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At night was always when her mind had been the most occupied, thus she couldn’t sleep.
Like always her eyes were closed, and the dim yellow light procured by the lamp beside her made her feel warm, yet she just couldn’t shut herself off completely. Images flitted by in her mind like a typhoon endlessly, trapping her in this stagnant state. She sighed.
Amakusa had picked out another high-class hotel for them to stay in for the night. Ange was using the bedroom of the suite, while Amakusa stayed in the living room. Though knowing him, he’s probably already asleep on some sofa right now even though he’s supposed to be keeping an eye out. Hopefully, she wasn’t correct. Being taken away in her sleep by men in suits wouldn’t be pleasant. She thought about deciding to go check on him, but decided against it. Ultimately, he was a competent bodyguard.
After turning over incessantly again and again, Ange sat back up. It was clear she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. She sighed once again, before laying her eyes on a suitcase haphazardly thrown on the floor. Inside it were some books that Amakusa had bought to help quell her boredom during their particularly long car trips, after she had tired of talking back and forth with him regarding his music taste. She hadn’t actually taken so much as a glance at them yet. Wondering what kind of stories somebody like him had bought, she took it into her hands.
Browsing through the open suitcase, it happened mostly to be stuff she had already read, but one of the novels caught her eye.
And Then There Were None.
She hadn’t read it before, although she knew all about it. Her brother used to love these types of novels. After the accident, going through his effects, the name Agatha Christie was everywhere.
Mammon once told her she could see him again. The cheap hair ties she wore on her head—the precious gift that her brother was able to reach out and grab with his own hands—were imbued with an incredible magical power. Maria had told her that she had talent. If she just kept at it, she would be able to perform great feats of magic. But her biggest goal, her very first wish—was for someone to come back to her. It didn’t matter who. (but in all of her fantasies, he was always the one that miraculously came back, wasn’t he?)
Resurrection was high level magic, though. It would take more than a lifetime to achieve it. But she would try anyway, if it meant getting to see her family one more time, even at the very end of her life.
Ange stared at the cover, not wanting to touch it directly. Only a small thing like this was enough to remind her of that accursed island, remind her of the pain, (remind her of him), and—laughably—it was enough to hurt her. If any person were to find out, they would find such feelings normal. Her feelings were anything but normal. God, how she wished they could be normal.
Lately, her thoughts had been even more overwhelming. Daydreams about her big brother coming back, holding her, both of them crying together. Sometimes he kissed her on the cheeks in these fantasies, so happy to be together again. And sometimes, on the lips.
Ange would turn red, looking at her brother’s face, an incredulous and quiet gasp leaving her mouth (as if she hadn’t gone through this same scenario a hundred times before). His face would be soft and clear and full of longing for the girl he had left alone for a far too long time. He would then caress the side of her face like she was the most beautiful girl in the world, and lean in slowly, silently asking for permission to kiss her again. She would always let him. Never lifting her hands to push him away or speak. Or, she would kiss him back, and if she did—
Ange clicked her tongue.
Disgusting. These thoughts were vile, they were wrong, and they made her feel nauseous after the fact, when she had enough clarity to realize what exactly she was fantasizing about. Was there any way she could make them less repulsive? To not let them burrow within her head in the first place and cast them away forever would be the most ideal option, but Ange knew she wasn’t capable of that. They always wormed their way back inside again, eventually.
So, she just needed an excuse—to feel less disgusting. Any excuse would do if it just made her feel normal again. She stared at the blank wall in front of her and began to think.
It’s not Battler I'm thinking of, surely. My big brother has been dead for a long time. The last time I saw him was when I was six. I’ve created an idealized version of him in my head that doesn't exist. He wouldn’t act that way, or talk that way.
She must have been mistaking one type of love for another, as well. She missed his smile and the way he held her hand, the way he embraced her and the way he made her happy. Ange missed him so much and loved him but only in the way little sisters loved their big brothers. Anything else was just her being confused due to the pain of losing him, and nothing more. She had to not let it be anything more.
It must’ve been fine, then. Her thoughts were nothing more than delusions. She was just starved for love, and the person she was imagining—who happened to look exactly like her older brother—was simply the vessel which granted her that love. “Battler” was nothing more than a forgery born from the mind of a single lonely girl, a hanging puppet with strings whose only purpose was comfort. His words, face, and love were counterfeit. Her feelings were counterfeit. Everything was counterfeit. So it could not be him.
How would you feel if it was Battler?
—If it actually was Ushiromiya Battler. Not a lie or imitation.
If he came back, and gently laid his lips upon yours, would you feel happy?
Ange clutched at her head with one hand to prevent it from splitting in half. She hated it. She hated that she couldn’t simply say no. She felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought—before they disappeared like an illusion and she was left only with a pit where they used to flutter.
Why was she experiencing this? ‘Unfair’ is the word that kept popping up in her head over and over again. As if what she had gone through wasn’t enough already. It was unfair. Then again, had fate ever been fair to her?
Her hair ties were in her hand now, and they were being held so tightly that they might break. Despite the firm grip her hands were trembling. She didn’t want to let go, ever. Even if it was only for a short while, even if it happened near the last years of her life, even if she were to pass away immediately after—if she could just talk to him again, just once, it would be worth it in her eyes.
“Still wearing those, huh? Thought you would have thrown them away by now.”
Ange’s world stopped moving before she flinched back to gaze at him with her mouth slightly ajar. Battler simply stood there, smiling, as if it was completely normal for him to be here in this space, in this room.
“Breath taken away? Ihihihi, I understand. Common reaction among ladies seeing my face,” he said. His face was that of an older brother teasing his younger sister, and that was an image she remembered well, but the usual expression she would wear in response didn’t rise to Ange’s face—so he stopped smiling. “Sorry if I startled you, Ange.”
“It’s… fine, you didn’t scare me,” Ange said.
“You’re reading Christie. Glad to see my tastes have rubbed off on you.”
“No, actually… mystery novels—” She blurted out before contemplating what exactly was happening right now, but she quickly stopped. She was scared that even the faintest bit of anti-magic toxin would make him scatter like dust in the wind, so she turned off the rational, truth-seeking side of her mind for a bit. “I was never as good at solving them like you were, onii-chan.”
“Huh? That’s ridiculous. My little sister should be twice as smart as me.”
She giggled quietly. “Is that supposed to be some sort of rule?”
“Yeah. Intellectually—I would say I’m more of a shotgun, and you’re a smaller but more accurate handgun.”
“Like a Tokarev?”
“See, twice as smart. I don’t even know what that is.”
Both of them snorted, whereupon she lowered her already soft tone even more. Amakusa was away in a different room, but she didn’t want to risk it. Battler looked at the locked door behind her with narrowed eyes. “Is that guy treating you right? He better be.” His expression made it clear he wasn’t serious, but his tone was slightly too harsh for someone just joking around. A nice warmth spread through her body seeing him act like this.
“Mhm. A bit shabby. But he’s funny, so I keep him around.”
Smiling, she took in his form once more. He was here. In front of her, after so long—it was difficult not to leap forward and embrace him right here. Battler seemed to be doing the same as well, a curious look on his face as he ran his eyes over her. “You’ve really grown up, Ange.”
“I’ll sock you if the next words out of your mouth are about my breasts.”
“Maybe I should stay quiet~” he said with a chuckle. “I’m serious though. You look beautiful. Like something out of a dream.”
“How melodramatic. I’m not one of those girls you can just butter up, you know.” She had an unimpressed look on her face as she spoke. Her heart was pounding.
“I know you aren’t. You’re my sister, after all.”
She squirmed.
“…You look—um, you look handsome, too.” The bashful manner in which she had spoken those last words made her wince hard internally.
“Thanks.” He looked away for a second, before responding with an awkward (and cute, Ange thought he looked cute like that) smile. It felt like they were skirting around something, every time they spoke. Ange didn’t want to think too deeply about what it was, though. Right now, she was happy, practically beaming. Battler was, too, but his expression grew more solemn after a while.
“…Can’t be here forever, you know. You’re still just an apprentice witch.” Ange’s face froze in shock, before her lips formed into a half-smile in resignation. Her eyes fell upon the floor.
“Yeah. I know.”
“I’m sorry, Ange.” Battler moved one hand down to pat his little sister’s head as she continued to look down, trembling. “I’m sorry I can’t really be here.” His hand felt lighter now.
“…Can… you…” Her throat felt barbed, and when she tried, she found that she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth properly. Maybe that was for the best. Nothing good could come from the words and feelings of a person who couldn’t move on, like a clock with its hands stuck, a countdown that would never reach zero. She was disgusting. But Battler knew what his sister’s request was without her telling him. Of course he knew.
“Close your eyes, Ange.” And when she did, her brother’s mouth was connected with hers and her worries and pain and sadness all dissipated. She leaned in.
“I love you,” she mumbled breathlessly against him. She must have looked miserable right now, with that pathetic voice and whimpering. In response, she felt his hands caressing the side of her face, softly wiping away her tears. It felt oddly practiced. His lips comforted her like nothing else could. She wanted to see him as he kept kissing her. Wanted to see her brother’s face again—so she opened her eyes.
Ushiromiya Battler was gone (so was the little girl who sang songs for him, who practiced makeup on him as he laughed with a nervous smile, who held only innocent love in her heart for him) and she was disgusting again. Her tears fell and fell on the gift her brother had won for her years ago, still held in her hands.
Please come back to me, big brother.