The Vigil Begins

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Day 1
Dear Diary,

Paris is beautiful in the springtime.
Paris is beautiful anytime, but this time something's missing.
What a joke.
I know exactly what's missing. . .
You.
Mireille.
I miss you.
But I will be patient.
As you were with me.
When you're ready, you'll come back.
I don't doubt that for a second.

I fixed the apartment.
I moved back into it.
I know you won't mind.
I know you don't care.
Not right now.
But you will.
When you come back, there will be a home waiting for you.
When you come back, I will be waiting for you

The landlord thinks I'm a fickle little girl.
I tend to my plants.
I have a cat.
I draw when I have the time.
I write in my diary.
But. . . it's always about you.
The landlord thinks I'm innocent.
Hardly.

Murder is my daily bread; Death is my provider.
Perhaps not anymore.
But the purest water cannot wash my hands of the past.
No atonement will cleanse me.
Our crimes are too many.
We are Noir, born to carry the sins of others.
Noble sacrifice?
Punishment.
For we did not choose the roles thrust upon us.
Do I regret it?
Never.
It may seem selfish to you.
Maybe you wish I had never dragged you into my pilgrimage.
But if I hadn't, I would never have met you.

Enough of the past.
Let us look to the future.
There is hope for us yet.
And so the wait begins.
Take your time. . . Mireille.

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Kirika dropped her pen and closed the diary. Her eyelids drooped. Writing always made her sleepy. She grabbed a blanket and lay down on the couch so that she could watch the sunset through the French windows. The sunset meant so much to her. How hard she had tried to capture its beauty in one of her paintings. It never came out quite the way she wanted. She sighed, and suppressed the thought as she closed her eyes.

The stars slowly twinkled their soft glow onto Kirika's face. She didn't notice. She drifted off to sleep, hoping to dream of Mireille.

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