Chapter Text
Throughout the first eleven years of your life, it was always just you and your father. Just the two of you, and the dim light of your bedroom.
As you grew up, you never had many friends. Your severe skin condition made it hard to run around and play with the other kids.
You were kind of close to the girls next door, though. They played with hairless dolls and ripped plushies, and since it didn’t demand much physical effort, you could play along with them.
One day, you came home furious after spending the afternoon at their place — slamming doors and stomping around as hard as a seven-year-old possibly could. Regto knocked on your door and said:
“Hey, hey, hey, young lady… what happened?”
“Leave me alone, Dad! I don’t wanna talk!”
“Oh, come on. You always tell me everything. What’s going on?”
“Dad, just leave!”
“Alright, alright… you angry little thing. I’ll be right out here.”
A couple of minutes later, after realizing stomping the ground was a terrible idea because now your whole body hurt, you stepped out of your room and went straight into your dad’s arms.
“Some boys said really mean things to me today…”
Breathing in and out — this wasn’t the first time — Regto gently played with your hair and asked, “What did they say?”
“They said… they said I’m dirty because of my injuries and that—” you inhaled deeply before continuing, “that I can’t play with them because I don’t have a mother like they do.”
When you were younger, not having a mother used to make you cry. You would ask your dad again and again why she left you, especially when you saw all the other kids with their mothers. He always answered kindly — that she had no choice but to leave, and that she loved and missed you very much. You always felt something was off about that. How could someone love you and still leave?
Eventually, though, you realized you didn’t need a mother. And honestly, you were okay with it. Your father was everything you ever needed. He taught you to be compassionate but strong, never let anyone walk over you, but always show empathy. He truly is your hero.
“And how did that make you feel?” he asked gently.
“I’m tired of them! I wanna play by myself, but I barely have anything to play with!”
“Huh… I have an idea,” he said, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Regto disappeared into the kitchen. You heard clinking utensils, drawers sliding open and shut, something metallic hitting the counter. Then—
“HA! Found it!” he shouted as he came back, holding a chunk of wood in one hand and a carving knife in the other.
“Dad… what is that?”
“Well,” he said proudly, “now you’ll be able to make anything you want. Think of something? You can carve it.”
“Uhhh… okay…”
“I’m serious! It doesn’t take any physical effort, just creativity and the patience to learn. And since you’re a smart little thing with plenty of time on your hands, I bet it won’t take long before you get the hang of it.”
In the end, it wasn’t a bad idea at all. It took you a couple of weeks just to figure out how not to mess up the wood — but after a few months? People could already tell you were actually good at it.
You started making your own figures and toys, and soon the other kids wanted to hang out with you just to watch you carve. Some even tried trading their broken toys for your little sculptures.
Owning something whole in the Slums was rare. People were always surprised that someone so young could create pieces so unique.
And slowly, you stopped feeling as lonely as before. It felt like your creations had a soul of their own — like they kept you company. What more could you ask for? You had the power to make anything. You couldn’t have been happier. Everything finally felt like it was falling into place. That’s what creating did to you.
The years passed normally — well, as normal as things could be in the Slums. Sometimes you witnessed people getting thrown into the Pit. Sometimes soldiers stormed in to beat someone up. You still saw your “friends,” but not as often. You’d always been quiet, and now that you didn’t need anyone to escape boredom, you didn’t mind being alone.
But everything changed when you turned 11. You’ll never forget that day — how could you? Your father came home and told you something in your family was about to change.
“What do you mean we’re going to have a new member in the family???”
“Yeah… his name is Rudo. He’s just a little younger than you — seven. He lost both of his parents, and you know how cruel people can be about that.”
“But we don’t have anything to do with that!!!”
“Look,” he said, calling your name in that soft voice of his, “he has nowhere to stay. Imagine if that were you. How would you feel?”
“But Dad…”
“And! You two have a lot in common. He has a skin issue too, but only on his hands. You could help each other with the bandages.”
Helpless, you agreed. Jealousy stung — you’d always had your father all to yourself. Sharing him felt… wrong. But when he put it that way — a kid with no family, a kid who also hurt — how could you refuse? How would you feel in his place?
The next day, Rudo moved in. Thankfully, your father didn’t make you share your bedroom with a boy. There was an unused room that became his.
The first weeks were… weird.
He didn’t talk much. You tried bonding with him, but it felt impossible when he barely spoke at all.
Then one day, Regto walked into Rudo’s room to check on him — with you standing right between his legs — and found Rudo banging his head against the wall.
Regto rushed in. “Hey, hey, hey! Rudo!” he shouted, pulling the boy away from the wall. “What are you doing? Why are you doing that?”
With a hollow gaze, staring at nothing, Rudo finally answered, “You told me I should find something to do… but I got thrown away just like the trash the city dumps into the Pit. How can people throw away things that are still whole? How can they just toss stuff out like it means nothing?”
His words hit you hard. You’d always felt something similar — especially whenever Regto insisted your mother loved you but had to leave. No one who truly cares just disappears like that. No one who loves something throws it away so easily.
You stepped carefully into the room, keeping your voice soft as you approached him.
“Hey… maybe we can find something you like to do.”
He looked up at you then, your father kneeling behind him.
“She’s right, Rudo,” Regto said gently. “Look at her. She used to hate playing with other kids too. So she started carving wood she found out there. She takes things people throw away and turns them into something new.”
For the first time since Rudo joined your family, he looked you straight in the eyes. And not just looked — there was a spark there, a faint shine you hadn’t seen before.
In that moment, you knew your father had been right. You and Rudo shared more than you thought.