Story 15: The Love Letter

Dedicated to Deculture. Thank you.


"I am not John Mirra!"
"Oh but you are. All you have to do is look at yourself..."
"He was a liar, but I had to see physical proof of that. I stared at the mirror, and to my horrible realization I..."

Dissonance. Your vision was like a tunnel. Reruns of Address Unknown were on, and you had been watching the marathon for the last day. A whiskey bottle poured its amber content down your throat like a water slide.  A small pyramid of empty bottles were stacked beside you. Your soul gem was a solid purple, and your liver was completely obliterated. Three knocks disturbed John Mirra's ending dialogue. You glowered at the tv, not expecting guests - especially at 11:53 PM. Standing up, you walk over to the front door.

You noticed an envelope on the floor just before the door. It was laying at a careless angle, and nothing else accompanied it; just a plain white envelope with black handwriting on the front. Casually stealing a mouthful from the bottle, you scooped the envelope up with your free hand. You twisted and turned the letter back and forth, scanning the surface. The only thing written on it was someone's name - a "Akemi Homura" - on the front with nothing else written anywhere on it.

Sliding the unexpected and unknown letter into your drinking hand's grasp, you open your door and pop your head into the hallway. To your left, someone drunk - wobbling on his feet with slouched shoulders and glaring eyes - was trying to enter the key to their apartment. Failing several times as you watched, cutting and imprinting the wood around the keyhole by a good mile. You discounted him as a suspect. To your right nothing of interest caught your attention. Closing and locking the door, you look down at the letter in puzzlement.

Who would send you a letter?

...

Who used letters in this day and age?

Making your way into your apartment, you swapped content with hands and drank hard, finishing it off. The empty bottle bounced away with a neat toss from your hand, klinking distinctly with the pyramid. Entering your bathroom, you turned your nude lightbulb on with the pull of a string and held up the envelope up to it. Spying that one end of the envelope is clear of any paper, you ripped this side, and pulled the letter out.

It read: "I love you, Akemi Homura. This is the first time I've reached out to you since that incident - forgive me, I've been busy - and I have realized all the things you've done for me, all the sacrifices you've had to endure." You set the letter aside. Obviously someone has sent this to the wrong address. You weren't Akemi Homura, you were - you scratched your head, nails digging into scalp - someone else... Murderface. Clearly you weren't the person they meant this for. You figured you should feel bad, for reading someone's love letter, but you didn't. You searched your medicine cabinet for any alcohol, tossing empty flasks over your shoulder, and found that it was empty of alcohol. However, you did find a bottle of painkillers. They'd do. You swallowed a handful dry before going back to the letter.

"You might think this is meant for someone else, but it's not; it's meant for you. I want to fix things between us, turn our relationship back to what it was in the past. Please, come to your favorite bar (Charles' Place) and wait for me there. I will approach you, for I know what you look like... and who you are. I love you, Akemi Homura. Only you. Forever Yours."

You reread this letter. The words remained. Nothing had changed, except for a subtle terror permeating your body. It could be a prank by some juvenile who doesn't know what they are getting into. It could be meant for you. It seemed like it was for you, or, you wished, it was for someone else who coincidentally frequented Charles' Place. But you can't take a chance on this, you had to investigate before this bit you. You made for the door, stashing the letter in your shield.

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The bar was seedy, and nondescript. The law wasn't about to break the door down, it was too well hidden for that to happen. Lucky you that this secret admirer wanted you to meet them here. Entering, you went to work. There were a few customers scattered about, and any one of them could be your target. You walked slow enough to capture their attention, if they were the sort to look up. Eye contact was made, a few of them smiling at the underage girl out to drink herself under their table. Others didn't look, staring at their glasses as if it were the TV.

You made your way around the room, and no one had struck you as the one.

You could wait.

Sitting down next to a redhead, you ordered your usual from the bartender, Charles, a great scowling negro with the biggest afro, and the sharpest facial hair, you've ever seen.

"Well, hey, if it isn't Murderface!" The way your name was said - the syllables long - made you realize who it was. Turning your head, you greeted her back.

"Hello, Kyoko." The one eyed redhead grinned foolishly at you, a faint blush on her cheeks. She looked like she had been here for an hour, which meant she saw you enter and walk around, staring at the patrons closely.

"What were you doing just now, Murderface?"

"What do you mean?"

"You came in and wondered real slowly around the room, as if you wanted attention without shouting for it."

"Oh, that," Charles had just finished pouring you your drink, and so you took a moment to drink from it before answering. "Just surprised to see how packed this place is."

"You call this packed?" Her disbelief was on her face. You couldn't blame her for that. You nodded, taking another drink from your glass. With her one crimson eye she looked around. "I don't believe you..."

"Suit yourself." You took another swig of your glass, the alcohol burning down your throat. It couldn't have been Kyoko, even if she had been here for close to an hour or more. She had Sayaka Miki, her 'good friend' in her words.

Kyoko was done scanning the room with a shake of her head. She went to take another swallow of her drink before noticing she was out, and ordered another round. Charles obliged her.

It was strange that she would be hanging out here at this hour. She was more of a home person, wanting to be around her roommate - Sayaka Miki - over being in a bar killing her liver.

"So Kyoko, what keeps you here?" You asked, slyly looking over at the drinking redhead. She placed her glass down and grinned at you, cheeks all pink.

"It's a good drink. My compliments, Charles!" The bartender nodded.

It all made sense now. Why she was here. Why she was drinking herself like a heavy weight. You were willing to bet your alcohol stash that the two had a fight, one dangerously close to harming the both of them, and Kyoko got out before anything regretable happened. Here she was, drinking until things blew over.

She was a fellow magical girl, the top ranked Eversor for QB Heavy Industries, and had the kill count to back it up. You worked fairly well with her, backed her up whenever possible, but also took whatever jobs she wouldn't; which was beside the point. She was trustworthy, a person you could share your little secret with. You got the letter out of your shield, pushing it across the bar to her.

Her one eye stared at the letter, than at you. "Yeah?"

"Read it. Tell me if you recognize the handwriting."

"Alright but I don't see how I will, seeing how your friends are generally weird..." She snatched the letter and opened it up. Her eye scanned the paper top to bottom, taking in every word, however, as she progressed, her face grew angry.

"Kirika Kure." She spat, the letter floating back to you from a flick of her wrist. You sat up straighter.

"Are you positive, Kyoko?"

Kirika Kure. The one person you and Kyoko absolutely loathed, to the point of openly attacking her on sight.

"Of course I am. I... before that incident I used to see her writing frequently, and at the time I thought it was beautiful. She made love to her penmenship. I can recognize her style almost instantly." She took a few more swallows from her glass.

"Alright. It's from Kirika Kure, so what's with the content?"

"Beats me, Muurrrdeeeerrrface." She looked at you. "She's a nutjob."

Right. A Nutjob.

What felt like hours passed. No one approached you about a letter. Everyone stayed in their seats, harboring their selves away from the harshness of the outside world with the sanctuary feeling of this bar. It was time for you to depart.

"Ah, good, you made it~ I was nervous that you wouldn't show." A sweet voice filled your ears. Must be the writer of the letter, for it came from behind you.

You turned, and no one was there. You were sure you heard a voice behind you. Positively sure of it. You scanned the room, the same old faces were there, and not a sweet voice to pin them to.

"Hey, Kyoko, put the next glass on my tab."

"You're the one who will pay this time, right?" She asked. You didn't reply as you left the bar.

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Kyoko would be fine in there. Kirika wouldn't come around that late. You stood outside Charles' place, scratching your head and looking at the night sky. You couldn't go to Kyuubey for information. On the best of days you mistrusted him. You can trust his network of agents, however. Some of them actually consider you their friend, and you may be able to ask help from them. Kumatora, being one. The kouhai whom idolized your existance to such an unhealthy degree you found it in need of a few alterations.

However, she would probably be at QB Heavy Industries right now. She doesn't seem to hold a life outside of work. You could still sneak in there without Kyuubey finding out, couldn't you?

You took the painkiller bottle out of your inventory and downed a few pills. It was time to see what you could get.

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Inside QB Heavy Industries Officio, you searched for her. She wasn't working in one of the cubicles, she wasn't guarding the silent room, cou... could she really be taking a break? You had your doubts, for this reality was clashing with the image you have of your underling, whom never slackened at her job of anything ever. You checked the recreational room, and, lo and behold, she was sitting on the couch with one other magical girl watching some show on TV.

From the looks of it, it was a soap opera centered around workplace romances, and Kumatora and her friend seem to be really into it.

"Do you have any problems working under her? You can tell me, I am your boss. It will not go back to her, and your identity disguised."

"N-no, it's not that... It's..." The newly hired cook looked at the ground, finding it hard to confess to her feelings. Her cheeks blushed. "I... I rather work under you than her..." The newly hired recruit stared up at her boss. The boss is taken aback by the confession, her facial muscles relaxing. A moment is shared between the two. Music swells as much as the sitting girls' hearts.

"Psst." What are you, twelve? You walk up to the back of Kumatora and tap her on the shoulder.

"Not now, I need to see this scen--- Murderface-Sempai! I-I-I-I-" You gestured for her to follow. She did so, quaking in her boots. Her friend glared for a brief second at the two of you before returning to the soap.

"I-I-I didn't know it was you, Murderface-Sempai! I'm so sorry!" She sobbed to you in the hall outside of the rec room.

"Forget about that. Did I interrupt your soap?"

"I, er, well, uhm, yes..." She answered honestly, blushing.

"This won't take long, then you can get back to watching it. Do you have any information regarding love letters being sent to magical girls?" Kumatora thought it over,

"Love letters...? Oh! You mean the love letters between Ryougi and Shiki?" She inquired, smiling.

"No," You had to use a new line of questioning. "Do you know anything about Kirika Kure?" Her eyes widened a fraction.

"Why do you wish to associate with her of all people?"

"I don't. It's apart of my case, so tell me everything you know about her."

"Well," Kumatora swallowed. "She's known to be a sociopath who enjoys killing. Like, really enjoys killing. She has a few screws loose and they're starting to wobble out, they say. She has someone she's madly in love with, though no one knows who. She likes drinking at this one Yakuza bar I can't remember the name of. She has a warped sense of fashion. She's killed a principal already, which Kyuubey punished her for, but someone overheard her saying that she'd 'do it again for her love.' Why do you want to know all this, Murderface-Sempai? Shouldn't you just stay away from her?"

"So she isn't sending out letters?" You asked her again, knowing that she was fully on the right thought lane.

"No, Sempai, she isn't. But! Yesterday I was powdering my nose when I heard a couple of the girls talking. Kirika's getting more erratic by the day, more so than her norm. They didn't think she was insane before, but now..." She trailed off, the implications thicker than a cold stick of butter. You nodded.

"Do you know where she lives?"

"N-no, Sempai, I don't. I think you shouldn't pursue thi---"

"Ask around, find out who does, grill them and give me what you find out, OK?"

Her face scrunched up in worriment. "Fine, Sempai, I'll get you your information."

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It was late afternoon, just stepping over to early evening, and the sun was already casting its dying golden light on the earth.

Knockknockknock. You rapped on the door of the Mikuni residence with the two giant wedding rings. It was a manor, fitting to their prestige. Both Oriko and Kirika lived here, alone, with no servants. What they did in the privacy of their manor was none of your business, but the letter, and the reason of sending it to you, was. You knocked three times again, and replaced your stern glare expression with a more pleasant look.

The door opened.

"Ah, hello! I-"

"Murderface." A just woken up Kirika was the one who answered the door, not Oriko. She didn't look happy to see you, her eyes trying to kill you. "Why are you here?"

"Ah, Kirika-chan, I just came by to visit you and Oriko for a while, as per agreement. You... do remember us agreeing on me dropping by?"

A mixture of expressions splashed across her face. Puzzlement. Suspicion. A vague need to vomit. Simmering anger.

"No I don't. I suggest you leave and die in some gut-"

"Kirika, who is at the door?" Alarm sprang to Kirika's face.

"Nobody, my darling! Just a salesperson who-"

"Hey-o, Oriko-chan!" You raised your voice, slipping your head past Kirika's shoulder. You were pushing it, and felt the anger tremoring within Kirika's body. If Oriko wasn't here, you would be dead. "I'm Kirika-chan's friend, came by to say hi to you!"

"Oh, Kirika has a friend...?" Oriko appeared, looking very high class. Nobility, and those imitating them, possessed an outlandish fashion sense, and Oriko was sticking close to the manual. Her outfit was composed solely of two colors: black and white, with black as the accent color. She looked like a pilgrim squire. You waved at her, and she to you. A smile crossed her face. "Kirika has a friend. I'm so happy for you, Kirika, I always thought you needed more." Oriko patted Kirika's back. Kirika made a face and rolled her eyes.

"The only friend I need is you, Oriko."

"Don't say that in front of your friend. Come in, we'll have some tea." Oriko took control of the situation, beckoning you in with a wave of her hand. She went toward the kitchen. Kirika didn't move out of the way, glaring at you, silently promising you untold demises. You smiled at her, trying to keep your eyes alive, twinkling. Finally she relented, giving you just enough to squeeze by.

Whether this was a bad or good decision, you were now within the belly of the beast.

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"So, Kirika's friend, you have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?" Oriko started the whole evening with a question. You sat across the white clothed table from her with Kirika in the middle. She kept a good eye on you, every moment under it your skin crawled. Everything was expensive in this room, you felt leagues out of your world. You lived in a run down apartment with damage here and there, with nude lightbulbs in bathrooms and a fridge full of Kong. Evaulating just from their guest room, you determined they lived in the lap of luxery with no worries in the world. Everything was well maintained, they would have a large fridgerator full of food, a big kitchen to do plenty with, and high tech lightbulbs that, you suspected, shot lasers.

"My name is Akemi Homura," you dropped that name to see if Kirika understood. She did, in the telltale sign of stiffening ever so slightly. "and it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Oriko-chan. Kirika told me much about you." No, she hadn't. You investigated her very well, very thoroughly. Kirika was already known to you, in some aspects, but enough for you to hate her back. Oriko, however, was new.

Apparently her father was an upcoming politician with meteor speed. Influential and charismatic, he quite nearly had it all, until embezzlement charges were leveled on him. Suicide followed shortly thereafter, leaving the family name in ruin, if not still lingering.

"Ah..." Oriko was at a loss for words. "Akemi-san... I hope Kirika hasn't twisted your ear off."

"Oh no, not at all, Oriko-chan. At first she always dismissed me with a, 'Stop bothering me, I need to see my Love!' and 'You are not Oriko, stop wasting my time.' But I knew a good person when I saw one and I pursued her greatly. Hehehe, as you can see, my perserverence won out in the end~" You grinned. Kirika's hatred for you grew to new depths as Oriko smiled politely.

"Yes, Kirika is a wonderful person." Kirika's feud forgotten, she looked at Oriko with surprise, her face turning a deep scarlet. Her heart firmly lodged in her throat. "Is that why you're here, Akemi-san? To be with Kirika? I warn you, I may be jealous if you are." Her eyes narrowed, a grin upon her lips.

"Hahaha, you're so funny, Oriko-chan. I wasn't planning on stealing Kirika from you. It'd be very hard to do so. Reason why I'm here is because of you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I wanted to meet you, that's all. To also tell you: I believe in what your father tried doing. If he was still around, this city would be a lot better."

Oriko became unreadable with the mention of her father. You took the time to talk to Kirika. "I have something to show you." You stood, she stood, and you lead her out of the room.

Out in the hallway, and from Oriko's vision, she grappled you and threw you out of the mansion.

"I know why you're here, but I am going to kill you later, Murderface. Mark my words. Meet me at Fimbulvetr Park. Tonight." Kirika shut the door on your back. You never turned around, the goofy friend act fading to a deadpan stare. A few hours remain until nightfall. You had time to waste, and later, a showdown with Kirika.

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You had the last meal made at Hanegawa's then made your way to Fimbulvetr Park. A sign at the entrance spoke of the rules for pet owners, for general conduct, but also for who built and maintained this plot of land; a company by the name of Midgard Ecologies. You entered, wandering around at a leisurely pace. It wasn't long before Kirika found you.

In her costume, her psychic claws crackled with energy. You were her center of attention. "It's time to die, Murderface!"

"Before that," You waved your hand in the air, metaphorically cutting her action off. "Why the letter? Why not just attack me head on? I know you hate me as much as I do you, but you aren't the one to go roundabout."

"I didn't send that letter. She did." You barely heard her. The light above Kirika's head blinked a few times. "She instructed a message to me, all I did was write and send it."

That didn't make any sense. She contradicted herself in nearly the same breath.

"She? Who made yo--"

"Enough, Murderface! Even if she is protecting you, I will fight you. For disturbing Oriko's peace, you will die." She lowered her body and dashed toward you, psychic claws poised to cleave you in two. You dodged in time, feeling the energy snap where you used to be. Your hand was already working on your shield, attempting to stop time. You had almost finished turning it when Kirika was on top of you again, swinging downward. You held it up. The shock of absorbtion could be felt physically.

A loud screech could be heard as sparks scattered across the ground, the gears in the shield burning up and breaking apart from Kirika's blow. Purple energy ribbons flowed out of your shield, the power for your mechanism unleashed. They mingled with the air, weaving with everything they touched, including themselves. You watched in amazement.

Some of these ribbons wrapped around Kirika, like some sort of purple mummy. Her movements were slower, even though she had the appearance of not struggling with any great resistence. You hurried away from her, stopping only to observe her. Her arm was coming down through air, the air that your body filled. The ten clawed zealot scanned her surroundings, then found you. Turning, she walked toward you, acting like she were running.

Some ribbons had attached themselves around her arms and legs, long tails flapping behind her.

You took a moment to watch. A very strange thing was happening. Everything the ribbons touched turned colorless.

"Who is protecting me?" Your words tumbled out and drifted to the ground. The physics of the world, in this pocket, were violated. Something very wrong was occurring. Kirika was slow, your shield had purple energy pouring out of it. You examined your shield. In the middle there was the grand canyon of gashes, with the insides burnt. It had been smoking but it thinned out.

The ribbons were thining out as well, their power evaporating away.

The hand cannon in your hands dangled with barrel to the ground. Kirika stood before you, poised to strike. For some reason there was a lull in the battle, you could feel that much. You decided to see if you couldn't end this peacefully. You wanted her dead but you were in a tight spot, in a field completely against you. You felt that your death also hung in the air.

"I don't want to do this, Kirika! We have no reason to slaughter each other." You hollered, bringing the gun up to hover before your face.

"Nonsense, Murderface! Nonsense!" Her voice returned with excitement and laughter. "You have to be punished. You need to be punished." Her sadistic nature appeared, purring at thoughts of your death. Each word dripped in so much lust that they made you want to jump at Kirika and be fulfilled by her. However, she wouldn't satisfy you in that manner.

Any discussion was done. Kirika was unreachable, mad with bloodlust and a personal vendetta, that much was evident to you.

Her claws reversed in direction.

Kirika's body rippled slightly, the muscles under the skin flexing as she released a tremendous amount of power to dash to you. Your hand cannon looked at her, and fired. First bullet went wild. Second impacted her thigh. Third went through her stomach. Fourth and fifth went wild. Halfway to you, she utilized a backflip, coattails flying in the air.

"You don't need to, Kirika." You murmured, seeing Kirika in mid air, in mid flip, claws growing nearer. Her claws became your attention's focal point, the single thing that mattered the most in the entire world.

You could not avoid them, they were destined to touch your inner body.

"Yes, I do. Goodbye, Murderface." Ten claws impacted into your body, all missing your soulgem but shredding your body to pieces. You fell into a bottomless pit of black, and lost consciousness.

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You woke up on a fluffy white cloud with a refeshing chill seeping into your body. You felt your hair scattered throughout this cloud, entwining with your body and limbs. You felt at peace for the first time in your life that you could remember.

You figured you were in heaven, even though you had no right to be there. The sins you've comitted, the actions you've done. Every single one of them should be coming back right now to bite you on the ass in the worst fashion ever. But they weren't. You could stay in this cloud for the rest of time.

However, a voice was nagging you awake. A voice you've heard only once before, at Charles' Place, that was made from honey. This voice was telling you to wake up, to wake up, to wake up, to wake up, to wake up...

You came to. A migrane raged like a wounded beast in your head, splitting your skull in two. You definitely weren't in heaven, but you definitely shouldn't be alive. Kirika murdered you. But your lungs drew in breath, your eyes took in visual stimuli, and you felt the growing need for alcohol and painkillers.

Sitting up, you dragged a hand through your short hair, staring at the sheets. White sheets, thick and expensive, covered you up to your mid torso. A moment later you noticed how naked you were. You were out of uniform.

Someone had brought you here, someone that wasn't Kirika. She wouldn't have tucked you in the way this person did; you would be tucked in between two bushes, a surprise waiting to be found by the curious.

Standing up, you checked your soul gem's status. No amount of blackness was there. That didn't make sense. Regeneration required magic, a pound of it at the least. Someone else had given their pound in your place. Transforming into your outfit, you proceeded deeper into this mystery.

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"Ah, you're up. How are you feeling?" It was Mami. Was she the one that ate the pound for you?

"Mami-san... what am I doing here?" Your voice was deep from idleness, eyes scanning around. You were in some apartment, from the looks of it, and a high class one at that.

"Ah, ah, ah," Mami wagged her right index finger at you, smiling slyly. "I asked you a question first." She gave you a wink. That was just like Mami, always cheerful.

"... I'm feeling alive. What am I doing here?"

"You had a nasty accident and needed some proper treatment. I gave it." It was nasty but it wasn't an accident. "You got up just in time for breakfast. I was about to make some pancakes, do you want some?" She already knew the answer, however she needed to hear it from you.

The answer never registered in your brain, having been issued so quickly. Mami laughed, smiling the early sun's rays at you. "Take a seat at the table and wait."

You sat down and waited. Mami went into the kitchen with the noises of food preparation soon filling the air. You had plenty of time to wait, it was best put to use checking yourself. You needed to make sure Kirika didn't take that letter.

You checked your shield. A large gash marred the face of it with blackened gears showing. Kirika did damage to this. You didn't want to think about what would have happened if you didn't block at that precise moment. You suppressed a scoff; the end result happened anyway, only difference would have been time.

Time... your one domain, and you still met an inevitable end. Somehow that felt like a lesson that you were denying to learn. You shook this feeling off.

Calloused fingers slip into the hyper dimension of the shield, a bit relunctently, as if the owner didn't want to lose them. Seeing Kyuubey was the last thing that you wanted to do. Your second most prized possession entered your grasp. You still had the letter, Kirika hadn't riffled through your belongings after having killed you.

You pulled your hand out of the shield, leaving the letter inside. Your eyes scanned the room, your brain taking a few moments to finally recognize the decor. This was her old apartment. With all her money, she could have upgraded to something better, more high class, something that would fit her, but she didn't. You felt a familiar shyness settle over you, as if reverting to some long forgotten self, but Mami entering the room broke the spell.

"Here are your pancakes, Murderface-san." Mami placed a stack of four pancakes in front of you, the right amount of syrup layering the small hill with a square butter slice on top. Next came down the utensils, napkin, and glass of milk.

The pancakes looked heavenly, your stomach producing a small gurgle of anticipation. You were flat-footed, Mami giggled.

"Eat up." She told you, leaving and coming back with her own meal. She sat across the table from you. You nodded and lifted your fork and knife.

"Itadakimasu." Deadpan.

You cut yourself a slice, all four slices included, and guided it into your mouth. All your worries, sorrows, regrets, and negative mojo disappeared in a burst of radiance. The amount of syrup, the fluffiness of each slice, the richly sweet flavor, everything was perfect and combined into one became even more perfect. You were literally dying and rebirthing across the table from Mami.

A mirthful laugh filled the room.

"I have seen so many people react to my cooking, but you, Murderface, are the only one who enjoys my food that much."

"Ah," you checked your enthusiasm, unaware of your own facial expression. "It.. I... it's very good, Mami." Mami positively beamed, happy to hear the honestly earnest praise.

You sliced and ate a few more pieces of the pancakes in silence. Mami dug into her own meal with a grace that you would never be able to emulate. At least in your current state.

Something was slowly dawning in your brain. An insidious little bug whose screech demanded the truth, a substance that it thrives on. You didn't want to believe what it suggested, nor ask what it wanted the answer to. But it wouldn't shut up. It never was quiet when it was right.

Gritting your teeth, you spoke.

"Mami-san,"

"Yes, Murderface?"

"Why are you protecting me?"

"What? How am I protecting you, Face?" Mami asked, cutting into her pancakes. "And from what?"

"Kure Kirika." The name made her stop cutting, and she looked up at you with that pleasant face still plastered on. "You're protecting me from her, making sure she doesn't just crush my soul gem when delivering this letter." You dig the letter out and push it across the table toward her. "Why did you send me this letter? In the first place, why write it? I thought you had my cellphone number. You could've contacted me that way, but you didn't."

"... You're a smart girl, Murderface. Reason it out." Mami's voice drifted through the air like the wind.

"You couldn't have written that letter. Not your style. You would have called me up just to hear my voice as you confessed, from my gruff hello to my breathy, confused yes. But I never received a call, and instead I got Kure sliding a letter below my door and leaving."

"Maybe I'm a romantic, Murderface." She sipped from her milk as if it were tea.

"No. You're too lonely to wait for me to show up at Charles, otherwise you would have been sitting somewhere in the open. You would have approached me instead of me sitting there, waiting for hours." You didn't tell her of the ghost voice, the one that you could still hear time to time, just as clear as the first. "... Who composed that letter? The feelings those words express, who do they belong to? Not you, Mami, and definitely not Kure Kirika."

"I definitely did compose this, Murderfa--" You slap the table, startling Mami.

"Of all the people I need to roughen up, you're the one that will leave a bad taste in my mouth." Mami looked at you as if you just insulted her sister. She slowly sat the milk down. The pancakes were forgotten.

"Y-you wouldn't..."

"I would. This is what happens when you protect someone; you take the beating that is meant for them. Spill the beans and nothing will happen." You stood up, hands still on the table. You wanted it to sink in before progressing on her.

One step, another, another, and another. Halfway to Mami, and she was was just staring at you. You really didn't want to do this, but you had to know, and she wouldn't keep it from you.

"Alright, I'll tell you." You became a statue, your eyes on Mami, waiting for her to go on. She inched forward in her chair, folding her hands on the table. "She told me to keep Kirika off you, to extend my protection over you. She knew Kirika wouldn't touch you if I would strike back at her. I promised her I would do all this, in return for..." She trailed off, not wanting to divulge her price out to you. "So I went with her to your apartment, and made sure she slipped the letter under your door. We both left, no violence erupting. Kirika won't ever touch you, Muderface."

"You were wrong. Kirika killed me last night." Mami's head snapped up at you, eyes wide. You nodded. "Who is this 'She'? Who made you promise this?"

"... She never gave me her name, saying that she wanted to be the one to give you her name."

"And you did as she instructed?"

"Yes. She seemed to genuinely love you, to the point of being innocent and very shy. She skirted many topics and spoke so sweetly. She was... was very cute. You two would be a nice couple." She smiled, looking up at you as she remembered the girl.

"Tell me what she looked like."

"No. You'll only harm her for her sweet intentions."

"Wrong. Most likely I'll tell her to leave me be, that I have no time and inclinations for relationships. Now tell me what she looked like." You forced some edge to your voice, wanting the intimindation to go only this far.

"... Short pink hair tied into a ponytail, hot pink eyes, a pink dress with a sunflower pattern. You honestly can't miss her..." Mami said, frowning at you a little. Was she disappointed in you? In having to use force, in picking at a scab that should be healing, or everything you've done? You didn't want to think about it. You nodded, relaxed some, knew that any more pressing would backfire.

"Thank you," You made an effort to have some warmth in your voice. "For the pancakes and information. I'll give the plate and fork back when I'm done." You grabbed the letter, stashing it into your inventory before grabing the plate of half eaten pancakes and fork and made your way to the door.

"W-wait, Murderface! Y-you can eat the rest in here." She was too kind, you thought, turning around to face her.

"No. For what I did, I shouldn't remain." You turned away and went out of the room.

Out in the hallway, several doors away and around a corner, you ate your pancake stack. Thinking. Brooding. You just strong armed information out of Mami, a girl who was too kind for this world. You hoped your information was worth the guilt.

You finished your stack and knocked several hard times on the door, with plate and fork on the ground, before disappearing from sight. It was time to find this pink haired admirer.

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It was dusk when you stopped your search. She wasn't anywhere in the city that you could venture into. Your shield wasn't working properly so you couldn't time stop into peoples' houses. The gears would protest loudly, acting as if it would explode under any further stress. So you let it lay, and did things the hard way.

Now exhausted and feet more than sore, all you wanted to do was go home and drink some whiskey.

You dragged yourself back to your apartment, across the city, with nothing to go on now.

Back home you scouted for a full bottle of whiskey, but found no full bottles. All you did find was one with enough in it to fill a glass. One glass. You bemoaned your situation.

Sitting in the chair that witnessed the Address Unknown marathon, you took a small mouthful before staring at the amber liquid.

You smelled something sweet in the air. The windows and door were closed, no air should be moving. You lifted your head and found your prey standing before you. Pink eyes on you, her unpainted lips smiling. Mami was right, she was noticeable. Just like how Mami described her.

"Why did you compose and had that letter sent to me?" You went straight to the point. You already wasted enough time today. The girl giggled, a blush forming on her cheeks. You arched an eyebrow.

"You're so smart, Homura-chan, and collected. You didn't even question how I got in here."

"I want to know some things, and being shocked over my apartment broken into won't help me get to know what I want. Let's take this one at a time, shall we?" Something about this girl screamed at you to be classy, to be gentle. Act opposite in how you did with Mami.

"Hehehe, so true, Homura-chan. You are smart~" She grasped her cheeks while cooing. "Yes, let us take this slowly. It's more enjoyable that way."

"... Why me? Why did you send a love letter to me?"

"Because I truly do love you, Homura-chan. All the things you've done, sacrificed for my sake. How can a girl not fall in love with you?"

"Uh-huh... why did you drag Mami and Kirika into this? Why couldn't you deliver it to me yourself?"

"I was paralyzed with love from getting near. The few times I got near the door, butterflies would appear in my stomach, and I would need to flee to calm down. Kirika-chan and Mami-san wouldn't have that problem."

"Hmm, why don't you sit down?"

"Thanks, I will~" The ever shy, elusive, and sweet pink haired girl placed herself on your lap. She looked at you blushingly, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "I hope you don't mind me being here."

"... Just don't do anything sudden." You replied.

"Of course." She reached out with a hand before stopping, withdrawing it. A determined expression crossed her face, her hand coming back to caress your cheek. It was a soft touch, full of affection. Your cheeks turned red, for some unknown reason to you. Her face had become a tomato for quite some time now. You drank a little more from your glass.

This was certainly close, but you died to Kirika last night. You could take a little caress like that.

"What I can't wrap my head around is the name. 'Akemi Homura'. I'm not this Homura girl so who is she? A childhood friend?"

"Hehe, nooo, not a childhood friend. She was a transfer student, so incredibly cool and mysterious - sort of like you. She was frightening at first, but later I learned she was my best friend. She was very caring underneath all those layers of emotional detachment. Ooh my... sort of like you again, Homura-chan. What~ a~ coincidence~" She said, giggling. She was enjoying herself, now past all the iffy ice breakers.

"That doesn't sound like me at all. I'm definitely not that little girl." You finished your drink off. Now you had to go out and buy more booze.

"You are a little girl, Homura-chan, it's just you've forgotten that aspect of yourself."

"You spoke of wanting to fix our relationship, to turn it all back into what it was in the past. I don't even know your name, let alone anything else about you. We couldn't have been in a relationship at all."

"We were, way back then. You used to know everything about me, just like I do of you. It is time we started the healing. I love you." The pink-haired girl said, her satin-gloved talons straightening out into a faux-blade. You found a gun in your hand, aiming it at her face, and the second before she stabbed your chest, your gun belched death.

Intense pain, stinging whiteness that swirled into darkness. All the memories were flushed down the toilet, along with your blood. The Murderface of yesterday was gone, possibly forever --- What will rise out of the amnesia-riddled husk?