tw// murderous intents and brief mention of sui-idal idealation i mischaracterized her really bad smh -Thorns- It was bright and sunny outside Kurain Village. The birds were chirping, and the flowers bloomed along the edge of the Master ’s backyard. Dahlia and Iris drew by the patio, laughing. Of course, Dahlia’s drawing was better – she always was smarter then Iris, always so brave and kind. Iris loved her sister because of how much better she was. “Look! I drew a flower!” Dahlia proudly proclaims, displaying a paper with what appeared to be a rose in bloom. Iris admired it. “You’re really good at drawing, Dollie,” Iris said with a small smile. On her paper, she was drawing messy squiggles, putting out what was in her mind. “That’s really awesome.” Dahlia smiled and looked at Iris’ drawing. “I like yours too! Very…emotional?” Iris laughed. “Well, I guess that’s what I was trying to show?”’ The two sisters giggled. They were seven years old. They kept drawing, wasting the precious paper, but having fun nonetheless. And, Dahlia thought, wasn’t that the best thing a child could have? Contentment, happiness? She looks back at these memories and she wonders, what she could’ve done different. “Girls.” Morgan snapped, throwing the sliding door open. Well, she didn’t snap it, but there was a sort of biting edge to her clear tone that let the sisters know they had done something wrong. Iris instantly looked on the verge of tears, taking her papers and going a bit closer to Dahlia, seeking protection. Of course, Dahlia provided it – Iris was her sister, she was supposed to defend her! – and went in front of her. Morgan frowned down at them. “You were supposed to be training your spirit channeling,” Morgan said, voice dangerously soft. “I told you, Mama, I don’t have any channeling powers.” Dahlia said confidently, “And Iris doesn’t have any either.” Morgan blinks slowly. She exhales. Then, she kneels down next to Dahlia, and for a moment, she thinks she might wipe Iris’ tears as her hand grows closer to the two of them. Then, she slaps Dahlia’s face, not hard enough to wound, but hard enough for her to learn her lesson. She yelps, and feels the tingling mark. “How dare you,” Morgan said, “The only reason you have no spiritual ability is because you’re lazy. How dare you sit here and frolic around instead of doing your work? You can draw and mess around after you learn your lesson.” Dahlia grit her teeth and gripped her small hands into fists. She can’t fight back. She knows she cannot fight back. This anger, it feels burning, and she wants nothing more than to take the pencil and strike it through her mother’s neck. “Yes, Mama.” “Mother,” Morgan corrects. “Now, go train.” “Yes, Mother.” And Dahlia leaves Iris. — “I don’t believe this, Morgan-“ “Well, Eric, run then. I wouldn’t want a husband so weak that he was only here for power.” “You know what, Morgan? I will. And I’ll take our children too. Have fun being worthless and alone.” He grips Dahlia and Iris’ wrists too tightly. It hurts. And Dahlia wonders why her mother isn’t fighting back. It must be because they- she and her sister- are weak. And it is this weakness that has taken everything away from her mother. — She never came to Dusky Bridge that day, the rain pouring and Valerie with a gun aimed at Terry’s forehead. She can do this alone, she knows. It still hurts, though. — “Are you sure about this?” Iris rubs her eye. She looks like a mirror image of Dahlia, red hair and all. She’s practicing her smile in the mirror, while Dahlia sits next to her, for once not carrying her parasol – Iris has it. “…Yeah. Yes. I can get the necklace back, I promise, Dollie.” “….” Dahlia smiles. She feels a sort of wretched love for her sister at that moment. “Thank you, Iris.” “Of course,” Iris returns the smile, and she sits next to her. “I missed you, all these years. I really did.” She rests her head on Dahlia’s shoulder, and she’s the only one allowed to do that, Iris knows. Dahlia is the one who sent her away in the first place, finding her a nuisance, but she still nods. “I did too,” She lies. — Feenie is crying. Fat, ugly tears that roll down his cheeks. He wipes them desperately, to no avail. He only gets tears on that eyesore of a sweater Iris knitted for him. Mia is by his side, moving a hand soothingly down his back, and Dahlia smiles. So much concern, her cousin always had. Always desperate to help anyone in need. She looked so…carefree. It was almost funny. “Miss Hawthorne, you have to come with us,” The police officer to her right says. The officer to her left nods. And Dahlia laughs, a tinkling bell of a laugh, and she walks with them. Of course, this isn’t the last time Mia will hear from her. She will get her revenge someday, and that is the thought that causes manic little giggles the entire walk to the police station.
— She’s in a courtroom, on the witness stand. It’s not the first time she’s been on the stand, and both times she’s been on there, she’s left, content. Why would this be any different? They couldn’t even harm her – they’d be harming cute little Pearl’s body, after all. And nobody would ever do that. She was just a little, harmless kid. She was already dead. There was nothing anybody could do to her. Except… “You’re in Maya’s body,” And Dahlia Just Stares. She was supposed to kill her cousin, she knows. That freak, that fool. That fool that channeled Dahlia so she couldn’t harm her. That fool, that somehow prevented Dahlia and her mother’s plan. Any vicious joy she felt dissipated. Now, she was afraid. Now, there was nothing she could truly do. And when she was forced out of her stupid, weak, ugly cousin’s body, she screamed. Shrieked. Shrieked for Iris, shrieked because all these years she had felt so goddamn lonely to the point of s-icidal thoughts. Shrieked because she was never anybody’s. She was just Dahlia with the sister who never showed up, who was happy at the Hazakura Temple. Shrieked when she thought about Phoenix’s eyes, sobbing. Shrieked when she thought of her dead cousin, who had just taunted her, told her she would never be worth anything and- All these years, she just wanted someone to smile at her, tell her she was pretty, tell her she was smart, tell her she was enough. She just wanted someone’s unconditional love. She gripped her scalp so hard she drew bl—d from her fingers-Maya’s bl00d. And she was gone. — It’s been almost a decade since that trial, when she feels something again. A soft carpet. She’s in someone’s home, she thinks. She rubs her eyes, trying to remember what was going on and where she is. Suddenly, she realizes she is crying – tears that were cut off back at that trial. Tears years delayed. Iris in front of her. She’s not wearing her nun clothing, instead, a t-shirt and leggings. Compared to the fancy acolyte clothing or her Hazakura Temple garments, she looks underdressed. She sits by Dahlia’s side, comforting her as she sobs. She cries for five more minutes, until her eyes hurt and her mouth hurts and her ears ring. She does not feel like Dahlia, the ruthless, intelligent murderer. She feels like a child. Then, she sits next to Iris on her couch. No words are exchanged for a while. “Who’s body is this?” Dahlia asks. “Just…a rural spirit channeler I found. I hired her,” Iris explains. “Listen, Dahlia – “ And they both say “I’m sorry,” And Iris says, “You first.” Dahlia looks down at her feet. She wants to speak in her normal voice, clean and beautiful and tinkling, but the voice that comes out next is flat, honest. “I…Iris, I’m really sorry. Sorry for…taking advantage of you, even if you enjoyed your time with Feenie. And I just…” Dahlia starts to feel herself crying again you’re so weak, Dahlia – “I don’t know. I don’t know why I did this. Maybe Mother was right. This is all I’ll ever be. Revenge is such a stupid thing but I kept-“ She almost cries, “Reaching toward it like a desperate, animalistic-“ And she stops. Because why is she crying about this to [i]Iris[/i]? She looks to her side. She notices Iris is now carrying two piece of paper. She shows it to Dahlia, and she is too startled to weep. On one, a rose, preserved in bloom. On the second, a mess of scribbles, chaotic yet pleasing. “You still have them,” Is the first thing Dahlia says. “I do,” Iris says next. “And it’s my apology next. I’m sorry, Dahlia, for hiding away in the Hazakura Temple. I’m sorry for trying my best to ignore your death. I’m sorry for never being there when you needed someone, because everybody needs someone, Dahlia. I wanted to be your someone, but over everything, I found some selfish refuge in the Hazakura Temple. I just…I just wanted you to feel wanted.” “Because, Dahlia, you are wanted. Wanted by me. Listen, this apology – I know this sounds so serious like I’m reading off a list, but I just wanted to let you know, Dahlia, that you’re kind. You’re funny, you’re beautiful, your smile made me feel brighter, and you’re the smartest person I know.” “Our mother might’ve never liked either of us, our mother might’ve loved us conditionally – but for me, I just…I love you. You were always enough for the both of us, and you got me through my childhood. And you might’ve done unforgivable things, but that doesn’t change anything.” “I hid away, Dahlia. And I’m sorry I was too afraid to look for the one thing that meant the most to me.” And Dahlia cries. And Iris rests her head on her shoulder. And she is the only one allowed to do that, Iris knows. For now. —
