age four

The woman with brown eyes, eyes that reminded her of the dirt shaded by a trees towering branches, called her Nana. With a smile that stained her cheeks with a rosy red and arms that stretched out to her, the woman was, in simple terms, persistent. Gnawing at the nail of her pointer finger, Nana merely stared at her. There was no rush, in her opinion, to move and she wasn't sure what this woman wanted. Caramel colored hair fell seamlessly over the woman's shoulder, glinting and shining in the small ray of light that crept through the closed curtains.

"Nana-chan," She cooed, wiggling her fingers as though that were going to inspire Nana to move, "Come to Okaa-chan."

Oh, Nana blinked, pulling her finger from her lips and watching with disgust as a string of drool followed, she's my mom? What about the other woman?

For the past four years, Nana hadn't truly been able to gain much understanding of the world around her. Cars were the same, but the language was different. Houses littered the suburban area while apartments towered over the city streets. Where Nana lived, she wasn't sure. The…the complex—yes, that's what it's like—fostered over fifteen people. While that wasn't many, it was more than she expected to see. They were all dressed in the same garb as her: the women in dresses with a sash? Was it called a sash? She wasn't sure, Nana barely remembered getting dressed this morning; and the men wearing dark black robes that hung dauntingly off their shoulders.

It was only inside the safety of her home that she was allowed to wear childish dresses or shirts and pants.

"Nana," The woman's altoic voice sang, catching her attention and drawing it back towards the woman, "Come to Okaa-chan."

Strands of light brown flooded her vision, her short hair swinging freely above her shoulders as she shook her head. This woman was not her mom—no way. The woman who forced her to sit on her lap during the long meetings, the ones where those creepy old men stared at her with wide eyes, was her mother. The one who barely looked at her and forced her from her sight the moment she no longer wanted here there—that was her mother…Right? Nana tilted her head to the side and the woman before her, as if knowing exactly what going through her mind, said:

"No, Nana-chan, Tomoko is not your Okaa-san."

Like that's any help, Nana rolled her eyes. There was only one person's name she knew in the cult-like place she now called home, and it was her dad's. With eyes that reminded Nana of the sea on the stormiest of days and hair the same color as the obsidian gem on his middle finger, Akito was her only safe place. It was he who lifted her when she stumbled, sleep clouding her vision. It was he who gently guided her away from the dark-haired woman—Tomoko, she now learned—when the meetings had adjourned; and it was he who, with gentle hands, taught her how to write.

"And you are?" The words left her without second thought, her eyes narrowing as glowered at the woman before her.

Pain, pure and raw, glimmered across the woman's eyes. The kind smile on her face faltering and dropping, hurting covering the hope and excitement that once shone. Nana didn't like it. She didn't like the frown that was now there or the way tears were beginning to brim her eyes. The woman—the woman her father called Moe and spoke with stars in his eyes and adoration in his tone—looked to her hands that fell lamely into her lap.

"No, Nana-chan." Moe said slowly, "I'm not."

Nana wasn't sure if she believed her.

age six

"I don't want to get married."

She was whining—Nana knew she was. If Tomoko heard the pathetic pleads and heavy sobs that wracked her small body…Nana didn't want to think about it. Except, the arms that held her weren't Tomoko's, they were Moe's. Cocooning her tightly, pressing her against the familiar, rough white fabric that scratched her face. She didn't care; if anything, Nana pressed her face further into the fabric. Her chest heaved with each stuttering cry, her eyes burning and swollen from the tears that never seemed to end. Moe said nothing, Nana didn't know if she wanted her to. Her nails lightly dragged through her longer dark brown hair, gently scratching her scalp. It was a motion Nana found soothing—one that she had for years.

"I…" Moe hesitated, her voice fading and, with an audible swallow, she began, "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to do anything to prevent this, Nana."

She sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her navy sleeves, "What could you do? Not even tou-san was able to stop them."

"And Tomoko-sama said nothing either?" Moe asked, to which Nana shook her head.

"No, she said nothing." The image of Tomoko sitting there, a wide smile marring her face, her eyes sparkling with nothing but utter joy flooded her mind and Nana felt the familiar sting behind her eyes, "She looked happy, Moe-chan. She smiled and asked what the soonest date of the wedding could be."

Moe didn't speak after that, but Nana felt the arms around her tighten, drawing her closer. The hand that cradled the back of her head stilled. Nana swore she imagined it—swore the words she heard were nothing but a desperate wish. I'm sorry I couldn't do more, Nana. But what could've Moe done? She was her 'nanny'—the woman assigned to take care of her since she was born. Moe, to Nana's understanding, held no power at all. The most she had control over was what colored outfit Nana wore.

Softly, so softly that she worried Moe wouldn't be able to hear her, Nana spoke, "It's not your fault."

age seven

Gojou Satoru was an absolute disappointment.

Nana blinked at him, unable to belief the sight before her. The boy with hair the color of snow and eyes the color of a lake on a sunny day sat straight, staring at her without so much as a smile. He appeared, to put it nicely, dead inside. The onyx yukata he wore emphasized the paleness of his skin—which Nana categorized as unhealthy looking.

"Now, Nana," Tomoko crooned, and Nana met the harsh gaze with boredom, "Why don't you and Gojou-san walk around the gardens. The grownups need to have an adult conversation—I'm sure you understand."

A fake smile pulled at her soft pink lips and she nodded, "Of course." Turning her attention to the silent boy, she tried to make the smile a little more genuine, "Would you like to head to the gardens, Gojou-san."

"Please, Nana-chan," The sickly sweet voice of Satoru's mother flooded her ears and it took everything in her not to cringe, "Call him Satoru-chan. You are to be married, after all."

Like hell I will, she only smiled, "If you insist."

With a quick bow, Nana hurried from the room. A rock sat in her stomach and she felt more tired that she had in years. Heavy footsteps trailed behind her and, it was that moment that she realized something about Satoru that she hadn't noticed at first. Despite how quiet he was, Satoru's actions spoke much louder than his words. Man, her bottom lip stung as her teeth sunk into it, This is so awkward.

The orchids were her father's most prized possessions. It was the only part of the garden that her and Moe were allowed to visit with him—only her and Moe. As far as she had seen and could remember, not once had Tomoko stepped foot in the small section. Not with her, not with Moe, and certainly not with her father. A soft crunch echoed underneath her shoes, the grass easily crumbling at the pressure and the sound reminding Nana of a little secret she kept in her pocket.

"Wait," She said, holding up one hand, ignoring the confused look Satoru was giving her, as the other dug around in the purple, silk folds. Moe made sure to send her with something sweet in case the meeting went dreadfully wrong. A brief feeling of relief drifted through her, the rock in her stomach slowly feeling lighter than before. "Here."

Nana wasn't sure why she thought Satoru would like the orange-flavored, hard candy. Perhaps it was because it was her favorite flavor, perhaps it was because the color contrasted so harshly with his attire. Whatever the reason, Nana smiled softly and waited for the older boy to take the candy from her hand.

Instead of the 'thank you' she was expecting—because, as far as she could remember, Satoru liked candy—he merely stuck up his nose, face scrunching in disgust.

"What's that?"

Fine, then.

"It's candy," Nana shot back with the same snark. Grabbing the pale hand, brushing off the undignified yelp that escaped Satoru, she dropped the orange treat. "You know what candy is, right?"

Satoru, much to her amusement, was flushing as he awkwardly held his hand out, as if she never let it go. At her remark, the soft flush burned darker, "Of course I know what candy is."

Nana didn't bother to conceal the giggle that bubbled inside her, grabbing one of her own, unwrapping it, and plopping it into her mouth. Immediately, the sweet grape flavor danced over her tastebuds and Nana beamed, "Then try it."

She would never forget his face when he finally ate it… although she did have to convince him—multiple times, might she add—that it was good.

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