Embracing Deborah

“Is that the end of your report?” the Metropolitan asks, looking over the scroll her guardian has transcribed. She and Mist sit on a park bench, recording the events of Good Friday night.

“Yes,” Mist says, sparing no details. She blatantly admits to seeking help from the Diviner, doing her bidding, and getting Rosary dragged into Hell. As she gives her account, she notices something about the bench they’re sitting on. The tree’s shade shifts as the morning sun rises and brings a memory to Mist’s mind.

“That’s right,” Mist thinks, looking down at the river below. “This is where I first learned about the Maidens and made that oath with Momo.”

“Well, Mist, I must say…”

“Don’t worry, I know I won’t be remaining a Maiden,” Mist says, her words definitive and resigned. The Metropolitan’s left shocked at her words; her open mouth hidden only by her fan.

“Who said—”

“It’s only natural,” Mist says, like a martyr at peace with her execution. “Rosary and Marshal both called me ‘traitor’ to my face, and rightly so. The fact I’m even alive is proof of God’s mercy. Anything less than a traitor’s exile would be a misplacement of justice.” Mist looks down at the river, taking note of the receded shore, far from the swelling flow of that rainy day. “If only I could’ve been more than a burden.”

“Burden?” the Metropolitan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” Mist says, kicking her feet. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. We both know I was only ever in this fight for Rosary. Her attention, time, and anything else I could get. I took time away from her training and missions. Imagine what she could’ve been if not for me…” Mist clenches her jaw to keep her lips from trembling. While Mist struggles to assert control over her emotions, the Metropolitan stares befuddled.

“Who is this?” she wonders. “What happened to the rebellious girl with the ‘too good for you’ attitude, never admitting fault, and resisting every mission?”

“A sight to behold

Change without hesitation

Like none before it.”

The Metropolitan glances at her guardian. The single eye of the storm blinks, shifting between her and Mist. Hidden from Mist, the Metropolitan’s mouth remains agape as her thoughts continue flowing like Mist’s tears.

“Tell me this, and answer truthfully,” the Metropolitan says, not waiting for Mist to control her tears. “In all that you’ve told me, what is your biggest regret, and how would you change it?” Her eyes remain stern, as if staring into Mist’s very soul.

“I—” Mist begins, still fighting her tears. “I regret being a failure… Of holding Rosary back from doing good, because of my own selfishness. If I could change anything, I’d get out of her way.” She stares back at the Metropolitan, eyes meeting hers without wavering.

“You don’t regret failing God?”

“I do,” Mist says, her words firm. “But you asked about my biggest regret. And I still care about her opinion more than God’s.” Mist’s eyes fall, tears threatening to overtake her again. “A testament to my irredeemable failure,” she murmurs through clenched teeth.

*WHAP*

“Ow!” Mist cries, a swell of pain overtaking her head. Her hands fly to her head, covering the goose egg developing as shreds of paper fall around her.

“Failure, yes,” the Metropolitan declares, a torn scroll crumpling in her grip. “But to call yourself irredeemable is to call your sin greater than my God, and that I cannot abide.”

“So you hit me?”

“I couldn’t contain my anger, a failure, you could say.” Her eyes soften as a smile crosses her face. “And because of that failure, it seems I’ve destroyed your report.” She holds up the scroll, already disintegrating as the scraps turn to dust around them. The Metropolitan stands, pulling her umbrella from her back. “Quite an embarrassment on my part. And since I hit you, I cannot, in good conscience, request a new report now. Alas, you’ll have to remain a maiden for a while longer, until I can get that report from you.”

“But—” Mist begins, but the Metropolitan gives her no time to speak.

“Oh, but don’t think you’ve avoided punishment. Prepare to put that lightning of yours to good use in the near future. With Rosary gone, expect your mission flow to be like the locusts of Egypt.” The wind blows as she holds up her umbrella, but doesn’t open it. “Who knows, we may even need to put Rosary’s twin to work, seeing as he shares her guardian.” With that, a massive gust of wind blows, carrying the Metropolitan into the sky and out of Mist’s view.

“You always have a way of turning our evil for good, don’t you?” the Metropolitan murmurs, a silent prayer taken up on the wind. Mist remains spellbound until her guardian reminds her that class is rapidly approaching, and she breaks into a run to make it.

The classroom bustles with the nervous energy of the first day of a new school year. All around, students rejoin friends, talking about spring break and prospective new club members. News of Momo’s disappearance hasn’t yet spread, but the empty desk next to Kasumi speaks louder than any rumor.

“Can’t let that stop me,” Kasumi thinks, ignoring the stares and eyeing the day’s objective. Hours tick by as Kasumi patiently waits to make her move. Once lunch arrives, she seizes her opportunity. Her target sits alone, in a corner of the classroom, ignored by everyone. “Come on, Kasumi, it’s now or never.”

*SKREE*

Kasumi rises from her seat, almost knocking the seat over, before making her way over. “If Momo did it, so can you. If Momo did it, so can you!” she repeats like a mantra in her mind. Her palms sweat, and color drains from her face. Her millions of mental run-throughs never emulating the terror of making the first move.

“Is this seat taken? Great, thanks,” Kasumi says, pulling up a chair and sitting before her target can look up. By the time the girl realizes what’s happening, Kasumi has already sat down and begun eating her lunch.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Queen Bee demands, eyes narrowing.

“Eating lunch,” Kasumi says, failing to remain calm. Her pounding heart drowns out all other sound, her jaw moves in a janky fashion, and making eye contact is like forcing the positive sides of two magnets together. She eats her food in a frantic scene, as if she’s never seen food before. “Thank you for the meal,” she says, picking up her trash and leaving in a similar frenzy.

“Step one completed,” Kasumi thinks, suppressing her shaking knees. The next day, Kasumi does the same thing. She invites herself to eat at Queen Bee’s desk and eats as quickly as she can in silence. As the days go by, Kasumi’s anxiety lessens little by little. By the end of the week, she can eat normally without rushing. By the second week, she can look Queen Bee in the eye without panicking. By week three, she even musters up the courage to make small talk about class. Queen Bee remains silent, never speaking a word to Kasumi, even as rumors begin spreading and reach her ears.

“Why are you doing this?” Queen Bee finally asks, a month into the routine.

“Doing what?” Kasumi asks, giddy at the prospect of conversation.

“This,” Queen Bee says, gesturing to Kasumi’s lunch on her desk. “Eating here, uninvited.”

“Because you’re alone here and—” Kasumi speaks without thinking, only to be met with a splash. Her eyes open, and she sees Queen Bee holding out an empty water bottle.

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!” she screams, crumpling the plastic bottle in her hand. “You… you were something when you transferred last year. Acting like you were too good for us. We were all content to leave you to rot, but Hattori-san couldn’t do that. She treated you nicer than anyone, and then you monopolized her.”

“I—” Kasumi tries to say, but Queen Bee gives her no opportunity.

“Don’t act like you don’t know. We all saw how mopey you got whenever she gave anyone else attention. She acted like a shield so nobody would tell you, and she was too nice to say anything herself. Now she’s gone, and you expect us to believe you don’t know anything?” Queen Bee’s cheeks grew red as the whole class watched the spectacle. “Now you’re trying to take her place? You’re the worst! YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN THE ONE TO DISAPPEAR!” The room is deadly silent; the only sounds are Queen Bee’s panting and the water dripping from Kasumi’s face. She remains stone still, face somewhere between shock and anger as her lips slowly open.

“I know,” she says, her soft voice like a loudspeaker in the silent classroom.

“What?” Queen Bee demands.

“It should’ve been me,” Kasumi repeats, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. “Momo was better than me in every way; it was foolish to think I could fill that idiot’s shoes.”

“Idiot?” Queen Bee demands, and the class slowly comes to her side.

“Yeah, she was an idiot who couldn’t tell people no.” Her eyes, free of water, Kasumi stares down at Queen Bee despite her seated position. “Even when they called her to a shrine in the middle of the night.”

“What!” Queen Bee asks, dropping the bottle and taking a step back. Her hands tremble as Kasumi presses forward.

“She’d do anything but tell someone no, and I took advantage of that. I did it because I’m evil, and for a long time I wasn’t even trying to get better.” She takes a breath and blinks, centering herself as she continues.

“There’s going to be a service for her this weekend.” The class’s silence becomes deafening; some girls gasp, but all remain silent. “At her church, at the request of her brother. The police gave up the search, but her family isn’t having a wake. I know she invited everyone there at least once, and even though most of you never came before, it’s never too late to start.” The oppressive silence holds the room in a death grip, extending even into the hall, where people stop and clamor to look inside until one voice shatters it.

“Why do you know that?” Queen Bee asks, her cheeks red with rage.

“I know because all church members were invited.”

“All members?” Queen Bee asks, her voice somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “Isn’t church just for good people?”

“Not at all,” Kasumi says, standing from her seat and heading to her bag. She reaches in and pulls out a stack of envelopes. She walks around the room, handing them to each member of the class with a bow. Each invitation includes a short message, primarily about the church’s location and the service time. Everyone takes, but nobody opens the invitation. Finally, she returns to Queen Bee and looks her dead in the eye. “I know she would’ve wanted you to come most of all, Deborah-san.”

“Who said you could use my first name?” she demands, voice raised.

“That’s what Momo called you, isn’t it?” Kasumi asks, voice trembling. “When you met at the church?”

“How did you—?”

“Because she never stops saving you a seat!” Her hands grip the edges of the invitation, as if she wants to rip it. “Every Sunday morning, every Thursday Bible study, every special liturgy, she saved you a seat. It took me a while to realize, and when I did, I hated it.” Her voice cracks, and her fists tremble as water drips from her face. “I hated that she cared for someone like you. I prayed you’d never come. I now realize how evil that was, and so now…” Kasumi suppresses a sob, gripping the invitation like it’s keeping her tears at bay. Her eyes shoot open when the paper slips from her fingers. She sees Deborah trying to take the paper, only prevented by Kasumi’s iron grip. She releases her grip, and Deborah looks the invitation over with a careful eye.

“That’s exactly like her,” she murmurs, in a voice only Kasumi hears. “I guess it’s alright if you become a bit more like her after all.” Kasumi and Deborah lock eyes, neither of them saying anything, but both communicating in a way known only to God and the guardians who watch over them.