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Everything and everyone reminds you of her, even in this Grassley House shithole.
And the news reminds you of everyone who looked up to her and loved her, thinking of her as their hero.
Yet again, their lives prove to be less important than that of Spacian scum as those bastards wreak havoc and kill god knows how many Earthians in the process.
Her.
The minute you get out of here, you’re going to avenge her and everyone back in Earth.
You swear. You swear. You swear.
He’ll never be her.
Even as he holds you close and intertwines his fingers with yours,
You’re only reminded of the time she did these things with you.
His hands are soft, even softer than yours—a stark reminder of how much better he has it than you, despite the abuse and the trauma he’s gone through by being the unwilling knock-off of that Peil guy.
Hers were calloused—a norm for the average, not to mention orphaned Earthian, but they warmed every part of you.
You loved it that way.
You loved her, or perhaps you still do.
And you know she loved you, too.
Even as she pined for and clung onto that Mercurian witch, you never once felt as if she loved you any less.
She had so much love to give.
And this guy... does he even know what love is?
Die. Die. Die.
Everything you do is for her.
Everything you destroy.
Everyone you kill in the process.
Each and every one of them, all for her.
You could blow the whole Front to pieces, and it’d still be nothing compared to decades of oppression, wars-for-profit, and genocides caused by Spacians.
If she were here with you she’d be right by your side, supporting you and killing them all with you.
But he tries to stop you.
He wants you to stop fulfilling your only purpose in life.
…
He really will never be her.
And he tells you that you aren’t her, either.
Even as he declares he wants to live a life with you.
That he’ll be by your side.
Tells you to bring him to the places in your drawings.
It’s her in your mind, and it’s her in your heart.
But it’s him by your side.
It’s him, right in front of you, pleading for you to stop and pouring his heart out.
He’ll never be her.
But she isn’t here anymore.
And maybe, just maybe, he can make you feel even just half of how you felt when she was still alive.
You stop.
Tell him he’s stupid, because he is; although that doesn’t make you any less willing to be with him,
And after all this time, you realise that you’ve never asked him what his real name was.
You’ll make sure to ask hi—