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Mutsumi didn’t mind living without wings, really. She wasn’t suited for such a divine gift. It was something reserved only for people as holy as Saki. She would consider herself lucky to be on the receiving end of her kindness, had she not known that it extended to everyone she met.
Noble, righteous Sakiko.
She would never turn away from a person in trouble. She does not change like shifting shadows. Her grace is eternal.
Gentle, loving Sakiko.
She redeems sinners, crowning them with love. Does she know that Mutsumi has sinned? But how can she not, if her eyes are always overseeing her beloved flock.
All-knowing, omniscient Sakiko.
Is it possible for a soul even as benevolent as her to forgive such a grave sin? It seems a mystery to Mutsumi how Saki can still talk to her the same way. Greet her with the same lovely smile. Hug her with the same warmth that feels like a blessing. Kiss her with the same love that brings salvation.
Merciful, all-forgiving Sakiko.
Mutsumi has to remember that she is not for her to have. Sakiko is the light of the world. But doesn’t the world already have enough light? Can’t Mutsumi also have something just for herself? In her dark, wretched dollhouse, Saki is the only source of light. Why is her world so distorted? It’s empty. It’s haphazard. Saki, only Saki is there to illuminate her days, to give her a gleam of hope. It’s only natural that Mutsumi will cling to this hope, as a dying man does to a safety ring.
Entering the practice room, Saki sheds her Oblivionis attire, as if it was her outgrown skin — like a dragonfly nymph does in the process of completing its life stage, leaving the watery lair, having already proven its mastery there. Mutsumi is mortified by the sight of monstrous fresh scars that cascade down her smooth, velvet-like back.
“Where are your wings that I loved so dearly?”
They don’t have time to lament the loss. They have things to do now. The strong prey on the weak, and Mutsumi would never let anyone see Saki’s weakness.
A wicked part of her is glad to be the only one to witness this. Mauled and broken, Saki was almost like her. A doll pretending to be human. She brushes off these thoughts quickly. Winged or not, Saki is Saki. She was the one making those wings holy, not the other way around.
Facing the audience, Saki’s smile is as unwavering as ever. Standing behind her, Mutsumi is the only one who sees scars where glorious wings once were. She would always be there to obscure those revolting marks, letting Saki bask in the light, while she’s wallowing in the shadow. She doesn’t mind. She’s used to it. Darkness is the right place for a sinner like her to be.
There is just one thing she would like to know.
“By the way, where are those wings that I loved so?”
Mutsumi doesn’t care about their current difference in status. Saki used to seem like she’s so high above, just for her to reach the lowest of lows. Saki would never take anything from Mutsumi, but it’s fine. If Saki does not want to meet her in the middle, Mutsumi would just have to sink even lower to make it seem like Saki is still at the top. Mutsumi will dig her own grave just to keep Saki from sinking.
Mutsumi doesn’t care that Saki is now living with her other childhood friend, even though she could easily ask to take refuge in her mansion. It’s too big anyway. But she understands. The oppressive silence of its wide walls is enough to twist Mutsumi out of her own mind. She would not want it to aggravate Saki as well. And Mutsumi is the only one who sees that Saki is now afraid of top floors and open windows; the only one who notices how she twitches from sudden movements, no matter how innocent their intentions are. She should not have to suffer in this house alongside her.
Saki is a shadow of her former self. Mutsumi is running herself ragged trying to hide it. But it’s fine. She was nothing but a ragged doll in the first place. The one who pulled the string for her to come alive was no one other than Saki herself.
“Just wondering, where are your wings that I loved so?”
Unfortunately, Mutsumi is not Saki. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot withstand it. If a fire starts tomorrow and everything goes up in flames, they’ll just have to perish without those wings that she loved so much.
And so, in punishment for trying to act as Sakiko-chan’s wings, the cruel Gods have taken away Mutsumi-chan’s power to make the guitar sing.
How could she forget that it was this power that made her unique? Her only function that brought her to life? How could she forget that it was the only thing that she could offer to everyone, to Saki? The only thing she was able to do, and even at that, she failed.
“Where were your wings when we needed them so?”
Little did she know that Sakiko-chan had made a deal with the cruel Gods to atone for Mutsumi-chan’s sin and help her guitar sing even louder, to support her shining performance from afar. Sakiko-chan could no longer be there for her, so she sacrificed her wings to aid Mutsumi-chan in her stead.
Just like how the past Sakiko-chan couldn’t tell her the truth about the loss of her wings, Mutsumi-chan wasn’t able to say that the thing she loved so dearly was not a pair of wings, but Sakiko-chan herself.
This was why she willingly let herself suffer just to alleviate Sakiko-chan’s pain.
However, Mutsumi-chan will never be able to communicate that, just as she will never know about Sakiko-chan’s own sacrifice. Being stripped from her only purpose, Mutsumi-chan has already died. Sakiko-chan was too busy to pull at her strings. Tired and wounded as she was, Mutsumi-chan sank into a deep, deep sleep. Nobody knows when she’ll wake up, if she ever does.
That’s why I hate Sakiko-chan and what is left of her ugly, rotten wings.