𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ☆
a twenty-six-year-old woman finds herself trapped in a body of a child whose fate lies in the hands of a deity she hated with all her life. she had been told t...
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trigger warning: implied rape, blood, war, murder, dissociation, and suicide.
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Were dreams of a child remain nothing but a dream? For we fear that our hopes would shatter, and the wind can drag them to the place we cannot reach. That is how he feels whenever he finds himself looking at his reflection. Like a child trapped in an adult's body; there's a sense of joy upon moving so freely as he can be. However, the terrifying feeling keeps him alive as he senses an immense fear controlling his heart. Shaking uncontrollably, cowering in the face of the unknown. Do adults lie for the sake of themselves? Or do they do it for the sake of not confronting the true consequence of their fate?
It was raining when the man left his daughter. His cold and rough hands were clinging to the small hands of a child, stopping him from crying in front of her lovely innocence. He whispered his promises of joy; of his love which will make him go back to her after the war would die out within their nation. The soldier kisses his daughter's cheeks and with a tear rolling down, he left for several years.
In each letter, his blood would be his ink; his tears would be his gifted gem. With the silent prayers he sent for every paper he folds; the man would look up to the quiet skies. He likes to think his daughter - his very own angel - dwells within the starlight just to aid his homesickness before drinking a shot of sake to soothe his burning throat.
As years passed by, her daughter stopped replying. It caused his heart to rage with anxiety. Hands would tremble not at the sight of his enemies' power but at the thought of his daughter's health. When he was finally discarded, he fled from the battlefield and went straight home. He did not care if he would nearly trip on the shoes of his quick manners and the sight of his house standing, the scent of roses lingered around the air which calmed him down immediately.
"Eh? K*7#@1K0-san?" Familiar voice. He turned to see a woman, holding a higasa* over her tiny shoulder, blocking the sun's glare above the skies. Ah, he recognized her as his neighbor. A smile was plastered on his face, remembering the days in which she helped him raise his daughter's toddler years. However, the woman was unable to mirror his positivity, and instead, her face turned pale as her hand tried to cover her gasp behind. "But the mayor had declared you dead in the war?" (*a Japanese umbrella used for blocking the sun)
