Stake
You were a fun game to play.
That had always been your potential. A pure aura in the grasp of the cherry trees, light feet treading on black roots — it was rare a prey too peculiar to swipe away without a second thought.
There was no need for games, actually. I was already sure. But there was a chance, ignorant and breathing, to define myself once more; you were everything I wasn't, and I was certain I would never be. Your fate was sealed in any case — using you to prove it could not make a difference.
Not for me, anyway. I never thought of the rest of the world.
Wisdom comes with age, the world says. On second thought, some of that might have been a mistake. There was a thing or two I overlooked — not that it matters anymore.
All of it happened the way it was supposed to. From my birth to my death, here in your arms.
You were hilarious. It was my biggest distraction, in the merry-go-round of the farce. My days were split between blood and laughter — I still find it hard to believe you never noticed.
If you think about it, I was like Tokyo when I looked at you. The town open to everyone, arms wide and cold, as fake as its smile. A city like that could twist thousands in its fingers, snap their necks, their dreams, like nothing. It never deceived you the same way.
Why, then? My heart twisted in amusement whenever I thought about your face. Was it really so different, Subaru, when it was me? How did I have the power to change you slowly, to melt your resistance, shield after shield?
I could make sense of it, yes — after all, I had become a good liar. But something like that, certainly, I would never share.
It was not an accomplishment. I did not feel proud of myself, nor triumphant, as I beat you to the verge of death.
The point was I felt nothing, and you had proved it forever.
You had been a game, and that never truly changed. It felt even easier, since then, to do the same with everything else. What could I care for the fate of the world? I am a corpse, waiting to be killed. I played the role of being someone — just one way to do something with the time we all are given, so we can put it to waste in some elegant way.
I played words, pictures, meanings with many, and none of them was as intriguing as you. I played with your skin and your hands, with your growing power, fueled by revenge. I left behind our fights in the scent of smoke, and the broken look in your eyes lingered for a while.
I am a man who forgets soon. Nonetheless, it was interesting while it lasted. You had been a game, you still made for a nice distraction.
There really wasn't a meaning to that. Maybe a little bit. But I see it, now, in the lacerating pain — say, can you see it too? Do you feel its reflection, in my cooling blood?
There is one part of this that was never mine to choose. I had no insight, no control on your wishes, nor on your sister as she sealed this fate. Nonetheless, the years of advantage are all mine — I know all the right ways to turn it around.
I may not be a perfect player, Subaru. I am still pretty good. What do you think?
It is not important, now, what it means to leave a sticky trail on your cheeks, to drink in your face with the last of my field of vision. It makes no sense, it draws no boundaries. There is just my victory — the last victory is the one that takes it all. You never stood a chance against me, you know.
I do not care about the truth, Subaru. I never did. I lived building illusions, to keep a balance intact. There will be no certainties; nothing of me must be left behind.
Still, this is the first time I feel the suspension of death — and even of that, to be honest, I am not completely sure anymore.
Let me play the last card, let me whisper these words. I will leave you wondering, in the same uncertain state I am in now.
I enjoyed it; I'll give you that. What I will never say is how much it feels like relief.
If you came to know now, from my discarded life, my moves of a decade would fall apart.
And I cannot afford to lose you here.
