Sanctuary
The life and death after Light Yagami of Misa (Misa) Amane
Misa had always been eccentric.
Perhaps to the point of exceeding L ,weird-wise.
But she was a cute kind of weird
– it was the fashion, after all.
She had bright hair,
bright clothes,
bright style,
and most of all was her beautiful bright smile that lit up the room.
She was stunning.
Her famous works were the Teen Idol fashion magazines,
where her distinctive fashion sense definitely showed through
– all lace and frills and gothic and dark,
completely opposite her hair style.
It wasn't that that made her attractive, though
– it was her presence; her energy.
Some found it annoying, yes,
but most found it adorable.
endearing, almost.
People loved her,
she had too many fans to count on every finger in Japan,
and she very honestly loved them back.
But she loved no one more than Light Yagami.
She could wait endless days for him,
long nights,
and merely be thankful that he was there when he came home,
and not angry that he hadn't been there for the last few days,
like other wives/fiancées would be;
she knew he had important work after all.
So it was hard to tell her that he wasn't coming home this time,
no matter how long she waited for him.
It was the hardest thing Matsuda ever did.
She was wearing lace that night,
and it was white and delicate and she was so excited to see Light.
When she realised Matsuda wasn't him
her face dropped completely.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
Then he told her.
She had blanked completely,
dropping down onto a stool and stared out into the bustling streets of Tokyo from her window,
not saying anything,
not doing anything,
but just sitting with glazed eyes and watching
like a broken doll.
she told him to leave.
The next time anyone saw her she had dark hair
and dark clothes,
as if in mourning,
and she was.
People didn't question it,
because she still looked rather dazzling.
One of her last photo shoots that was in the classic style of 'MisaMisa' was in Paris,
the city of Lovers,
at the Louvre.
She'd gotten a lot of money for it,
to make up for the defined lack of Lover.
She'd grinned through it, regardless.
No one ever realised quite how strong she was.
She was spotted a lot on trains,
trying to keep incognito and failing terribly.
Observers noticed her sometimes staring at her phone,
as if it were to come to life and answer her prayers.
But nothing ever happened,
and Misa was left without anything to help her through the times of rough.
She was seen again in a magazine,
but for older teens and in a different style to what the audiences of Japan were used to.
People didn't know how to take this.
Then she had gotten into photography herself,
liking to try out new things,
help other photographers and designers and give pointers to new models.
She actually wasn't that bad,
and did well in her new found passion.
Even a short return to the old Lolita style of her work that was slowly slipping out of fashion
didn't do her career any harm,
but rather enhanced it and encouraged old fashions to be brought to life once more.
She had always loved Lolita,
and always would.
But she found, as she modelled the dresses,
that it was just too painful to do it; too full of memories from that horrible time.
She ended up throwing all her old clothes out and giving them to charity shops.
Her hair was now very long,
very dark, and caused her to look very pale.
She did one more photo shoot like this,
before changing completely.
It was comprised of four pictures.
One of her holding a big letter,
one of her holding a big key.
It was like Alice in Wonderland,
and was definitely something which suited the Misa people were so used to.
The third showed her with a spoon and a big cup of tea and a huge ribbon over her head.
It had no significance to Misa,
which was fine.
But the forth had the red and white roses on the trees,
and it was raining.
They'd put some in her hair and told her to sit under then.
The purity,
the blood,
the white,
there were endless connotations.
Misa couldn't stand it very long,
and as soon as she had gotten home she'd smashed her mirror
and cut off all her hair.
She moved up market,
determined to change the way she looked,
she acted,
she was represented by the media.
She wasn't bothered that she was known as the Lolita Queen still,
but she wanted a new scene,
a new start,
a new life.
She was determined.
She did more women's clothes,
more modern fashions,
less stylised clothes;
stuff normal people could afford.
Her new life was good.
She did more public appearances,
did more charity work,
tried her hardest to interact more
– the more she did the less she had time to herself.
She did carnivals and parades and joined social groups and threw parties
and did everything she could to continue to make people's lives a little brighter.
She pointedly ignored the steady growth in criminal activity.
By the time she had made a new name for herself she was definitely a woman.
She wasn't the same silly girl who had fallen in love with Light Yagami
and modelled teenage clothes.
She still loved him,
missed him every day even,
sometimes even forgot he wasn't coming home,
but she was moving on, at least.
She'd marked her own path without him.
She was beautiful, mature,
new, fresh, different,
and happy.
She seemed to have left everything behind her and was only looking forward now.
She had new friends, new loves, new passions,
new everything and sometimes she couldn't even recognise herself
as she flicked through old versions of J-Chic and saw a stranger wearing her face.
What was to become her most famous photo shoot was nothing like anything anyone
had ever seen Misa do before.
It was a shoe advert, to be honest,
but Misa had done it because she'd loved the bright, sexy,
sparkly platform heels with little bows on the side.
Her favourites were the baby pink ones,
and they looked stunning on her delicate legs.
She'd looked stunning as she always did, nowadays,
and she was very proud of it.
Better than how she used to be,
all dark and depressing like Light had already died.
How had he ever loved her when she was like that?
The morning of the 14th of February, 2011,
Matsuda had visited the girl in her new house and had been admitted inside
with a smile and a wave.
Misa was in the middle of preparing breakfast in her bright kitchen,
full of pinks and flowers and pastels
and gossiped away happily to him while she sat on one of her counters,
still in her pyjamas and with no shame,
reading off the side of the milk bottle,
and telling Matsuda about her new modelling shoot in a few days
and a movie she was going to audition for.
At four o'clock the same afternoon,
Misa Amane was found dead in the very same room,
in the same kitchen,
with the same pinks and flowers
and pastels.
She had finally given into the grief,
after over a year without Light,
and no one could say now that she didn't at least try.
She had,
she really had,
but it just turned out to be too much.
The years the Shinigamis had taken off of her had caught up with her at last,
and she just got it over with.
She wasn't leaving anyone behind
and she had done all she'd wanted to.
The task force could say all they wanted to,
could pity her if they would,
but they all knew one thing which made all the difference
between pity and respect:
Amane Misa had grown up.
This, and 'L's Morning' are unofficial parts of a small, but growing collections of not-quite-poems and short writings found at http : / jackrosart . blogspot . com