flowers from a ghost :: 01 :: spinning wheel
1.
Some subconscious part of you comes to slowly, bits of memory piecing themselves back together. Scrap by scrap, I play jigsaw with what I have, discomfited every time I intrude upon your private moments. Even so, I am not sorry. While you are healing, thanks to your ancestor's regard, I don't doubt that without my help you would have crumbled underneath the pressure of a thousand falling rocks and would have barely kept your mind fully intact. I'm very certain you would have let him win.
As it stands, here I am, laboring to keep you whole as I try to pretend that I am not remembering how it felt to be crushed into a mess of limbs after a truck crawled its way out from the dark and into my spine myself. It's somewhat ironic that someone like me who knows nothing about chakra or whatnot is the one actually trying to heal you while the man who has lived for countless years with knowledge of such a concept is hurting you, but there's really no time to address that.
There's barely enough time as there is.
I fail at putting you back together, but while it's really, really terrible... it's not really important. It is important that I do not fail in keeping you from remembering how it felt to be flattened and shredded by the knife-sharp edges of weathered, solid stone because if I fail I am sure that neither of us will stop screaming.
And I sure as hell don't want that to happen. Screaming hurts, you know?
2.
You had a family before, one made up of the other kids who shared a room with you under the care of Himitsu-obaasan and one made up of the other adults who shared a district with you under the watchful eyes of the village.
...Yeah, who am I kidding? You've never had a family. Look at what your dear family member is doing to you now— what the rest of them have been doing to you from the start.
You really are a tragedy in the making, aren't you.