Death Parade: Decim x OC [Chiyuki Reincarnation]

5

  ~from Decim's POV 2nd person~
You left Akira in your room, telling yourself that she needed to rest and recover, but honestly, your stomach felt queasy whenever you thought about seeing her again.
What is this sensation? Arbiters cannot become sick.
Is this...
...what do humans call it...
...is this...nervousness?
Am I nervous to see her again?
Or perhaps 'anxiety' is a better word for it...
You could ruminate over the matter for hours, but no clear-cut solution came to mind.
You were finishing up work when you realized that you had another problem.
Akira was in your room, resting in your bed.
Sleep isn't exactly necessary for arbiters because they aren't human, but you weren't quite sure what you would do for the night.
Finally, you decided to work on your creepy mannequin selection.
You entered the room, and lights came on automatically, although they weren't truly necessary for you. All throughout the room were mannequins in nearly-completed states - the first one on your left was modeled after a tried-and-true businessman who had too much to drink one night and got into a car accident; the one on the right there was a replication of a young pop singer-to-be who ended up being murdered by an obsessed fan; the one dead ahead was a single mother who had fallen and hit the corner of the table at just the wrong angle.
The businessman had cheated on his wife and, when confronted, bashed her face in.

The pop singer had laughed at and walked past a mother and child who sat beside the street, begging for money or food, and who had been hit by a car later that day.
The mother had become bitter and accused her child of being a monster, and when she fell, she was carrying a knife in which to slaughter the child.

These were all that remained of the souls Decim had sent to the Void. There was no other shred by which to remember them; they existed in Decim's recollections alone.
But not every mannequin was meant to be last refuge for the soulless.
You finally reached the far wall, and you stopped, taking in the scene.
All along the wall were mannequins of the same person - the poses were different, the clothing varied - but they all represented the same essence.
In twenty-four separate mannequins, you had recreated Chiyuki as you remembered her, even now.
One mannequin for every year that she had been gone, that she'd left you alone, that she'd made you wait.
You treasured all of your mannequins - Chiyuki's more than any others, of course - but your favorite out of all of them was a mannequin similar to Chiyuki that was immortally preserved in an ice skating pose ( - and just to clarify, a memento mori is something serving as a reminder of death). Only when Chiyuki had been ice skating had she seemed so entirely free, her eyes lit up with the familiarity of a gift loved and cherish and ripped away.
You didn't realize how much you longed to see her ice skate once more.
"I don't," came a soft voice from behind you, and you turned calmly, making eye contact with the woman who had just wandered in. "Ice skate, I mean." She took a few steps closer, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry. You probably don't want to deal with me, but I got bored, and I left the room, and then Clavis brought me..." She trailed off, looking around at all of the unfinished mannequins that she now stood in the middle of. "Here," she finished indecisively, finally looking back at you, but when you didn't reply, she nodded towards the figure you'd been silently admiring. "She...she looks like me," Akira noted uncertainly. "Who is she supposed to be?"
You hesitated. Is answering her question in her best interest? But you couldn't refuse those broken eyes. "She is you, in a sense."
Akira didn't quite frown, but no smile graced her lips, either. She seemed more confused than upset, although you weren't particularly skilled in recognizing subtle human emotions. Anger - you dealt with that a lot in rather venomous amount. Grief - that was another big one. Peace - far more rare, but still occasional.
But the smaller emotions - those were what escaped you. When people played the games you set up, as per Quindecim requirements, they expressed emotions clearly, without holding back. They had no one left to hold back for, no one else around to understand that a twitch of their brow indicated displeasure.
You'd known Chiyuki, though, so maybe your previous experience would carry over well.
"In what sense?" Akira asked, and you nodded, turning to face the various lifeless dolls.
"You are already aware that I am an arbiter, one who passes judgement on the souls of deceased humans," you stated, and briefly turned to her, waiting for any sign that she was not aware, but she gave none. Satisfied, you continued. "Judging a soul results in two options: if I deem the soul unworthy-"
"You send it to the Void," she finished for me, her voice considerably quieter than earlier.
You nodded. "You are correct. However, if the opposite is true - if I decide that the soul should return to Earth - then I send the soul back to be reincarnated into another human body."
"Like recycling," she said, looking away, and you considered her words.
"Perhaps it may seem that way."
"But..." You turned to see her looking at the ice skater once more. "In what sense is she me?"
How do I tell her? How do I say that the only reason you're here and not in an elevator is because you remind me of someone I used to know, someone who prompted me to feel human? Do I tell her at all, even? Finally, you decided on a fairly vague answer. "She is you, and she is not you. I will tell you when the time comes."
"What time?"
"Whenever I determine the time to be right."
She was quiet, but she nodded. She walked up to the mannequin and held her hand up so her fingers lined up like a mirror image, only she left a bit of space between them, as though she didn't deserve to touch the figure. After a moment, she put her hand down, letting it hang limply by her side. "I don't ice skate," she repeated, her voice soft.
"I know," you answered back automatically. You went to say, "I understand," but she wasn't finished.
"I don't ice skate, but I play the piano," she said, still staring blankly at the doll.
***
"I don't understand," she said, her eyes wide. "How did-"
Her muted astonishment was directly related to the event in which you'd brought Akira to an empty room and transformed the space into a stage with countless audience seats before summoning a grand piano under the spotlight and filling the chairs with mannequins.
"It's waiting for you," you replied instead, and she hesitated before moving towards the instrument.
She sat down gingerly on the bench, almost apologetic in nature, before turning towards the keys, which she stared at in wonder before lightly running her fingers over them - not loudly enough to make a sound, but enough so she could feel the ivory soaking into her fingertips.
After a few minutes of silence, she closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, and when she opened them, she began to play.