Your life is not your own, little Seiko. One day—one day soon—you’ll travel down our path. Continue on with this horrible legacy…

We will drive you mad.

Seiko’s eyes opened at the last line, bringing an end to the night’s rest. She’s heard those same words every morning for a week, now. She didn’t want to worry Mikka by admitting that her “childhood imaginary friends” were voices that tended to utter ill tidings or ancient musings.

She turned over and looked out the window. At least the weak sunlight meant it was a reasonable hour.

Sleep wouldn’t return even if she tried, so she stood up and went to the outfit she laid out the night before. She brushed her hair with her fingers on the way there, and slipped out of her nightgown and into her daily dress with practiced ease. All the while, her voices commentated—how some of them hated her, some of them envied her, some of them quipped about the weather and others were so quiet she couldn’t hear them.

The voices were enough to fill a room completely—if they were people, she doubted they could comfortably fit in the Tsujihara home. But, despite sounding like dozens of people, Seiko was alone.

She sighed. She has been for a while now, hasn’t she?

Of course you have, one voice murmured. You’re an oddity. If you were anyone else’s daughter, they would have banished you to the kitsune or tengu.

A knock on the door startled her.

“Are you awake yet, love?”

Mikka. The voices grew inexplicably quieter. “Y-yes, Mother. I’ll start breakfast soon.”

“I made something simple—you’ve worked too hard these past few days.”

Seiko turned towards the door, but didn’t answer. She hated that Mikka tried to downplay it—that her mother was dying, but had enough regret to insist her daughter spend her days doing something else. Then again, Mikka likely blamed herself for Seiko’s reputation.

“…May I come in?”

“You may,” Seiko answered. The door creaked open, revealing Mikka’s frail figure; she relied on the frame for support. Seiko took a few concerned steps forward to help her. “Did something happen?”

“No—everything’s all right.” Mikka offered a smile, as strong as she could manage. “How would you like to see the capital again?”

The voices grew louder—a mixture of excitement, fear, and laughter—and Seiko winced as it culminated into a headache. After a second of pain, it passed, and she carried on with a protest so Mikka didn’t have the chance to ask about her.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Seiko argued. “And you’re not well enough to travel; if something happens while I’m gone, then—”

Mikka offered a small smile and moved a little closer, standing tall despite her pale skin and half-tamed hair.

“Peace, dear. A shrine maiden will be here to help.”

Seiko tried to relax—tried to release some tension in her shoulders. Mikka paused at the edge of the bed, keeping one hand on the frame for support.

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Honestly, Seiko didn’t want to ask about the worst case. The voices urged her otherwise, almost uttering the words for her.

“If you die while I’m gone, I’ll be alone.” It came out as a murmur; Mikka winced and her smile slightly fell. “I’d rather watch you die than be surrounded by strangers.”

Mikka took a short breath. “Seiko, you’ll be alone here. At least in the capital, people won’t think you’re strange—they won’t be scared to interact with you. You can make friends, and then you will have other people to turn to when I’m gone. That reassurance will help me more than if you stayed by my side.”

“But—” Seiko tried in vain. She couldn’t change Mikka’s mind but she could at least maintain her stance. No one else knew how to care for Mikka more than Seiko did, and she didn’t trust anyone else to take that role.

Your life is not your own, the voices reminded her.

Seiko grasped for any words she could use to protest, but the voices repeated the line like a mantra and refused to give her any way to combat it. Finally, after a few seconds, she sighed.

“You have something in mind for when I get there?”

“The royal family is looking for a governess. You’re good with kids, Seiko—it’s a better use of your talents than staying here.”

She froze. The voices spat out a response in her stead.

“They won’t want me. I’ll have the same reputation in the palace that I do here—insane.”

“Your father sent the invitation himself. He wants to see you again.”

Seiko turned away and folded her arms, glancing at the floor. In a murmur, she said, “Fourteen years later, he changes his mind? I find it hard to believe.”

“He wouldn’t lie,” Mikka maintained. “Everyone who remembers you won’t say a word, I promise. You can consider it a second chance.”

She still hesitated. Mikka gave a little smile in response and took a few steps back.

“Think about it,” she requested softly. “That’s all I ask for now.”

“...I will.”

…

Two days passed—the voices were clear on their choice, so Seiko obeyed them and told Mikka she would go. She had reservations, but it hurt to go against their will. She’s long since learned it was better to play along.

She didn’t have that much to pack, so she waited for her ride to the capital. Mikka seemed happy, at least.

“You can buy more dresses with what’s left,” Mikka said, pushing a little money bag towards Seiko from across the table. “Your father will keep sending money to support me, so don’t feel bad about taking it.”

Seiko nodded and accepted it.

“...He has two others now, doesn’t he?” The voices kept up with news from the palace, but she personally didn’t care for most of it; they seemed to be the first to know about anything.

“Maenomi and Kyuru,” Mikka recalled. “Do you remember Maenomi? She was born before we left.”

“I vaguely know I was confused on how we were sisters with different mothers,” Seiko admitted.

“Kyuru is only six,” Mikka added, bringing in a little smile. “You should have a chance to get to know them—even if it’s just as governess and charge.”

Someone knocked on the door and Seiko perked up.

“That might be Sir Kyou,” Mikka said. She looked at Seiko as the latter stood up. “I know you’ll be better off there than you are here, whether or not you believe it yourself.”

“I’ll try,” Seiko promised. “I’ll send a letter once I get there—and please let me know if your condition gets worse so I can come back. Family or no, I’m closest to you.”

“Don’t worry, dear.” She gave a look that made Seiko think, for a second, that she wasn’t ill—her eyes had a kind of youth and health that overshadowed the way her face and body spoke otherwise. “Now go on; live like you should be. The capital is beautiful this time of year.”

A few of the voices cackled, whispering, It’s so close now… Are you watching, Lord Bekin? Lady Aimiki? Soon…