Sachiko Yagami sometimes feels less than real, as if she was but a side note in the narrative of existence.
There are moments, occasionally, when her family is at school or work, and she's left alone in their home, that she feels...blank. As if she were an unwritten letter, an unspoken word.
And then her family comes home and everything is real again.
-(ʘ‿ʘ✿)-
Sachiko Yagami loves her family. She really does. She loves her husband, even if he isn't home as much as she'd like. She loves her son Light, for all his aloof genius and carefully maintained emotional distance. And most of all, she loves her daughter Sayu. Her sweet, strange Sayu, who brought her yellow flowers and ribbons and loved her brother with such intensity. Sayu, whose eyes sometimes looked so very very tired.
Soichiro never noticed anything strange about their children. But then again he never really knew what to do with children, theirs or otherwise.
But Sachiko is their mother. She created them, cradled their delicate forms of blood and flesh within herself for nine months. They were parts of her for that time, they were a single being suffused with the energy of creation. A connection like that is not something that simply disappears. Not for someone like Sachiko.
Her children wear their roles like ill-fitting cloaks. Their smiles and crinkled eyes look like paper masks. Sachiko sees their masks, their ill-fitting skin, and does not wonder what lies beneath. It isn't important, not really, because no matter how strange or dark or different, they are her children, her creations and to her they will always be perfect. They hide so well, her children, her little patchwork dolls.
There is a story written in her children's flesh, traced across their skin like spiderwebs and lace.
She cannot help but wonder how it ends.