**Chapter 1. Shards of a Broken Heart**
"When she was still alive
We would go out, arm in arm,
And look at the elm trees
Growing on the embankment
In front of our house.
Their branches were interlaced.
Their crowns were dense with spring leaves.
They were like our love.
Love and trust were not enough to turn back
The wheels of life and death.
She faded like a mirage over the desert.
One morning like a bird she was gone"
-Hitomaro
It was a dark, somber room. The listless, continuous tick of the grandfather clock echoed quietly, and the only other sound that could be heard was the faint rustle of cloth and the occasional trickle of liquid into a flask. In the center at a wooden table, a man could be seen working diligently on a doll with uncanny resemblance to a human child.
Worn bandages wound up his wrists and his neck, and his mouth was set in a tight line. His steely gray eyes never left the doll he was holding. Every motion he executed was controlled, as if he were a robot programmed carry out only the most precise movements. Not a single flinch. Not a single blink of the eye. Absolute concentration.
Kuroda took in a breath. His eyes softened, and he was human again. Taking a puff from his pipe, he felt a chuckle rumble from his throat as he laughed how pathetic his life was. At times, he wished that he could entirely submerse himself into his world of doll-making and never return. The reality of Tsukishima's death was still eating away at his heart, regardless of how much time had passed.
Who is the coward now? Kuroda smirked to himself ruefully.
Setting the doll down, Kuroda stretched, only to find himself wincing and hissing when he moved his arm an inch too much. The damn war wounds still caused him discomfort to this day. Blowing out the candle, the whole room disappeared in a blanket of darkness, and Kuroda vanished with it.
But the clock continued to tick.
Disclaimer:
I do not own Hybrid Child. The poem in the beginning of this chapter was written by the Japanese poet, Hitomaro, and the translations of this poem were by Kenneth Rexroth.
A/N (July 29, 2016):
Hello, hello, hello, to anyone who's actually reading this! This chapter is significantly shorter than it was before, mainly because I realized that sometimes chapters are better off concise. Also, the next chapter might not make sense because I have not updated yet, haha... X)