Work Text:
Angie is fluent in the language of the shadows.
They dance in different ways, yes. A shadow on Rantaro's collarbone is different from the shadow of Kaede's cheekbone. The shadow behind Kurumi's eyes is different from the shadow over Ryoma's hands.
But she knows the shadows.
She molds the wax, sculpting, breathing life into inanimate objects. Such is the way of the Ultimate Artist. She is fluent in the way of the shadows, and the shadows shall obey her.
Atua commands it, after all.
She finishes Rantaro's hair and steps back to admire her work with a flourish. He looks just as he did in real life, an expression of distrust forever frozen on his face.
But the shadows aren't quite right.
She shakes it off, moving on to Ryoma. It could just be a trick of the light. Atua and the shadows have never let her down.
She sculpts his wrists - old scars there, the skin worn raw from handcuffs. She sculpts his hands - calloused from years of tennis and years of prison.
But the shadows are all wrong.
She can't shake it off quite as well as she could before, but she manages to banish it from her mind nonetheless. Atua would tell her if something was wrong, right? Atua would tell her if her creations weren't right.
She does believe in Atua. Atua will save her.
Kurumi's effigy looks just as poised and perfect as it did when she was alive, and Angie manages to feel moderately impressed. A killer - rabid in her final moments, eyes wide and mouth opened in a horrifying scream of desperation - now preserved forever in a state of serenity. It's a small gift to her memory, at least.
But the shadows behind her eyes aren't real.
Angie sculpts Kaede last, trying not to think about it.
She fails.
At every turn, the shadows are wrong. The chiaroscuro of life that gave them their spark - this is missing from these wax effigies.
No matter.
Atua will give them life.
She leaves her tools on the floor, seeking out a candle. The candle will perfect the shadows, creating dips and subtle changes that can't be fully reached with the bright lights of her studio.
The center door.
She clasps her hands together, silently thanking Atua. The center is perfect. A median that Angie can't help but love.
She pulls open the door, humming a long-forgotten melody to herself. After this, the shadows will be perfect.
Korekiyo stands in the center of the room, a saw in his grasp and madness in his gaze. Angie takes it all in - the shadows revealing madness in his gaze, the white-knuckled grip on the weapon - and opens her mouth to scream.
Her scream is cut off by shadows mottling her vision, turning the world black as she collapses. It's cold and terrifying, and for the first time, Angie is forced to consider that perhaps she can't control shadows at all.
Ah, then. That's why the shadows were all wrong.
Angie has failed the shadows, failed Atua, and now she must pay the price.