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"God damn it!" Kyoko cursed out, teeth gritted and forehead resting against the crumbling weathered brick wall. Another day without grief seeds; another day of leaving her right flank open, another day of chipping away at a Witch's armour with no damage to her name.
And another day without –
Without –
"Fuck," she muttered and slumped against the wall. "I got this. There's gotta be somethin'. That ain't me anymore, I can handle things on my own, darn it! I can."
With her right flank open –
"I don't need her! That fuckin' bastard would'a killed herself if I stayed," she rambled, eyes narrowed and line on her lips faltering, wobbling like flickering flame. "She'll be glad, you'll see."
But Mami wouldn't be glad. Mami was the one who'd smile, patient and doting, hair ever so slightly out of order, and say, with that same soft cadence, oh, you missed this here, it's a simple mistake to make, let me show you, and brandish her flintlock rifle dolled up in ribbons and lacey engravings, with that oh so infuriating easy confidence to her step and stance left perfectly open on her left – Kyoko's right, she'd dimly recognize – before a hail of woven thread bullets would pierce through that hazy, garbled vision of a Witch. In short: Mami was not Kyoko and Kyoko would tally one more sin to her long list of saintly grievances if she ever once thought they were the same.
One halberd came to life in that spark of fiery orange-red magic, grasped firmly under calloused almost bruised fingers. Kyoko twisted and twirled it with what she hoped was now a deft hand – but, see, Mami wouldn't have stopped using illusions, and Mami would've made this shoddy conjured up ideal of revolution and rebellion and failure into something great, almost masterful in design and purpose. Mami wouldn't have stooped so low as to let a small, cramped vandalized ember of a church building encroach her soul with tainted flame. Mami had already lost her sweethearts of parental love at thirteen, after all – just one year before Kyoko, strips of bone pressing into fragile, dry skin, would clasp her hands in prayer and worship the divinity of soul she'd all so willingly sold for her own benefit.
"Just have at me, why won't ya!" she snarled. "As if the holy Father himself ain't waiting with open arms to cast me into hellfire!" came out through bared teeth. One cloudy dark soul gem sat primly on the centerpiece of the facsimile priest garb her magical girl outfit was. "If this gem has anything left to save at all," Kyoko mumbled as tears bit at her eyelids.
She gave the alleyway corner one last look, tethers of magic bound to her soul pulsing with sick, repulsive resonance, but there was no Witch to be found except for the one her father had chased away with all consuming fervor and rope.