Chapter Text
When she spaced out, Kuroi had a tendency to look out the window.
Or, just directly at the sky, really.
The approaching summer brought heat, heat meant sweat and exhaustion so here she was, seated in a library.
Hunched over a table, face lazily resting against her palm. Absentmindedly playing with a pencil in her other hand, for they can’t be still for too long. Sprawled all around in front of her were stacks of books, her studies and notes. For a profession not out of passion, but out of necessity, out of some sort of sense of pride and independence.
Today was a little different. The window depicted a group of students older than her. They crowded someone that she vaguely recognized, their name getting tossed around too closely with the words ‘prodigy’ and ‘genius.’ Some of them were smiling, some were clapping, congratulating a friend of their success.
Kuroi didn’t remember the details, but she felt something at that time.
Jealousy wasn’t it, she thinks. Kuroi doesn’t deem herself the person to hold a grudge for too long. Sure, there was the occasional bad day that caused her to be more snappy than usual, but she was raised to hold patience as a strong virtue.
Neither did she feel happy, Kuroi felt more confused. Confused on how many students her age knew of their futures being set in stone. How they were so confident in it. Their eyes sparkled with conviction, they eagerly spoke about their interests, heavily correlating with their chosen careers.
It’s..
A habitual sigh emits from her.
Aimless, like throwing darts with your eyes closed, or walking through a forest seeing the same pattern of trees and fallen leaves.
Kuroi’s eyes fall back to the sky.
There’s no clouds today.
The clouds are still, yet the sun was present.
Summer.
Such a wonderful season.
Kuroi loved it, she loved it very dearly.
A light breeze softly brushes against the very pinpricks of her skin as she walks. She envisions the gentle touch of a flower living with its brethren through a wide path between neatly trimmed bushes. She imagines herself running, running, under the sun. She’s beaming, and it matches with the daylight. Her hand twitches, habitually. The phantom touch of the smooth petals still never quite subsided.
Was it any wonder that most would associate it with the likes of vacations and resorts?
And then when the sky starts to dim, what was once the presence of the sun is replaced by the dense cluster of clouds. It made the star falter for a moment, temporarily obscured enough to appreciate directly gazing up at the sky. No longer was the latter a bright blue. It’s blanketed by a soft layer of fluffy clouds. Sometimes a very light gray, sometimes it threatened to rain. The former was always nicer, despite the incoming threat of mosquitoes and impatient pedestrians bustling in streets.
But the gloomy atmosphere never gets to her.
Because Kuroi also loved cloudy weather as much as the sunny weather.
Merely staying inside, brushing dust off the floor, looking out the window. It felt nice—nostalgic even—for something that never was.
Kuroi thinks of the underbelly of a whale shark. Their bright pigment, dots scattered across their coarse, gray, back like stars. She thinks about how big of a shadow they cast on those who would walk by. She remembers a deep dark blue that pools to the center of the room, patterns—a honeycomb-like pattern that casted over glass from artificial lights.
Kuroi absentmindedly wipes at her face. Her hand suddenly felt damp.
Jolting, she’s quick to investigate. Perhaps some of the sea foam got to her?
She–
She doesn’t know why she’s crying.
She should be happy, right?
Kuroi focuses, suddenly brought back to the Earth. Like a snap of fingers in front of her. How long has she spaced out? What time is it?
It didn’t even feel like she was standing up, she barely even noticed herself doing so. She was really doing this the whole time? Her legs don’t feel like jelly—or is she just numb?—from doing nothing. Her hands twitch as she is brought to her senses, aching to do something yet unsure of where to start.
She’s at the beach. Right.. Right! Of course she should be. Why else would she be thinking about the sun?
“Kuroi?” A gentle voice rings in her ears.
Kuroi turns to her left, snapped to attention upon hearing her name, and the familiarity of the source of the call. “Rik–”
In front of her was–
Dark hair, unbraided, way longer than Kuroi remembered.
A polite disposition, different from the outspoken, lively little girl who Kuroi knew for 14 years.
Deep, blue eyes, to which they say is the gateway to the soul. Empty eyes, paired with the blue almost felt like an abyss meant to swallow sea vessels whole.
Stitches, from an injury of some sort. It starts from the sides from the bullet wounds, crowning the forehead like a halo.
Her daughter’s face, paired with a patient smile, a cruel sneer hidden underneath.
Ah..
What should have been the sun behind their backs is nothing more than the illusion of a domain, the beach felt real. The sky feels real, the waves feel real. Even if it was for a moment.
What is, sounds, looks like what her daughter is, should have been. It can copy her smile, her laugh, all the little details it was capable of matching just from cherry-picking her memories. If it really tried, it could suddenly have the ability to become a perfect–no, demented image of her daughter.
Because he’s not her daughter.
He’s not real.
He never will be.
“Were you listening, Kuroi?” Kenjaku asks, his voice cold and uncaring, yet accompanied with a softness that Kuroi would always recognize, for it would always keep the caretaker alive and alert. There’s an impatient undertone underneath. All from a voice that should not belong to him.
Kuroi was tempted to form some sort of witty remark. Anything. For it’s usually all she can do. Instead, she replies. Like the fool she is, like she always will be.
“No.” She answers, averting eye contact.
Kuroi receives a patronizing eye-roll from the other. She didn’t even have to look at him to know.
“Ah, never the matter.” A dismissive wave, as if Kenjaku is trying to shoo her away. As if she was never worth his time in the first place. “You will figure it out in due time.”
Well, no need to ask her twice on leaving.
Kuroi runs off before she could hear anything else come out of his mouth. She won’t even bother hearing what that patchwork curse had to say to her. And Kenjaku doesn’t stop her, confident of her imminent return. He moved slowly, calculated, and Kuroi knew that it was merely a puppeteer proudly presenting her daughter under strings.
He waves a dramatic goodbye to her, as if they were both put on a stage. Kuroi doesn’t indulge, doesn’t look back.
Kuroi is used to the lack of sound.
When she travels using the bus, there’s some sort of isolating atmosphere, especially when she looks at other people trying to get by. Some were on their phones, some were trying their hardest not to fall asleep, and there was one middle-aged man that was knocked out cold in the very back. Everyone else was in their own little world, trying to make it in life.
Kuroi believed this was a moment of respite, despite how draining it felt.
It beats the patchwork curse trying to beat at her feelings while she was down. Laughing at her expense, at her misery and desperation.
It beats having to pray for the off-chance she would have to fight some sort of awful monstrosity bearing one of Sukuna’s fingers. She doesn’t think she would stand a chance against a finger-bearer, but hell, she refused to go down without a fight.
It beats having to see that monster wearing her daughter’s face once more. Kuroi hated thinking about it. Dreading the night she goes to sleep and waking up knowing she can’t see her baby walk off the door to school anymore.
Kuroi covers her mouth, a wave of isolation enveloping her form as she wept as quietly as she could.
Kenjaku doesn’t look surprised in the slightest, when she steps foot back into the fake sand. Didn’t even have to know who it was. Doesn’t even look at her. Giving her a condescending nod of acknowledgement when he felt the presence of Sukuna’s finger in her shaky hands. No ‘thank yous’, no gratitude, not even a hello.
She briefly looks up. The clouds haven’t shifted since she left, befitting of a false sky.
Kuroi is back to square one.
Kuroi’s been to a butterfly house before.
It’s a pretty place, magical in the eyes of a little girl like she was. The glass dome reflected a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors, both from the various arrangements of flowers, and the butterflies themselves, who came in all sorts of shapes, sizes, and even wilder colors than the very things they gathered food from.
It's a wonderful display of a forest, like she stepped into a realm of fairies.
Distracted by the sight, she continued to look up at the beautiful display around her.
She remembers her parents grabbing her attention, pointing at a large butterfly who settled at her finger.
It’s a very light brown, almost opposite to her hair. It’s decorated with white spots that reminded Kuroi of stars that already settled during dusk. A white band decorates the center of its wings, it’s like a brushstroke, faded paint settling in on the canvas.
The butterfly sets off to join its brethren in the skies.
When she got home, Kuroi learned more about the curious little creatures. A small thing to latch on to, indicative of the wondrous curiosity of a child.
She discovers how they eat, how they sleep, how they spend their lives before they sprout their wings. How delicate their wings were, how big some could get, where they could live.
Lastly, she reads about their life cycle, the excruciating process from caterpillar to butterfly.
How a caterpillar’s form melts inside of the cocoon, dissolving before they take on a new one, sprouting new wings that were developed during their time inside. It sounded like a painful way to go, discarding your old body to become anew.
It horrified Kuroi, made her think if the transformation was even worth it.
Does the caterpillar feel any regret?
Is it aware of its fate once it took a nap inside its cocoon?
Did they even have their former memories?
Do they remember the pain?
But that’s not what stuck with her.
It was like the old body was never even there in the first place.
Shibuya had its share of bad weather before.
It rained, it poured, and if there’s thunder, there is thunder. Nature simply integrates itself with humans and what they offer. It was always there, however, so it could have been the other way around. It's something Kuroi enjoyed thinking about. Such a common part of life never stopped anyone from going to work.
She even recalled that incident, with the blackout that spread all across the electrical grid. Kuroi remembered initially being freaked out by it, but it was a part of her job to always improvise and have the right tools. There was no need to ask questions when she saw a new sorcerer and their electrifying presence accompanying the patchwork curse the next time she saw Kenjaku.
Hell, when it snows, it’s never that bad. Only a thin layer of dust clouded the floors and it would barely be a problem a few days from now.
And from that, she could say that nothing could possibly compare to the aftermath of the blizzard—or perhaps more than that, that ravaged the poor hideout. To the point where she wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed in the middle of summer.
Kuroi barely got to know the place before the new sorcerer incarnated, but she wouldn’t say she didn’t feel sorry for it. Is it any wonder that she would dislike being in the same room as Kenjaku and his bunch of misfits that were on a spectrum of horrifying or desperate? Is it any wonder that she’s made it this far and still didn’t make the decision to run?
When the storm that might as well be compared to more than a natural disaster, had a sorcerer reborn in the wake of their hideout, Kuroi was apprehensive.
As soon as it started, Kuroi felt her heart drop. An unfortunate soul saying their prayers before they finish their plummet from a fall. Her hands were numb, her legs were numb, and if it went any longer she might have even dropped dead. It was miraculous that she even survived the beginning, where the abrupt shift was enough to make her lightheaded.
Just from the feel of their cursed energy, the sudden surge of frostbite in the air in the midst of a summer day, anyone would have considered this part of Shibuya a lost cause.
It’s unrelenting, it stopped for no one. They were all at the summit at the mountain, on the verge of freezing over. Too late to turn back, not when they can almost touch the sky.
They were confused, on-guard, and whatever they last saw before whatever happened to them, it must have not been very pleasant.
But..
“In fact,” Kenjaku tells the new addition, who likely didn’t want to be here anymore than Kuroi did. “If your memory is blurry, I can give you a refresher…”
It wasn’t until she was six that her daughter Riko spoke to her.
Whenever Kuroi tells her about it, especially around the time she entered junior high, Riko just tilts and scratches her head, unable to recall.
It was at an age where she should have started making happy memories. Should have been going outside and playing with other kids her age. It was supposed to be. Instead she stumbled along, lost and confused. New to the world, a world where she won’t be able to have much time to get accustomed to.
Instead it was an imaginary tug of war, a brass scale attempting to stabilize both of its ends, attempting to see what would work and what didn’t. Kuroi could only connect it all like a puzzle piece because Riko didn’t know how to vocalize what was in her head. Both of them found each other, given to one another and they could only sit there at first, both at home, yet unsure of how to understand each other.
Or perhaps she did know how to talk, perhaps her parents managed to teach her the basics already and Kuroi didn’t know. So she improvised, she made sure to write little mental notes to understand what Riko did and didn’t like.
Riko tended to stare at her while she was cooking, and it took a while for Kuroi to learn her tastes and the food she would push aside. Sometimes her eyes sparkled at the smell of a meal one day, and then on another day she refuses to eat, having Kuroi be the one to whip up something else. Sometimes Riko snuck in the living room, searching for snacks while she thought Kuroi was asleep. Without fail, it was never the same snack in a row. Always something new, and each time, Kuroi kept her eyes closed.
For who was she to be mad at a child who was denied even the courtesy of choosing who they wanted to be?
Riko hated the dark, she started shaking her head furiously when Kuroi’s hand hovered near the light switch. So the next day, Kuroi managed to surprise her with night lights. Not the stars, Kuroi didn’t want the stars. Just the lantern ones that rotated with the cute and colorful little animals in them, bright enough to illuminate a big portion of her room. She loved seeing animals ever since, even if they were depicted in pictures from old zoo pamphlets or as charming little characters in tv shows. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and that’s how Kuroi could tell.
And of course, Riko struggled to let go of her hand when she first entered her care.
How could Kuroi even blame her? She lost both of her parents and had nowhere else to go but to her appointed new guardian. Immediately after a rainless funeral, she was told that she was special, going to achieve great things, putting pressure on a child who could barely process what was going on. It took everything within Kuroi not to reprimand sorcerers who were said to be way higher in rank than a silly little caretaker could ever achieve.
And finally,
Riko hated being alone, and she also hated being forgotten, but being forgotten and being alone could almost go hand-in-hand. Her greatest fears. To be alone is to have no one there, to be forgotten is to have no one remember you. And no child should be having these thoughts at such a young age. No child should feel any pressure to sacrifice themselves for someone else.
It was a night just like any other, after she blew out her candles from her birthday cake. Kuroi had to tuck her in after tiring herself out from the eating and activities Kuroi tried to set up for her. (If video games and arts and crafts counted.) Her night light was already set up and Kuroi was prepared to leave after Riko went lax.
It was a small sound, a bit raspy and clumsy. But Kuroi could hear it, from the dead silence of the room.
Her first word uttered to Kuroi was–
“Stay.”
Kuroi blinks back tears, once again suddenly brought back to reality, failing to mask her own sobs.
A disposable tool, meant to take out life. To be a symbol of fear and authority until the blade dulled from overuse. A heart meant to be frozen over until it was nothing more than a puppet.
But Uraume is not like that.
They aren’t some force of nature or cold, apathetic, and ruthless weapon that their father forcefully sharpened them up to believe.
They are a wife. Freed from the shackles of their father, settling in a place they could call home. The ice thawed out, carefully settling in the warm hands that guided them to a new life, without to incapacitate, without to kill, but to truly, live.
They were a mother. They loved and cared for two special little persons that they would want more than anything to see grow up. How beautiful it felt, that a weapon, originally a tool used for death, to be able to give life? To guide it and to cultivate it? A knife, not for cutting down the innocent, but to draw little patterns in the ice and snow? To protect instead of kill?
And they are lost and alone, in a world that no longer remembers them.
Within the glassy sheets of ice, Kuroi saw herself staring back.
Because how else is she supposed to treat a mother with nothing left? How else is she supposed to treat a grieving mother who is trying to save scraps of what they once had?
Without thinking, she could only apologize, offer sympathy for this awful, unfair world. Kuroi knew it, and deep down Uraume knew it. Their heart is bleeding, and it’s crying .
“Don’t touch me.” Uraume commands her sharply. They don’t even look her way. “Get in my way, and I’ll eat you alive.”
Kuroi bit back the urge to say anything else, whether it would be a consolation or if it’s a case of heeding the warning didn’t matter.
In spite of the initial aversion to the cold, the warning bells that should have chimed when the ice piled up, she could only walk closer.