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Juri never wanted pity. She didn't deserve it. She was a Duelist; everyone had called her that in Ohtori Academy for a reason, and yet, as she tried to hold herself upright, steadfast, she felt herself crumbling.

Crumbling and falling….

Shiori had seared herself into her heart, the very fiber of her being, her clothes turned dark by her own blood. Her voice, her songs, and her touch had fought to reach her, and Juri stepped back, turning away from childhood promises.

They both had to grow up one way or another, but childhood wishes still clung onto their hearts, at their heels, and at their very core. They wouldn't let go, they couldn't and try as they might, try as they could, they just couldn't let go.

Juri thought she was past such things, but Shiori proved her wrong.

The melody played, it continued its writhing notes; it was slow and steady, softly, pleasantly, mockingly, screeching, ringing, again, again, and again.

Juri couldn't let Shiori go, and Shiori held her close; such power was melodic and it kept moving forward for them, while they stood still.