Daddy was working late again. At least that what Asami's mother said as she tucked Asami into bed.
"But Mom," Asami fussed, small hands groping at her mother's loose curls, "I'm not tired. And I want to see Daddy."
Her mother smiled, "He'll be home soon. Now try to go to sleep. Yuna will be here in a moment with the bed warmer."
There was a soft knock at the door. "Mrs. Sato?"
"Come in, Yuna."
Yuna was a stout woman whose stern features inspired a deep-seated fear of disobedience within Asami when her parents were away – her father at the office and her mother in her studio. Asami was sure if the woman ever smiled her face would crack into pieces. Yuna entered the room, bed heater in hand. She opened the ornate cover and placed her hand on the rocks inside. Within a few seconds the warmer was radiating with warmth and placed at the foot of the bed to fight the creep of the Republic City winter.
"What do you say?" Asami's mother prompted.
Asami pulled the covers to her chin, "Thank you, Ms. Yuna."
The woman nodded once at Asami and turned to her mother. "If there's nothing else Mrs. Sato," she crossed the room back to the door, "I'll finish in the gallery."
"Yes. Thank you." Asami's mother rose from the edge of the mattress and moved to follow Yuna out. She stopped at the door frame and looked back to her daughter, "Sleep well, my Angel," she said as she flipped off the lights and gently closed the door.
Asami squirmed beneath the covers. She wasn't tired. She wasn't. Besides, she wanted to be awake when Daddy got home. She focused as hard as she could on staying awake. She imagined the tall, colorful buildings with impossible angles she would build and shiny cars Daddy would make. She would tell him all about it when she got home. Better yet, she would go to his office and draw it out for him!
Asami slid out from under the covers and threw her arms through her heavy robe to ward off the chilly air. She would have to be quiet to make sure Yuna didn't catch her sneaking out after bedtime. She padded to the door and slowly turned the knob. The hinges groaned as she pulled the door open. Asami froze. Her ears strained to detect movement. Nothing. After a few moments, she cracked the door just enough to slip her small body through.
Asami had heard the fairytales about the princesses in castles and the monsters and villains that would come and do bad things. The princess always had to be saved by someone else – a brave warrior, a prince, a huntsman. The stories always made the bad guys out to be evil because of their cunning and the hero good because of their bravery. One day, she asked her father if she was supposed to be the princess. She did live in a big house, after all.
"No, Angel," he had said. "You don't wait for the good to come to you. You have to make it for yourself."
She didn't understand.
Daddy continued, "You have to be brave, like the heroes. You have to be cunning, like the villains. You just have to be smart for the right causes and brave enough to work towards them. That is what separates the villains from the heroes. But you have to take the good from both. That's the only way to better yourself. To make the princess the real hero."
Imitating the villains from her stories, she clung to the walls and crept slowly through the halls towards the office. But she was also being brave, doing something nice even when she could get in trouble. So she was being a hero. Daddy would be so happy to see what she had created that day.
She finally reached the door and stepped inside. She hurried over to his desk and flipped on the lamp. She reached inside of the bottom drawer where her father kept a little sketch pad for her to work at while he finished paperwork. She grabbed a pencil and began to draw. She drew shining buildings and rainbows that swept between the mountain peaks outside of the city.
After a while, she rested her pencil behind her ear and leaned back in her father's chair. It creaked as she shifted and smelled of stained leather and cologne. Her fingers found the silk hem of her robe and her eyes caught the green and red embroidery on the left side of her chest. A dragonfly hummingbird – the Sato family crest. Her father had chosen it because it could fly in any direction and overcome any obstacle in its way. Those words didn't mean much to Asami, but she thought it was pretty.
She heard the front door open and close. Daddy was home! She gathered up her sketchbook and held it close to her chest. There was a heavy thud from downstairs. Daddy must have put down something heavy. She stood from the chair and moved to the center of the room, vibrating with excitement. She could hear the shuffling footsteps of someone trying to be quiet moving up the stairs and down the hall away from the office. Well, that wouldn't do. She'd have to go him, then.
Asami carefully opened her sketch pad to the page with her new ideas and placed it on the desk before bounding to the door. Wait. She still had to be careful until she was with Daddy or Yuna would be upset. She popped her head out of the door and stared down the dark hallway. She couldn't see anyone there. Daddy must be headed towards Mom's studio.
Asami clung to shadows, giddy with the thrill of avoiding being spotted by Yuna, as she crept by the banister above the gallery. Strange that she couldn't hear her moving around down there. Not to be deterred, however, Asami continued on towards another junction in the hallway.
Her mother screamed. There was a crash from down the hall. Asami froze.
"Shit, Lee! Why'd you do that?"
"I – I wasn't. Nobody was supposed to be home!"
Asami's heart raced. She needed to run. She need to get help. Ms. Yuna would know what to do. But she was frozen, immobilized by fear.
There was rustling from the studio. "Oh no," one of the voices wept, "D-Did – Did I…"
A clang. Metal on metal. "Pull it together, Lee. We need to fill this bag and get out of here," the deeper, older, voice said. Something was burning.
Asami was shaken out of her stupor, adrenaline flooding her veins. She crept towards the cracked door of the studio and peered inside to find a man in a bright red overcoat and fedora clearing the contents of the mantle into his bag. Another man – boy – rocked on his knees, hovering over her mother, his hands clasped over his mouth.
Her mother. She was on her back on the floor, right in front of her easel. She wasn't moving.
"I-I killed her. She's dead." The boy was shaking. "I-I-I didn't mean to – I didn't know she was –"
The crack of skin connecting with skin ricocheted off of the walls and the boy fell to the side, his hand reaching towards his flaring cheek. "Get. It. Together," the older one growled through clenched teeth. "Get up and help me."
Asami gasped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the hem of her robe. The older man's head snapped towards the door and locked eyes with her. He stared at her for a second before straightening back to his full height.
"Lee," he said, his voice soft and calm, "pick up the bag." He looked over his shoulder at his companion, "It's best we be on our way now." The man prowled towards the door – towards her – in large steps, his hand ablaze.
Asami whimpered. The monsters from her stories were real. Something in her head finally clicked.
Run.
Asami scrambled to her feet and ran towards the stairs. Get help. Get Yuna.
She flew down the hall towards the stairs to the gallery. She let out a cry half way down the stairs as she found Yuna face down on the polished white marble, red splattered around her like the rose petals from Mom's paintings. Asami turned on her heel and sprinted back to the office. She barreled through the door and slammed it shut behind her, fingers struggling to force the lock into place. The bolt shifted and she shuffled backwards and further into the room. Further away from the strange men in her house. Further away from where her mother had been lying on the floor. She was breathing so fast.
The bang of wood splintering rattled the walls. She couldn't get any oxygen into her lungs.
"Where'd you go, little girl?" The older man called out.
Another door cracked down the hall. She wiped a hand at her face. When had her cheeks gotten wet? Another crash, closer still. Asami backpedaled into the desk, knocking her sketch pad to the floor. Asami cringed at the sound.
"Lee! I found her."
"Hey, you were right. We need to get out of here," the boy sobbed. "Just – Just leave her alone."
"She's seen too much."
"But –"
"I'm not going to jail over a few candlesticks."
There was a pause before the door handle jostled around, catching on the lock. "Come on and open the door, little girl," the older man said. "My friend and I aren't going to hurt you."
Asami held her breath. Blood rushed past her ears. Her heart was fighting its way out of her chest.
"The hard way it is, then." A wave of flame shot the door off of its hinges and into the center of the room. Asami screamed and sank to floor against her father's desk. The older man stepped closer to her still, face blank and eyes glowing. She grabbed at the sketch pad and held it against her to shield herself from what her instincts told her was coming. She was going to die. She clenched her eyes shut.
Suddenly her side was burning. She screamed and doubled over, her hands grasping at the fresh wound on her ribs.
"Kyodai" the boy said, "We need to go. Now."
"Yeah. She won't be saying anything to anyone." The men grabbed the bag and escaped into the hall and down the stairs.
It was suddenly very quiet. There was nothing but sobbing and her shaky breathing. Asami lifted a hand away from the wound, her hand painted the same color as that man's coat, the same color as Mom's roses. Beside her, lie the ashes of her sketch pad.
She had no idea how long she laid there, curled at the bottom of her father's desk. The passage of time had no more meaning. All that existed was this consuming pain and the monsters. Her mind was no longer filled with colorful rainbows and sleek buildings. Only ashes.