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Her Face
Every look on her face that I had ever seen had been a calculated one. I almost got to the point where I could name them all- and of course I could duplicate them all nearly perfectly. There was the Demure-2 look with eyes modestly downcast, there was the Curious-1 look with the left eyebrow raised. Perfect-card-playing-face-3 a face so perfectly bland it had to be hiding something. There were any number of dazzling smiles and run-for-your-life frowns. She was my sister, and such a master of all aspects of her craft that being her brother was no advantage to understanding her. Though I had surprised her at various times in the past, she never once looked surprised if she didn't want to. She had complete control over every aspect of her face and voice. And try as I would, I was never that good. Though I knew that she could look however she wished, I could not tell when she was 'in the part' and when she meant what she said. And some of the things she said, I will never forget and only just now understand.
Every look on her face was what she meant it to be. You saw nothing that she didn't want you to see. Except... Except for that last time. I shouldn't have looked. She was lying in such a way that I didn't have to. But something made me turn her, gently, though she felt nothing. And I saw. I saw her pain, as clearly as though what had been done to her was written across her face. It was the first time I saw an expression on her face that she had not chosen. She looked so vulnerable, and broken. Horrified, pained, and impossibly distant. One sightless eye was forever fixed on the last one to hurt her. The other... was... smashed doesn't really describe it. And blood too... so much blood. Where her left arm...was torn. If I think about it too much I feel sick. As long as I'm writing it though, I can report it all distantly. When I start to think...
I've seen death before, but never like that. It was worse than the first time. Because even though I knew her only as she wanted me to know her, it was enough to remember any of her familiar expressions. How she walked, talked, and dressed. And this strange look on her face was the last one, the one she didn't choose.
She had her wish, she died, and I lived. Did she know what I would feel, kneeling there? I can't think that she did. She bought my worthless life with hers. I had to cover that face, that familiar yet strange face. When someone you don't know is dead, it doesn't matter much. But when you know how they ought to look, and they don't look that way anymore, it hurts worse than any wound had so far. Only her. Only she's ever made me feel this.
My sister... the one everyone else was privileged to call 'Ayu-nee'. Today, those who killed her will pay. We will make them pay. my sister. Her blood, her clothes, the same blood in our veins. The blood they spilled will spill their blood.