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Crona stands on the moon with everyone else. They can feel madness prickling at the edges of their brain, digging little shreds into their mind as they fall apart.
They stare at Spirit and Maka.
"How are your wavelengths still matching!?"
"Because Maka and I are a parent and child."
There has been a hole in their chest for as long as they remember. It's a huge, gaping hole, and it quietly aches every moment of their existence.
Parent and child. They think back to Medusa. Their mother.
Their big, dark eyes study Maka and Spirit as the two stand there. Despite clearly having some grievances, they still seem to be in sync with each other, like they trust each other, like they feel safe with each other.
Crona has heard those kinds of sentiments before. About how people yell for their mothers in their dying moments, or how people in dangerous situations have their first thought be that they want their mom.
Crona has never had that. There has never been a single moment in Crona's life where they have ever thought 'I want my mom.'
They can feel their hands curling into fists, fingernails digging into their palms. That hole in their chest, that usually has an almost-unnoticeable ache, is fucking burning. The pain is enough to make them lightheaded. It feels like sparks are flying through their veins, and they're not sure if their eyes are blurring with sheer rage or with tears.
"It's not something that can simply cut because you want to," Spirit says about the bond between parent and child, jolting them out of their thoughts. He has such a calm, determined look on his face, like he believes he's completely correct.
Crona's lungs heave as their ribs cave in on them. Their hands come up to tug at their hair, fingers shaking, and they feel themselves hunch over a little in an attempt to contain the fiery agony within their abdominal cavity.
"I killed her," they choke out. "I don't want to hear that."
They see the shock on Spirit's face when he realises that they murdered their mother.
They turn their gaze down to their feet. They cannot bring themselves to look at Spirit and Maka anymore. The sight of them standing together like that only exacerbates the empty space around Crona, where nobody has stepped in to fill it, because that's the empty space where a parent should be.
Medusa never filled it. She may have brought Crona into the world, but all they ever felt around her was fear and discomfort. Even in the moments following her death, when she tried to touch them gently, all they felt was a visceral disgust, even though they had been fucking aching for a gentle touch for their entire fucking life.
"It's not fair," they find themselves mumbling through the agony in their chest that leaves them breathless. "She withheld that love from me forever. Why does everyone else get to have it?"
They don't see the way everyone else's faces fall. All they can feel is that burning hole inside them, ragged and sharp at the edges, which can never be filled.
They're not a person. Not really. They're just a hollow husk with nothing inside that's been manufactured to resemble a person. They could never count as a person. Their eyes fill with tears every time someone is even remotely kind to them.
They feel like some kind of fragile stray dog that's only ever been hit. Standing in the face of kindness and love and, god forbid, affection... nothing in the world has ever felt as vulnerable.
They can take pain. Pain is familiar. Pain has walked with them through every step of life. They're accustomed to it.
But gentleness is like salt in an already-infected wound. Gentleness makes them feel as though their skin has been peeled off and now someone is poking at the raw blood vessels and muscle beneath.
Maka tries to step towards them. She's clearly attempting to reach out to them, to try and offer them some of the kindness that they have been denied for their entire pathetic existence.
Their mouth twists as they bare their teeth and shrink back instinctively. Gentle hands are unfamiliar. Gentle hands feel so much scarier than violence.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, Crona," Maka says in a gentle voice. Crona feels their entire body shudder violently. Maka's brow furrows when she notices.
Crona takes another step back on instinct. Their heart is racing in their crushed chest, and their fingers tug at their own hair enough to make their scalp sting.
That's better. The pain is familiar. They understand pain.
"Crona, please," Maka says, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "I just wanna help you. I'm your friend, Crona."
The word makes Crona's eyes squeeze shut as their skin crawls.
"Stop it," they say, their voice coming out shakier than they wanted it to. "I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know how to deal with your kindness."
They say that a lot. They know they do.
But it's true.
They've never known how to deal with anything. The only thing they ever truly got accustomed to was violence and pain, and everything else is just so fucking complicated. Everyone finds them off-putting and creepy and repulsive. Touching them, showing them any affection at all, is a burdensome chore, and they'd rather just remain alone than beg someone to do something as disgusting as giving them a hug.
"Let me teach you how to deal with this," pleads Maka, creeping closer and closer. "We want to help you. We're your friends."
"I don't have any friends," Crona snaps back, trying to control their racing heart and shaky breathing. "Nobody wants to be my friend, and I don't wanna be around other people. They're all repulsed by me. I don't want them to be my friends out of pity."
Maka looks strangely hurt. "Is that what you think? That we're only your friends out of pity?"
Crona opens their eyes wider in an attempt to make out Maka's face through their tears. They can feel how violently they're shaking, and every single sentence in that horribly gentle tone makes shudders wrack through their body.
"I killed my mother," they choke out. "Nobody has ever loved me. I don't know what love is supposed to even feel like. I'm - I'm a hollow shell of a person. I'm barely a person at all."
Maka took their distraction as an opportunity to get closer and take their hands in hers. They jolt and instinctively try to pull back, but she holds on tighter.
"Crona, please," she says quietly, looking at them with such an earnest expression. "Please come back with us. We want you around. We want to help you."
Crona's eyes are already filled with tears. They can feel their face twisting as they try to fight back the urge to start sobbing.
They hesitantly wrap their hands around Maka's in return.