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As she rushes to the beach with a pair of scissors in her hand, this girl is convinced that she must be the most miserable person in the world.
Her weary eyes can't muster up the strength to shed even a tear any longer. The scissors' dull blades reaches for her hair. Then, without hesitation, without caution, without inhibition, she wildly cut off strands after strands. It, after all, is in the way. What shall be next? What else is meddlesome? Should it be the marine encyclopedia she always keep in her backpack? Or would discarding the still-burning heart of hers take higher priority?
Is she out of breath? Maybe, but that's a ridiculous question to ponder. Nothing feels real anymore. Not a single thing remains in her possession, or should remains in her possession. Everything that is not in service for the desired future which is stored in the test report shall be abandoned at the beach side for the Waves to carry away.
And she shall be much lighter, as though she is nothing at all. And she shall be happy, in equal amount as she is miserable.
At that moment, she lifts her head. The scene reflected in her hazel eyes snaps her out of the rage-induced mania.
Another girl is staring at her from beyond the barrier. Despite her face looking pretty young still, the girl is remarkably well-built. Her body is covered in intricate tattoos and dazzling golden chains. Fresh blood dripping from her fists already soaked the sand under: this girl must have been staring for quite a while now. Not only staring, but grinning as well. Or rather, straining into a grin.
Distracted from her own problems, the school girl recognises this Backstreet girl as a member of one of those crimes Syndicates that her teachers keep warning her about.
Thus, she waves and...smiles back. After all, it would be pretty rude not to smile back now, wouldn't it? Besides, that girl looks too miserable, even more miserable than her.
When she comes to, the strange girl has already gone. The only trace of her existence is the trail of fresh blood, smelling faintly of iron even from the other side of the barrier.
As she strolls along the beach with her blood-stained hands, this girl is convinced that she must be the happiest person in the world.
She's returning home from a particularly long and complicated chores. Warm blood still trickles down her fingertips. Yet, she cannot, for the life of her, remember who was the person it belonged to anymore. Surely, the name must still be resting inside her Book. The charge was...treason...probably, so that unfortunate person was likely a Sibling, but she can't strain her memory for anything further.
She must have thrown away her mind in a panic. Suddenly, it is impossible to recall her own name. Reality holds no meaning. Love is a synonym for negligence; justice means cruelty; and wisdom is about the same thing as folly. Reality removes her as a participant, or perhaps she herself had relinquished her role as an actor in reality.
She feels so light. As though the weight of reality had already left her be. Her happiness is as overabundant as a her misery.
At that moment, she lifts her head. The scene reflected in her brow eyes gradually pulls her into the embrace of reality.
Another girl is staring at her from beyond the barrier. She looks rather young. In fact, she is wearing one of those school uniform, complete with a leather backpack hanging over her frail shoulders.
Such unparalleled beauty. The Syndicate officer thinks to herself. And yet...
The girl is, or was, cutting her hair in a uncomprehensible fury. Strands after strands of ginger hair melt into the sunset. The Backstreet girl thinks of reaching out for them, but the stickiness between her fingers prevents her. Besides, the electrical buzzing of the transparent barrier is making her dizzy already. She can almost make out the threatening words it is murmuring in her ears. Joyful just a moment earlier, this Middle Sister suddenly becomes much more sullen.
Somehow, even when this fierce-looking Syndicate officer looking at her, the school girl's reactions express neither fear nor contempt. She is...smiling. More than that, she is waving.
Reality hits her one final strike in the head. It tases her just like this barrier did when she tried to climb over it back when she was five. It gives her a craving about as intense as the craving she got when trying on the blood-stained school uniform taken from under the pile of debris that was her target's wardrobe. It breaks her heart in even finer pieces than when she choked █████████ to death-
Her body strains under the weight of her Book of Vengeance. For a moment, she wishes desperately to be the one bleeding out instead. It would feel much lighter. Still, it would be pretty rude not to smile back now, wouldn't it?
When she comes to, the strange girl has already gone. The only trace of her existence is the brilliant strands of sunset that blinds her even amidst dreams.