Chapter Text
The room seemed to close in on Dazai with every passing minute. Elise flitted about with her usual frantic energy, her hands carefully placing each stuffed animal, adjusting each cushion with a precision that made his stomach turn. The soft pink of the room, the piles of plush creatures, the gentle hum of Elise’s voice—all of it created an atmosphere that was both disorienting and suffocating. But it was something else, too: a feeling of unease that clung to him like an unwanted shadow.
Dazai found himself standing in the center of the chaos, watching as Elise moved like a puppet master controlling an invisible thread. There was no joy in her actions, no genuine enjoyment of the decor she was crafting. Instead, it was as if she was assembling a facade—a perfect, comforting picture that concealed something far darker underneath.
It made him wonder about himself.
Is this really me?
Dazai had long since given up on understanding who he truly was. It wasn’t that he had no self-awareness. On the contrary, he had come to understand himself all too well. He was a man devoid of purpose, lost in the bitter void of his own existence. He had long ago accepted that he was little more than a tool, a plaything of his darker desires. And yet, even as he watched Elise, the gnawing feeling inside of him worsened.
He wasn’t just a tool anymore, was he?
He had always thought that he was beyond being manipulated, beyond being controlled. He had told himself that he had the power to move through life at his own pace, creating chaos on his own terms. But now, standing in the midst of this pink-tinted nightmare, a sudden thought gripped him. Is this really my life now?
He wasn’t sure.
Everything about this apartment—the absurdity of it, the suffocating, unnatural sweetness of it all—felt wrong. Mori’s influence was everywhere, inescapable. Every piece of furniture, every plush animal, even the soft pastel walls—all of it seemed to scream Mori’s presence, as if the very walls of this place were designed to trap him, to keep him tethered to this twisted family.
He glanced over at Elise, who was still moving about, placing objects with an almost obsessive precision. She didn’t look up at him, but something about the way she moved made Dazai’s skin crawl. It wasn’t just her movements that bothered him; it was the way she seemed to reflect Mori’s control.
She was an extension of him, a puppet, an obedient little thing. She did what Mori wanted without question, without hesitation, and Dazai was no different.
Dazai’s gaze lingered on her, and something inside him twisted. He saw it clearly now—her face was a mask, one of Mori’s making, a perfect replica of the manipulative tendencies that had always been there. He could see it now—the way her lips curled into a smile, so much like Mori’s, the way her eyes glinted with a coldness he couldn’t ignore.
And it struck him.
She’s not a child.
Dazai had always seen Elise as a harmless little brat, a spoiled girl with a twisted sense of playfulness, but now he saw something far darker. She wasn’t just Mori’s extension. She was Mori. In her movements, in her gaze, in the way she manipulated the world around her, he saw Mori’s fingerprints all over her.
It disturbed him in ways he couldn’t explain. How could he have been so blind? How could he have not noticed this before?
Does that make me like them?
A shudder ran down Dazai’s spine at the thought. He couldn’t help but look away from Elise, his eyes darting to the floor as he tried to quell the sick feeling rising in his stomach. There was something about this place, about Mori, about Elise, that made him feel like he was sinking into something far too deep for him to escape.
He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be part of this twisted family—this facade of a family, where everything was controlled, manipulated, and bent to Mori’s will.
He wasn’t even sure if he still had a will of his own.
The thought of Mori gripped him tighter than any physical restraint. He had always felt Mori’s gaze, even when Mori wasn’t present. He had always been aware of Mori’s influence, even when it was subtle. But now, standing in this room, surrounded by the suffocating pink frills and stuffed animals, Dazai realized just how deep Mori’s reach went.
Am I like them?
He tried to push the thought away, but it stuck with him like a splinter. The longer he stood there, watching Elise arrange her kingdom of plush toys, the more he realized that he wasn’t so different from her. He was just another puppet in Mori’s collection.
His chest tightened at the realization.
Elise, for all her childishness, was a reflection of Mori’s power. She was the embodiment of everything Dazai despised, everything that threatened to consume him. She was Mori’s tool—just as Dazai was, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
“Dazai!”
Elise’s voice rang out, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Come help me! You’re not doing anything.”
Dazai looked at her, but his gaze wasn’t the same. This wasn’t just some brat demanding attention. No. This was Mori’s influence in its purest form. This was Mori’s will being enacted in the smallest, most insidious of ways. Elise’s playful tone, her teasing, her constant demands—it was all just a reflection of Mori’s grip.
He was just like her.
He was just another extension of Mori’s will.
Dazai swallowed hard, trying to push the sickening realization away. His chest constricted with something foreign—something that felt almost like fear. Fear of what he was becoming. Fear of what he already was.
“Fine,”
he muttered, stepping forward with heavy steps.
“I’ll help.”
His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but inside, the turmoil was growing. He could feel his own identity slipping away, crumbling into dust with every step he took toward Elise. The more he helped, the more he moved the stuffed animals into place, the more he felt his humanity slipping through his fingers.
As he picked up another stuffed animal, his mind spiraled further. Am I really doing this?
It wasn’t that he was above helping Elise. It wasn’t that he cared about the decor. It was that everything he did in this room, in this apartment, felt like he was playing a part in someone else’s game. He wasn’t Dazai anymore. He was just another tool—another puppet in Mori’s family. And the more he realized it, the more the walls seemed to close in around him.
Was there any escape? Was there any way out of this? Or had he already sealed his fate the moment he walked into this room?
Looking at Elise, he no longer saw a child. He saw Mori. Not his ability, but him.
And worse, he realized that he wasn’t all that different.