Disclaimer: Atlus owns Persona III. Nothing in this oneshot falls under a clear warning, however I feel the disturbing nature of the imagery and context is better suited to a T rating.
Of Age
"Come now, you've always been a good girl."
She twisted in the leather armchair, feeling it squeal against her clamped knees. He'd fit right into its seat. The chair felt like a fat palm to her.
"It would make us so happy." He tapped her pointed chin. "You said you like seeing us happy."
She'd said that when she was four, or so she had often been reminded. Possibly she'd said happy. Possibly she'd said getting along. She squirmed again, jerking her face away from his hand, trying to make it look like the graceful tilt of her mother's head when she cocked it.
"You're a big girl now, aren't you? That's why we know we can trust you with this." He held it out.
The floor was white, catching an oily, shadowy reflection of the two of them, the chair. Her reflection would do anything she did, except get hurt.
"You're the smartest girl in your grade." His voice grew gravely with warmth. "I was so glad to hear it. You like impressing your old grandfather."
On her knee, the fingers of her right hand uncurled. Not reaching for it. Not. She hadn't agreed to do anything. Her heart was beating, but it was in her head, behind her eyes. The reflections were hazier.
"There'll be pretty lights, Mitsuru," her grandfather said. "You said you wanted to see them again."
She watched her reflection reach its arm out, palm up, fingers closing. Without a sound, the six year old put the gun to her head.