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It’s become a daily ritual, Allen looks at himself in the mirror and repeats the facts:
“My name is Allen Walker, I’m 16 years old, I was born—“ He doesn’t remember, he’s never remembered.
He blinks and continues, “ I am an exorcist and no matter what happens I will not stop walking forwards.”
He smiles at himself, satisfied, Nea’s lingering shadow no longer reflected there, looking over his shoulder.
And then he blinks.
“Allen Walker, 16, exorcist—“ he’s repeating the same mantra, but he doesn’t remember when he started.
How long has he been standing here? His head feels a little groggy, where was he before this?
His battle-worn fingers trace the old scar on his face, confused.
And then he blinks.
When Allen wakes up he’s on his bed with no recollection of falling asleep there.
He remembers his dream though, he remembers laughing and racing through fields of corn with Mana when they were both children and--
No, wait, that wasn’t him.
Confusion and fear flash though him – that wasn’t him, it wasn’t him – he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and dashes to the cracked bathroom mirror; his face stares back at him, perhaps a little sweaty and a little more tired than when he last saw it, but no less his own.
He bends down to turn the creaky old taps on and splashes his face with cold water. He looks back at himself, white knuckles gripping the edges of the sink.
“My name is Allen walker, I am an exorcist,” he repeats to himself, the same lines he’s repeated every day for weeks.
“I’m not a noah, I’m not Nea, I am myself!” he confirms, “I will always be myself!” He says it almost as a challenge, daring anyone to contradict him, but the room is empty.
He breathes a sigh of relief,
And then.. he blinks.
“My name is Allen W—“ I pause, “well, it was.”
It’s never easy killing someone you love.
I look in the cracked mirror, my fingers ghosting over the old scar and Allen’s face frowns at me in response.
Then he smiles, it’s a sad smile.
I think it suits him.
Me.
This is me now.
I’ll have to get used to that..