Chapter Text
A Sunrise
He had never seen a sunrise before, but a strong desire to witness it urged him to ask his dear mother that day.
The question briefly puzzled his mother; it was a short moment before she calmly responded. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice the small drops of sweat forming on the woman after his question.
—My son, you know that won’t be possible.
—Mom, why can’t I go outside?
The atmosphere grew tense, and not a sound could be heard, despite the number of people living on the estate. His mother seemed to be thinking carefully about her response, and just as she was about to open her mouth, something interrupted them outside the cell.
His aunt's sharp voice broke the uncomfortable silence; he knew what it meant. Every day, since he could remember, his mother would spend a certain amount of time with him. He loved it. His mother would often talk to him about how beautiful the stars were, and he couldn’t help but feel sad every time one of his family’s women came to take her away.
She gave him a kiss on the forehead, followed by a hug, and with nothing more to do, she left the place. Once again, the solitude of the cell called to him, and he never stopped wondering why he couldn’t leave.
However, one day, everything changed...
He had just turned twelve. He considered himself an innocent being, always seeking to make his aunts smile by being obedient.
That changed when blood began pouring from his mouth in large amounts. He screamed and screamed, but no one helped him. His mother wasn’t cutting him; she was just watching from a corner, with those judgmental turquoise eyes and a look of total disgust. He pleaded for help from one of his cousins with his eyes. His eyes couldn’t have expressed better what was happening within him: Fear, terror, disgust, betrayal, pain. But his cousin didn’t help, nor did his cousins, nor his sisters, nor his aunts, not even his beloved mother.
His vision was blurry, his mouth hurt like hell, his head was throbbing, and his throat burned from all the screaming, yet no pain was greater than the one in his heart.
Mom didn’t come that night, nor the next, nor the one after that. When he was younger and would receive certain mistreatments from his cousins and sisters, he used to let it go. After all, family comes first, right?
But now, now that he knew the truth, now that the pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together and make sense, like why they forced him to eat more food than usual, even when he was vomiting from the disgust the oil in the food caused him, or why they never cut his long hair.
He was scared; his days were numbered from this moment on. He didn’t want to die without seeing what he longed for so much. He wanted to live just a little longer, to be as free as the birds in the books his family allowed him to read. He sought freedom.
He looked at his small hands, and in them was a hairpin he had stolen before they made him return to the cell. His body acted on its own, and before he realized it, he had lowered his gaze, and the first thing that appeared before his eyes were his hands repeatedly carving one of the wooden lattice slats of the cell.
He repeated the process every day for two weeks. His body was so weak that he felt like his hands were breaking, his pulse was starting to rise, and his body was sweating. His eyes constantly watched the door where they always entered to leave his food. The anxiety was killing him. He was so scared they would catch him trying to escape. He wanted to live, live like a normal child.
His nights had been terrifying before, but now they were disturbing.
The darkness once again invaded the cell, which for Obanai meant it was time to sleep. That night, he also waited for his mother's arrival. There was a sliver of hope to see her again, but once more, she never appeared, and the night finally enveloped him in its raw and unsettling song.
Three weeks had passed since his plan had been set in motion. He was carving the lattice without rest. His hands hurt so much that he wouldn’t be surprised if he had a broken bone. Obanai was tired, tired of being so weak and foolish, foolish to think that a weak child like him could escape his own house, a child like him who didn’t even have strength.
Tears stained his soft skin, and it was only a matter of time before his vision also became blurry from so much liquid. He dropped the hairpin from his trembling hands and curled up in one of the corners of the cell. He cried, he cried his heart out. He would die without living life. His efforts to escape were in vain, and his strength was dwindling as the days passed.
Then he heard a very faint noise, but since Obanai was used to silence, he managed to hear it clearly. Through the small gaps in his cell, a small albino creature was entering. His first reaction was to rise from the corner where he had been curled up.
Fear and dread.
Fear and dread were what he felt. The creature was so similar to the serpent demon that, for a moment, he felt the blood running from his mouth. It made him feel afraid.
This didn’t last long because when his eyes finally started to see clearly and he was able to look closely at the creature just a few centimeters from him, what he felt was pity.
Pity at seeing the tears flowing from its small reddish eyes, along with some not-too-serious wounds. He realized that whatever this creature was, it was as weak as he was.
The creature began to approach slowly, taking precautions. All Obanai could do was retreat a few steps further back. The creature tilted its head to one side, and a confused Obanai mimicked the action. Then the creature tilted its head to the other side, and Obanai repeated the action again. After a few more repetitions, the creature advanced with every intention of finding warmth in the other unknown creature before it. At that moment, the voice of the long-haired creature stopped it.
Don’t come here.
A strong determination filled his heterochromatic eyes.
You are small, and you can leave and enter the cell. You must go, or you won’t be happy.
Tears flooded his eyes, and his legs betrayed him. As he fell to the floor, he curled up again. His gaze never left the eyes of the other being.
Please, don’t stay.
He said before closing his eyes tightly.
There is only suffering here.
And the tears began to flow again.
The creature began to move its small body, this time toward the other figure. It passed by the boy’s legs and briefly touched his arm with its head. The boy looked up, and as silence reigned in the cell, he quietly took hold of the creature with both hands and... embraced it.
An embrace that brought warmth in the cold of the cell. Both creatures cried; neither of them knew exactly what the other was, but in that embrace, they saw light in the midst of darkness, and that was enough because, for the first time, he felt alive.
As days passed, he discovered what the creature that had given him warmth was. The creature was a snake, an albino corn snake to be exact. He found this out through one of the many books he was allowed to read. In one of those same books, Obanai discovered what a sunrise was. Just imagining it made him feel good; he wanted to see one for himself. And now that he wasn’t fighting only for his freedom but also for that of his snake friend, he would not give up. He would be free, no matter the cost.
But he had to be quick; his days were ending faster, and he was beginning to feel scared. Despite his great determination, he couldn’t help but think of a fate other than escape, and just thinking about it made him feel the taste of metal invading his mouth again.
Lately, he had been quite noisy, playing with his friend all the time except for the moments when he was carving the lattice of his cell. During those times, the snake provided unconditional support, clinging to the hand that repeatedly carved.
That morning, their games were interrupted when his cousin made her daily visit to mock him. As soon as he heard the noise of someone coming, he grabbed the snake as quickly as he could and hid it under his futon. Despite how fast he reacted, it wasn’t enough. His cousin already suspected something was going on, and his damn reaction gave him away.
She approached the cell so quickly that, for a moment, he thought the bars would come loose.
—What did you just hide?
Show me!
She demanded.
—No! I'm not hiding anything!
He lied, lied to save his friend, but he was so pure that, for the second time, his reaction betrayed him.
A conflict arose between them, with lots of shouting from his cousin. No matter how much she demanded to see what he was hiding, he wouldn’t show her. Obanai could endure all her abuse for disobeying, but what he couldn’t bear would be the loss of his only friend, his first friend, and his best friend.
The shrill screams of the spoiled brat caught the attention of the women of the estate, among whom one stood out.
Yune was her name; she was the eldest of his four sisters and, of course, Obanai’s older sister.
She was currently eighteen years old, so she already had several roles within her clan, including the care of Obanai. Since she was in charge of Obanai's care, she also had the keys that opened the cell. She was calmly doing a few tasks assigned to her that morning when a certain cluster of women caught her attention. She approached with curiosity, and as she arrived at the scene, she deduced what was happening. Without waiting another second, leaving even her cousins and aunts mid-sentence, she walked towards her brother’s cell, and once there, she asked.
—Sadako, what’s going on?
She asked calmly, with a fake smile covering her entire face.
—Obanai is hiding something under his futon. I told him to lift the futon, and he started throwing his things at me. He also scratched my hands when I tried to get close, and if that wasn't enough, he made fun of me.
Sadako said, pretending to cry.
—Nee-san, don’t believe her,
that’s not true, I didn’t do anything that Sadako said.
This time, it was Obanai who spoke.
She knew that what her brother was saying was true; she was well aware of the tone Sadako used when she lied, and she was using it now. But she put herself in her place, thought about how much she had been suffering this past month, how much everyone had been suffering since Katsumi's death. Sometimes she felt compassion for Obanai, but now, after he was blamed for his sister's death, she couldn’t help but feel nothing but hatred. Without waiting for more explanations, she took out the key to the cell.
She saw the noticeable glint of mischief in Sadako's eyes as she pulled the key out to open the cell. As soon as it was open, she entered and headed towards the futon. What happened next surprised her: she was shocked when Obanai threw himself on the futon to prevent her from opening it. What could he be hiding to act like that? She pulled his hair back, knowing that pain always made everything easier.
Within minutes, they had him off the futon, and she held him firmly so he couldn’t escape while Sadako took care of the futon.
When they opened it, they found absolutely nothing, nothing except for a few dried bloodstains in the middle of the futon, probably from his last violation; maybe they didn’t clean it well, or the man was too rough.
Yune and Sadako were confused. They couldn’t believe Obanai was acting this way over a few bloodstains. Then she saw the other girl point at Obanai, saying, "He hid it in his kimono."
She quickly grabbed Obanai again, not remembering when she had let him go.
—No! Stop! Leave it alone!
—Please, I’m begging you, tears started to leak from his eyes.
—It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me! Don’t hurt it! It doesn’t deserve this! Obanai was now the one shouting.
—Enough! A new voice made its presence known.
The room fell silent, Obanai stopped shouting, Sadako stopped pulling his hair, and Yune spoke for the rest of them.
—Mother, I apologize for the commotion, Yune said, making a small bow. I had the situation under control.
But Honoka didn’t even turn to look at her; her eyes were fixed on Obanai. She looked truly terrible, with dark circles that almost reached her nose, and her usual braid was gone, replaced by loose, messy, and neglected hair. She was definitely the one suffering the most after the death of her second daughter.
—Hand over the animal, she demanded in a tone even more authoritative than the other two girls present.
—Mom, please don’t do this, Obanai pleaded, tears welling up in his mismatched eyes.
—Hand over the animal, she repeated, her gaze judging him as always, those turquoise eyes filled with nothing but hatred.
The red lights in Obanai's mind started flashing, a sign that he should comply with the order before it was too late and he regretted it.
He opened his kimono slightly and, with trembling hands, carefully took hold of his friend. He lifted it and handed it to his mother as more tears began to fall from his eyes.
—Very well, the show is over. Everyone, return to your responsibilities.
—Sadako, take the animal outside.
—Yune, clean the futon of this animal, Honoka ordered.
—Yes, Aunt, Sadako nodded.
—Yes, Mother, Yune nodded.
Yune began cleaning the futon. They could easily give him another one, but if their mother hadn’t mentioned it, it was because she wanted this for him.
—Why didn’t you say anything about the futon being stained? Yune whispered softly to Obanai.
—I was scared they would hit me. If I told them, they’d beat me the moment they found out, and if I didn’t, maybe I’d avoid that beating for a while, Obanai recited, also in a whisper.
Yune said something, but he couldn’t hear it, and he didn’t really care; something more interesting had caught his attention.
His mother.
Honoka was retreating to return to her room and face her grief once more. But before she could leave, five words stopped her.
—Mother, why do you hate me? Obanai asked innocently.
Obanai’s mother froze. She knew her behavior towards the boy had changed drastically. But how could it not? This demon child was responsible for the death of her beloved daughter.
The memory of Katsumi flooded her mind. Such a beautiful girl, only months away from turning sixteen—sweet, joyful, outstanding in everything she did. Her death left a huge void in the clan and immense hatred towards the one responsible for her death.
Obanai was a constant reminder of Katsumi’s death, which is why she had stopped her daily visits to the cell. Her behavior changed because of the hatred that grew inside her, after all, Obanai wasn’t her son; he was just a sacrifice.
For a moment, she had forgotten, and as a result, her daughter died. The memories faded, leaving only anger.
Honoka walked back to the cell once more, and Obanai looked at her with such innocence that it only fueled her rage.
—M-Mom, what are you—
He couldn’t finish the sentence because at that moment, Honoka grabbed him by the hair and threw him into one of the corners of the cell. Obanai tried to get up, but she didn’t give him the chance. His mother started hitting him over and over, relentlessly. It didn’t take long before blood began to seep from his nose, yet his mother didn’t stop. Yune did nothing to help; she just kept cleaning the futon as if nothing were happening, while her mother unleashed all her fury on him until she was exhausted.
This time, no one cleaned him up. They left him there, lying on the floor. His mother and Yune had left, as had his friend. All his hopes of escaping disappeared. Now, covered in wounds and blood, he was even weaker, and therefore, he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, escape. Maybe, just maybe, death wouldn’t be such a bad option?
He began to cry again. Deep down, he didn’t want to die. He wondered if perhaps, if he had been born a girl, everything would be different.
For a sunrise—his last wish was to see the sunrise.
A noise brought him back to reality, and what he saw left him bewildered.
A white snake with reddish eyes.
His joy showed through his smile, but it didn’t last long before it vanished.
—Why did you come back, you fool?! he shouted at his friend.
The snake lifted its head, confused. Seeing Obanai’s tears and all the dried blood stuck to his nose, it knew something terrible had happened, and sadly, it hadn’t been there to console him.
Not knowing what to do, it looked around and noticed a book open at Obanai’s feet, with a drawing of a beautiful, colorful sunrise on its pages.
It knew what to do immediately. It slithered over the drawing, raised its head again, and tilted it to one side. Obanai looked at it and slowly lifted his friend’s body.
For a sunrise.
He promised himself he would admire a sunrise on his own, not in a drawing, not through the words of others. On his own.
He grabbed his snake and placed it on his shoulders, walked to the cell’s lattice, and with the hairpin in hand, without waiting any longer, began to carve.
Carve, carve, and carve.