a word, Shiomi lathers soap onto her hands, wrinkled fingers rubbing against each other like sandpaper. She despises the sensation. Soon enough, her skin will shrivel up even more from the moisture. She wonders how it would feel to scrub her hands until they chafe, until that festering, revolting skin peels away from her fingers like the worn-out layers of a cocoon.
Yoshihide curiously watches the suds form in her mother’s hands. That childlike innocence had once stirred up feelings of resentment in Shiomi, but now she only stares coldly with an unfeeling numbness. She begins rubbing soap into her scalp. A child’s skin is soft, delicate, completely foreign against her ruined fingertips. Shiomi continues washing her, meticulously cleaning every part of her small body.
Hair that will become long and pin-straight, like mine. Eyes that will mature and harden into a cold, unfeeling gaze, like mine. You, who will grow into my likeness, and rob me of my livelihood.
“Bya!” Yoshihide reaches a hand out, grabbing at a soap bubble floating through the air. Her eyes light up as she stretches her arms upwards. Shiomi purses her lips, starting to rinse her with the washcloth. Infants had a tendency to grab at anything in their vision – something Shiomi had learned the hard way.
“It’s a major milestone in a child’s development,” Rien had told her. His expression was neutral as always, but his eyes betrayed a faint sense of amusement as he watched Yoshihide play with fistfuls of her hair. “It means a strengthening of hand-eye coordination and physical capability, and above all else, gaining the curiosity and means to interact with the world.”
Shiomi had glared at him then, though the simple-minded excitement of the child in her arms had probably dampened the effect.
Even now, Yoshihide keeps making those clumsy grabbing motions, eyes fixated on the bubbles in the air. It’s because she knows nothing, Shiomi thinks to herself. She knows nothing, understands nothing, yet she reaches out like a fool, as though the entire world belonged to her.
I believed I could touch the sky, once. It was an endless sky, filled with stars. They shone so brilliantly, so blindingly, impossibly far away and yet just within reach.
The look in her eyes is hopeful, expectant. She is far too young, too blissfully unaware. She cannot possibly understand the circumstances she was brought into. She does not know of the future that awaits her.
You were born into a web of misfortune. No matter how desperately you struggle, you will never escape from here. You will never touch the sky.
Yoshihide cries out, having splashed water onto her face in her excitement. She instinctively rubs at it, only getting more water into her eyes.
Shiomi sighs and pats her dry. “Don’t you see?” she scolds, though the sentiment is likely lost on the child. “All that pointless flailing around only makes this harder. So hold still already.” Yoshihide blinks up at her, innocent.
What a helpless, revolting thing. Relying on my care to survive. Feeding on me without a second thought, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. How blindly naive. How sickeningly trustful.
Shiomi’s hands freeze, lingering just above the child.
A few seconds, and it will thrash wildly in my hands. Limbs twisting and contorting, desperate to break free. Even knowing that struggling will only entangle it further, the prey fights with all its remaining strength. Because it understands that the instant it gives in, its fate is sealed.
You will never become free of that single thread.
A few more seconds, and it will go limp, with only the occasional twitching. Hopelessly entrapped in the web, unable to escape without tearing itself apart. It can only lie still and wait.
You should just die, before that silk binds your feet, and you forget how it feels to smile.
A few more seconds, and there will be nothing. No movement, no resistance, no pulse.
That way, we can both be happy, right?
A small, soft hand grabs ahold of her pinky finger.
Yoshihide looks up, delighted. “Ma..!” The high-pitched, frivolous syllable pierces through the air.
“Hah..” An incredulous, twisted expression must be making its way across her face. The exhale bleeds into a hollow, breathless laughter. What a worthless joke. She laughs and laughs and laughs.
I should kill you. I should kill us both.
It’s all just too absurd. This so-called instinct, a binding, entangling, inescapable curse. So difficult to cut off. So impossible to break free.
I’ve known all along. What it means to sever something. What it means to have it all end.
I’ve known all along. So why–
She finds herself hunched over the basin, cradling Yoshihide in her arms. It’s all soaked – her hair, her sleeves, her skin. Clinging to her, that stubborn cleanliness. As though something like that could purify her dirtied soul, wash away the filth in her pores. It only pulls her down, bringing her closer to her child.
You should have never been born. You will never know happiness, nor will you ever touch the sky. You have nothing ahead of you but a life of abject misery.
Laughs turn into sobs. She pours all of her strength into her grip, fingers stiffening, joints tightening until her knuckles turn white. As if they could burst from the sheer tension.
So why did you have to happen?
She could crush those tiny limbs like insect wings in her hands. She could hold down that helpless, fragile body as it writhes and gasps for air.
Why did it have to be me?
Her hands go slack.
The choked-out, muffled cries eventually subside into silence. Yoshihide, ever oblivious, tries to pat her mother’s head, still wrapped in a gentle embrace. She could never comprehend that gentleness, or the ugly, repulsive weight of it.
Shiomi pulls herself back and returns to her standing position. Her breaths come out ragged, uneven. The torrent is over, leaving behind only a hollow, bitter sense of cold. Through the veil of dripping bangs, empty red eyes stare down at her splitting image, her reflection, her child.
Yoshihide.
Shiomi curses that last remaining shred of pity. That single, inseverable thread that ties the two of them together.
You must never become like me.
She curses that foolish, naive hope still lingering in the back of her mind. That single, inseverable thread that leads out of this hell, and to the sky beyond.
Because then, you might someday be free from here.
She curses that instinct, that love.