A/N: Although I love the Fatal Frame series (called 'Project Zero' here in the Netherlands) as a whole, my favorite has always been Fatal Frame 2: Crimson Butterfly. I like the overall story, and the stories within the bigger story. Especially the tale of the Kiryu twins is one that has always stayed with me; it's poignant, sad and scary, and for a game that in and of itself is poignant, sad and scary, that's saying a lot.
And so I wanted to go a little deeper into the story of the Kiryu house and the tragedy that befell it. I think I kept it fairly true to the source, although I put my own spin on the tale here and there. I took some liberties, but that's what fanfiction is all about, right?
This is my first attempt at writing something creepy, dark and thematic. I'm not entirely sure if I succeeded, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Doll
Azami Kiryu disliked dolls.
She disliked their stringy hair, their blank eyes, their pasty skin. She disliked the awkward way their limbs moved and the way their heads lolled on their shoulders. Azami disliked them thoroughly.
But Akane loved them, and her father had made a new one for her. Azami spotted it as soon as she entered her and her sister's room. Her twin was sitting on the tatami mat in the middle of the room, her collection of dolls looking down from their shelves at Azami with vacant stares.
Akane smiled at her sister and held up the doll.
"Look, Azami," she said. "Isn't it pretty?"
The doll was beautifully made, no doubt about it, with black hair and red lips and a colorful kimono. Its eyes were glassy and it rattled in Akane's arms, the arms and legs clicking together.
Azami was always careful to spare her sister's and father's feelings, but this doll was too realistic, too eerie, and she was too late in hiding her aversion. Akane lowered the doll at seeing her twin's expression.
"You don't like it?" she asked.
Azami hesitated for a second, then shook her head. "No," she said earnestly. "It's lifeless and stiff. Like a dead person."
Akane's gaze flicked away, back to the doll in her arms. She continued to brush its hair, withdrawing into herself like she was wont to do.
"I like it," she said finally. "I think it's lovely."
Azami bit her lip, regretting her thoughtless remark. Akane was the oldest, but Azami had always felt it her responsibility to look out for her sister. In All God's Village, duty was important.
She knelt next to her twin.
"Do you want to play dolls, then?" she asked gently.
Akane looked at her. Then she smiled at her sister and hugged her.
"Only if you really want to," she said.
They were playing together again the next day when their father came in the room. His face was pale and he looked old, far older than usual, and Azami knew something was very wrong.
Akane had realized the same thing. She put aside her doll and stared up at her father, the frown of trepidation on her face mirroring that of her sister.
"Father, what's wrong?" she asked.
He went over to them, sat down and drew them close in his arms.
"Girls," he said, and his voice cracked. "There is something I have to tell you."
The ritual chamber was dark and dank and saturated with feelings of sorrow and dread. A sense of malice pervaded the cavern, leaving a foul taste in Akane's mouth, making her eyes sting. Behind her was the gaping maw of the Hellish Abyss. Occasionally, a rumble erupted from deep within, like a wild animal about to awaken.
Akane watched the ceremony master speak. Watched, but didn't hear. She only had eyes for her sister as she and Azami knelt opposite each other. The white kimono's they wore were almost luminous in the darkness of the cavern, the rope encircling their waists and binding them together a splash of red on the fabric.
The ceremony master fell silent. A drumming sound reverberated through the chamber; the staffs of the veiled priests surrounding them pounding the ground in unison, the beat slow and steady.
She knew what was expected of her. Carefully, tentatively, Akane put her hands around her sister's throat, feeling the flutter of her twin's heartbeat against her palms. Her hands were sweaty, she realized. Azami was trembling slightly under her touch.
She licked her lips, tried – and failed – to moisturize them. "Azami," she began, not sure what to say, but speaking nevertheless. She wanted to say the name one last time before it would all be over and she would never be able to again.
Azami swallowed. Akane swallowed as well, then blinked as the first tears started to fall. They blurred her vision. The rhythmic beating of the staffs hitting the floor increased, grew more frantic, more urgent. The Abyss rumbled.
The first sob made her body shudder.
"I don't want to kill," she whispered. "I don't want to kill you."
It was taking too long. One of the priests stepped from the circle. Azami's gaze darted to the veiled man in silent supplication. The priest halted.
Azami brought her hands up, folded them over Akane's. Their eyes locked. She smiled, a tiny, quivering movement of her lips.
"It's all right," she said softly. "It's all right."
Weeping, Akane nodded, even though she knew it wouldn't be all right, and squeezed. She squeezed and squeezed, until her sister went limp and her eyes became vacant and glassy, like those of a doll.
"Do you like it?" her father asked.
Akane stared at the doll in front of her. It was as tall as her, with the same build and the same hair. The face was familiar, one she had known her entire life, and for the first time the darkness that had settled inside of Akane seemed to lift, just a little.
It was Azami. Not the Azami from before, no. No, the one after the ritual, with the vacant eyes and the limp arms and legs. It was fine, though. It was still Azami.
"Do you like it?" her father repeated. He gently stroked her hair. "Please, Akane. Speak to me."
Akane touched the doll's kimono, the hair, the face.
"It's lovely," she said.
The lines in her father's face drew together in what had to be the first genuine smile since the Crimson Sacrifice.
"I'm glad to hear that. Now go play with it, all right?"
Akane did. She took the doll everywhere, always played with it. She hugged it, put it next to her bed at night and even talked to her. Azami had always been a good listener. Akane whispered secrets to her and laughed with her, never aware of the growing concern in her father's eyes.
She was simply glad to have her sister back.
Akane awoke from her sleep to the sound of rustling.
At first she couldn't make out anything in the dark besides the contours of furniture and the shelves of dolls. Then her eyes adjusted and she sat up.
Azami was no longer sitting next to her bed. She stood in the middle of the room, swaying back and forth, making a rattling, clicking noise. Her head was tilted at an odd angle, lolling on her shoulder. Her long, black hair hung in front of her face.
Akane got up and padded over to her. She touched her sister's kimono.
Azami's head rotated with a jerking motion until she was staring at Akane with blank eyes, looking at her from under a curtain of stringy hair. Her pasty skin pulled together as the stiff mouth opened slightly.
"Do you want to play dolls?" she asked. Her voice was a hoarse croak, as if it hadn't been used before.
It didn't quite sound like Azami, but Akane didn't care. She smiled at her sister and hugged her. Her twin felt cold.
"Only if you really want to," she said.
Akane sat down next to Azami.
Her sister still felt cold, but Akane didn't mind. They were together and that was all that mattered. She put her hands in her lap, only then noticing the imprints of the rope engraved in her palms. Her hands should have hurt with the force she had used, but there was only a mild throb.
Her father had wanted to get rid of Azami. Her sister had told her so. He had said something was wrong with Azami. Had called her a doll. An evil spirit.
But she wasn't a doll. She wasn't an evil spirit. She was Azami. How could her father even think of killing Azami? Hadn't once been enough? Her father shouldn't kill.
Azami had agreed with her. She had whispered to Akane, had told her the best way to go about it, how to take care of her father so that they would never be separated again.
And so Akane had made certain her father wouldn't kill. Not ever. It hadn't been difficult. It had been easy, in fact, just like her twin had said it would be. She had waited until his back was turned and had used a rope this time, because her father was bigger than her, and stronger, and her hands were too small to easily wrap around his throat.
After that, it had been a simple matter of squeezing and squeezing until the thrashing stopped.
Akane had done it before, after all.
She leaned closer to Azami, glancing over at the body lying in the hallway but not seeing it. The cold was seeping into her, stiffening her limbs, chilling her soul. Akane started to feel numb. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation.
She sighed, content. Although she thought she would miss her father, it was all right. She still had Azami.
Now they could play dolls forever.