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Rose’s tail hangs behind her like dead weight. Limp. Lifeless.

She drags it around, too proud to dispose of it.

“What sort of idiot do you think I am?”She asks, upon your fifth request that week to please just let somebody cut it off. Your worries are dismissed with a wave of her hand and a twitch of her ears.

Her legs are far more covered than yours are, and unlike yours, she pulls up a pant leg to reveal a number of odd cuts and scrapes, covered in hair. “They grew with me I guess.” She shrugs it off. Maybe it’s more worrisome for you to see than her.


Ledah doesn’t speak unless spoken to. It’s him being lost in thought. Not him being rude. You tell yourself this as the two of you sit in painful silence. His wings still remain on his back. A constant reminder of how different you are. Occasionally he pulls up his sleeves when silently cutting up apples. His skin is even more scarred than Rose’s and you think you might see indents like tiny finger-holes in it. You never address them. Malice has them too.

You don’t know if his emotions are back. You don’t know if he’s lying when he says things like “Perhaps I found what I was searching for.” and takes off. He flies for hours and sometimes you think he may never return.


Malice is an anomaly even now. Her skin is out for the world to see, hideous scars, seemingly permanent bruises, and bands of pale skin circling her wrists and all. She pulls a shirt over her head and the brassiere she wears always has a transparent back. Her lack of wings would be shameful to someone like Ledah, but she wears them with a cruel smile, and curses her weak brother if he asks her if she was sure that this is what she wanted.

It was. She laughed and the scars that stood out like blood on white paper seemed to make her seem even more sinister.

“Even without Master Hector’s approval, I’m still an angel. Winged or wingless, no?” She lets out a noise that sounds like her late Master’s euphoric laughter, and her eyes scan you up and down.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

You nod, your body stiff and sweat pours down your back.


The girl that you’re told to call “Nana” despite her many protests is loud and violent, and quiet and afraid of fighting. One day she hands you a knife and tells you to kill her. You decline.

“What’s the point? We’re living an empty existence.” She reaches behind her back with the knife you handed her and the resulting snapping noise makes you feel nauseous.

You just stare as hours pass, and the loud thud and sound of blood dripping from the holes in her back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

She seems proud of herself though, and leaves, the back of her shirt torn open, and the blood turning the sand around you bright red. The feathery mass in front of you has already grown cold.


Primea is a child. She’s older than you, but her eyes don’t have the same sad look, and she sometimes even cheerfully recounts her days in Hector’s service. You pretend not to notice when she looks away and her smile breaks.

Her hair is long and then it’s short again, she seems unwilling to stay the same for more than a day, and her choice of housemates reflects that.

“...I just….want to see them smile.” She says. She looks like she’s about to cry.

When you offer her your hand, she shakes her head, and cheerfully talks about how her new master wouldn’t want her accepting help from you. You think you understand why.


Mellia doesn’t eat when you’re around. You feel her eyes pierce the back of your skull when you dig a fork into the cold meat you threw onto the plate. It’s misshapen, and when she tells you that it’s beginning to rot, you force yourself to swallow it.

“What are you waiting for?” She asks you one day, lacing up the heeled boots that reach over her knees and seem to strangle her skin. The low-cut shirt she wears reveals more than her chest, it shows how many times she’s wrapped a heavy rope around her throat, and returned from the grave. You think she must feel like she’s cursed.


Maria shoves a fistful of red berries into her mouth as you approach her. Unlike Mellia, she seems more ashamed of eating than apathetic. Her helmet usually hides her face well enough, but some days she takes it off and sets it on the table. Her eyes are dull and sometimes her lip splits open when she talks and blood drips down her chin. Both of you pretend not to notice. It happens to everyone.

When you ask about Ragnarok, she shakes her head and asks you to stop. Your desire to learn more about your missing memories only falters more and more as time goes on. After awhile you stop speaking entirely and the two of you just sit there in total silence.


Nessiah doesn’t speak to you anymore. You see him frequently stop by Elendia, and when you wave to him, he smiles in your direction, even though he’s blind. You wonder if somebody past you has called to him.

One day, you notice him arguing with Mellia, and wonder if she’s about to kill him. Part of you wishes she would, it isn’t right to keep someone in that much pain alive. The bitter smile on your face is reflected by Mellia as she walks away. You really are just like him. You tell yourself that’s why he can’t seem to stand you.


Days pass, time hasn’t felt real for awhile. Your vision trembles, and you find yourself staring down at the ground as you force yourself to speed up. You think you finally understand what’s happening to you, and you don’t want anyone to find you this time.

Your legs shake, and then stop as the ground rushes up to meet you.

The dirt is warmer than you remember.