Cursed Creature

You’ll never answer again if I call your name. The place under the bridge will be forever silent, lacking the warmth of our memories. Mine will remain, to protect the precious moments you offered me, to make sure that your existence won’t be wholly whipped from this world.

    Until the day I’ll end up wondering if all of this was but a dream.

    But, still, even then… I’ll keep calling your name.

    Even if no one remembers me, if I have no place to go.

    Because I know how it feels when there’s nobody to call it. When there’s no voice to warm the silence. When there’s nobody to ask to stay.

    Because I’m a cursed creature.

“Kill… me…”

    Your words echo in my mind. I don’t even realise I’m choking on my tears until a hand grabs my arm, forcing me to stand up.

“What are you doing, you got rid of Tamaki?” Poltergeist asks. “The others just joined us. For now, they hold back the Jikininkis, but we have to go.”

“But… Mr. Izawa…” I stutter, jerking away. “He used up his magic and…”

“He did?” Poltergeist turns his attention at the director.

    For a short while, Rubeus remains silent, simply observing the director writhing on the ground. His gloved fingers grating the asphalt, already sharper than what they should be.

    Around us, a bluish mist wraps the cold night. Evren’s figure is discernable a few more steps away from us, glancing at the scene with a sober expression.

    His mist prevents us from becoming easy prey for the Jikininkis.

    Half-uttered groans, laughter more joyful than they should be, I vaguely catch sight of multiple familiar silhouettes beyond the mist.

“Then,.. it’s time for me to keep my promise.” Rubeus utters.

    Between Poltergeist’s paws appears a mana spear, two sharp tips at its edge shaped like a rabbit head. Lowering his spear, Rubeus points it at Mr. Izawa.

“Don’t do this!!” I rush to Rubeus, gripping his arm with both my hands. “You can’t do that! Don’t! Don’t”

    Unbalanced by my frantic moves, Rubeus ends up stepping back, pushing me away.

“We failed.” He utters. “All we can still do is to leave as soon as we can, before someone else shares Tatsuya’s fate. “We can’t save the director, let me at least free him!”

    Again, I grip his arm.

“What if there’s a way? What if we’re committing a mistake?”

    But this time he doesn’t even move.

    Fingers pressed against his arm, I raise my eyes to his face. Teardrops run down his cheeks. Despite his otherwise unreadable expression, despite that I can’t see his eyes hidden by his blond hair, it’s there. Obvious and telling everything without a word.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

    It’s already been a decade since I left Yokohama. I never stopped searching for a way to invert the process of magic, but no matter the countless hours spent on my attempts, all I’ve achieved to craft since then are these clockwork keys. To the magic holders who refuse to stop using magic, to the ones who can’t as it’s the only light remaining in their life, at least it’s a promise to be able to leave without hurting an innocent.

    There’s only one child who firmly refused to get his own clockwork key. He’s a funny boy we recently met in France. Decided to become the next director of the Clockwork Dolls Circus, he argued that a director has to stand out, hence since I don’t have a key, he won’t have one. Rubeus, it’s his name, has an impressive memory. His mind keeps to the tiniest detail. So I decided to indulge him. He’s an intelligent boy, I’m sure it’ll be fine.

    Plus… His wacky antics are somehow touching. I don’t have the heart to tell him that the reason I don’t have a key myself is that I don’t deserve it. Not after all I’ve done…

⋆༺♱༻⋆

“Let me try one thing.” I utter. “I can’t let him go, not now that I finally found him.”

     I know what he’ll say. That the Mr. Izawa I know is long gone. That all I can do is to keep preciously these memories I want him to somehow stay alive, to remain real.

    And since we both know that, the silence tells it itself before he adds some words instead.

“I can’t assure your protection if you go too close to him. He might tear your head off.”

    I let go of his arm, straightening up.

“Whatever he does to me, it’ll never hurt me more than the words that voice repeated over years while pulling on my hair. ‘I’ll rip your skin off your mug.’ Her voice dripping with fury.”

    At my word, Rubeus turns his face to me. He doesn’t say anything to that. Who would have proper words to respond to this? There are none.

    Instead, he lets the spear Poltergeist holds dissolve into glowing sparkles.

    We don’t exchange any more words as I step forward, kneeling before Mr. Izawa.

“The twins both used magic to heal wounds. Can it heal more than physical ones?”

    Knowing well that it consumes a great amount of mana, I fear not having enough even if it works, but… I have to try.

    Hesitantly, I approach my hands to the director’s head, placing them against it.

    As I close my eyes, I try to focus. The use of magic has always been something intuitive, but I’m afraid of hurting instead of healing. It’s all my magic has been used for so far, after all. To burn, to wound my enemies.

    A bluish light begins to float in wisps around my hands.

    I can’t directly share mana like Tatsuma did, I can only give it shape… But maybe, just maybe, I can shape it into memories? Mana is fuelled by them, it is made out of memories.

    I frown as I feel an encouraging warmth under my palms.

“Is it working?”

    All the notes I read about him in the Book of Memories, I try to gather them all.

    But… that’s when I feel the warmth waning under my fingers. The more I try to focus, the more it escapes me.

“Ahh… I’m coming short of mana, is it that?”

    Is this the moment I’m supposed to abandon? To accept that it’s over?

    When I mid-open my eyes, there’s but a few wisps remaining. One by one thinning. Fading away.

    Until hands appear over my mines, covering them with their warmth. Surprised, I raise my eyes at Fujiko, crouching by my side.

“You know, I’m glad I spared my magic for so long. Now I can share it with you.” Her smile widens as a familiar glow begins to flow into my hands.

    As much as I want to cry and thank her, I know that we don’t have time to waste.

    Closing anew my eyes, I gather his memories…

Today, I met a young man in Manila. A homeless magic holder. Magic isn’t illegal in his country, but it has a very bad reputation. It’s feared. And thus he has been unable to find a work since his awakening. As saddening as this anecdote is, it made me think over an idea that has been nagging in my mind for quite some time. If I create a troop of magic holders, travelling throughout the world, they’d be able to help me regulate the Jikininkis’ presence. And I’d be able to give sanctuary to at least a few of these poor devils.

    Yes! It’s decided! I’ll be now the director of the Clockwork Dolls Circus.

According to Tamaki, the Japanese government is still on the lookout for any hint about our activities. I have to be cautious. I have now a public image which can raise unwanted attention. I can’t let them find out and prevent me from pursuing my researches… Luckily, after a few experiments, I’ve found a trick to alter my voice. A little tap tap against your neck and it’s done! My “costume” is now perfect.

Her name is Arisu. An adorable little girl. My daughter… I want her to have a simple life, a normal one. To avoid her being confronted too soon to loss, I decided to raise her away from the troop. Too often, there’s one of us who disappears, replaced, forgotten. I don’t want her to experience such trauma.

    The mana keeps flowing into the director’s head. I was too focused to notice until now, but he doesn’t let out any growl, even muffled. He seems less agitated.

    It works…

“Ghh.” Fujiko holds back a groan, but I can feel her grip tighten against my hands.

    As if searching for support.

    A knot forms in my stomach, an unpleasant feeling that grows overwhelming as the warmth of Fujiko’s hands fades away.

    My eyes snap open as her figure falls back to the ground, her clockwork key crumbling into golden dust.

“Fujiko…” My voice fails me.

    In the meanwhile, the director straightens up. Sat on the ground, he presses his head against his forehead. When he glances at me, he sees nobody. Nobody but a stranger. I already know it. We weren’t able to give him back memories of the very last couple of years.

    Around us, the mist dissipates.

    The members of the Clockwork Dolls Circus have managed the Jikininkis which haven’t scattered.

“I’ll bring him back to Arisu Izawa.” A voice arises.

    I turn my head at the detective’s figure, brushing his hand at the back of his hand at the sight of all the mess of corpses surrounding us.

“He needs some rest.” He concludes.

    Slowly, everyone begins to set into motion. Hans helps Mr. Izawa stand up, Evren takes Fujiko in his arms, the other members gather around us. No one glances at me, nor tries to speak to me.

    So many people I like are around me, and yet I never felt so lonely as today.

    The one who remembers, the one who is forgotten. It is my curse, and it will remain.

    Silent, I observe them as they part ways, the members of the circus walking in one direction, Mr. Izawa following Hans in the opposite one.

    Still knelt on the ground, I feel a pang in my heart when I stand up in a brisk move, running in the direction of Mr. Izawa. Only for a few metres though, until I slow down to stand still.

    I clench my fists, filling my lungs.

“..Otōsan!! ….I always wanted to call you otōsan.”

    My voice weakens then, glum, while I avert my gaze.

    The director, already walking away, doesn’t stop. He keeps walking.

    I know it well, I don’t have the right to call him that way. But since he has forgotten me, I can indulge myself. Just this single time.

    With watery eyes, a sad smile creeps onto my face as I stare at his silhouette growing more distant. When you reject, you can only expect to be rejected in turn. I’ve been first since I rejected those who gave me birth.

    In the end, it seems normal to my eyes.

“You must have a lot to tell me, young girl.”

    My eyes widen.

    Mr. Izawa just stopped and turned his head at me. A sharp eye scans me while he casts me a simple smile.

    The tears I held back until now rush down my cheeks, blurring my sight. I can’t stop them. I can no longer stop them. No matter how many times I press the palms of my hands against my watery eyes, trying to chase away the warm tears.

    Before I can notice him standing in front of me, he reaches down his gloved hand to gently pat my head.