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Sadako’s shadow is dark and stained with blood, memories, tears. She walks through the halls of the theatre with her eyes down and her hair like a shield around her, and then there is light. There is him. There is Toyama, and he is light and smiling and he looks at her like she is more than the creepy girl everyone thinks she is. He talks to her like she is a human being and not a ghost, and she finds that her shadow grows lighter and lighter until it is silver.
And then one day, everything falls apart, and she kills, and she kills, and there is phantom blood on her hands and there is dirty red blood in her hair and she feels like she is dying and Toyama is there, and he does not know – he cannot know – and they escape.
And then they are in the woods, and she is one with the trees but then she is there and they are two parts of a whole – more than soulmates, more than twins – and Toyama must be destroyed because he is light and brightness and beauty and she is not.
There are hands in their hair and they are not soft hands – they are not Toyama’s hands – and they are being pulled, pulled, pulled, and there is a voice in their ear but they cannot understand the words. Nothing makes sense now. There is no more Toyama; there is no more Sadako.
And then they are falling, falling, falling, and all that there is, all that there will be, is darkness.