Mikka left after four days. Seiko almost wanted to go with her—just to make sure she could get home—but the voices kept her from ever asking. A letter came a week later with the sole purpose of making sure Seiko knew Mikka made it back safely.

The summer festival ended. Two months later, the season itself faded out.

Her voices made a louder-than-usual reappearance midway through dinner. Again…and again…and again…

Dazuki noticed her wince first and immediately waved his hands in his mother’s face in response.

“Ma!” With Miss Shiharu’s attention gained, he pointed at Seiko. “Mi-Tsu!”

“What about Miss Tsujihara, dear?” Her little smile shifted into a bit of concern when she actually looked at her. “Are you feeling alright?”

No one else—save Mikka, if she ever saw Seiko like this—would have been able to guess she was hurting. Even if Seiko let her believe it was just some kind of…vague recurring migraine.

“I’m fine,” Seiko replied.

Miss Shiharu didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press her on it either. Dazuki squinted at Seiko, completely still in his mother’s lap, watching her. Seiko hesitantly finished eating, wary of the voices.

You shouldn’t be scared of us, one murmured. We’re a part of you. You’ll never be rid of us, not until true death.

Or, another said, You can consider this a warning. You’re lucky—not everyone gets a chance like this.

‘Chance.’ What an odd way to describe voices and pains she never asked for.

They laughed. It’s the chance to know what’s coming. Everything else is due to your defiance; you used to know that. If only you were still obedient…this could have ended on the first day you came here.

She very gently shook her way as an attempt to dispel them, but it failed. Miss Shiharu’s frown meant that she interpreted it as another sign of pain, but she still didn’t ask.

Seiko cast a little smile towards Dazuki to try to avoid the voices’ murmur.

“Have you eaten everything?”

The young toddler looked at his plate, mostly empty next to his mother’s, and nodded.

“Are you ready to go to bed?”

“Mm! Beh!” He turned over and patted Miss Shiharu’s chest. “Ma? Beh?”

“I’ll be going to bed, too, and Akemi is staying with us tonight,” Miss Shiharu said kindly. “Everyone goes to bed after dinner.”

Some for longer than most… A few, in fact, never wake up.

Seiko pulled back from the table and stood. The main group had a lapse in conversation—they didn’t really say much unless they were exchanging insults or gossip, and neither Lady Hyomoto nor Prince Jukazu came tonight—so the children knew that meant it was time to leave.

Miss Shiharu waited for Akemi to wander over, then left with both of her children. Only Chiki and Kyuru needed Seiko to walk them to their rooms, but their respective sisters stood up to leave as well. The children chatted more amongst themselves while huddled around Seiko than they did at the table, the princes finding a reason to half-argue about something while Maenomi held a quiet conversation with Seiko.

They all dispersed once they reached the bedrooms; Miss Shiharu already came with her children, it seemed, given their doors were fully closed. Seiko retreated back to her room once she knew no one needed her.

She patted the little komainu figurine as she sat down on her bed, the voices murmuring just loud enough to bother her. Still, she tried to sleep.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

…

Seiko couldn’t remember much of her dream, just that it seemed to last for hours and she must’ve cried during it.

Pathetic, a voice murmured. You couldn’t bear the weight of your duty without us.

She sat up and gently wiped away a few tears.

“I don’t want to,” Seiko whispered.

Then you’d best listen, or else pray for mercy.

“...And if I don’t?”

Well…

A real voice cut through the nighttime silence, making Seiko tense. Her voices laughed in response, mixing pitiful with again and again.

Shuffling came from the room next to hers—Miss Shiharu’s, she realized—and a little cry. Seiko stood up as her voices grew louder, clouding her mind the closer she got to the door. She left her room and cautiously stepped into Miss Shiharu’s; she didn’t know whether she should stay silent to avoid waking the others, or if she should do the opposite.

She pushed open the half-closed door just to reveal a man hovering over Miss Shiharu with a knife; the latter seemed to be breathing, but didn’t move, while both her children were slumped in the corner.

In the second it took the man to notice her, Seiko could almost hear the little one’s voices. Mother… Help her, Mi Tsu. Please. She didn’t need the rest to tell her what that meant by now.

The man noticed her, glared, then lunged with his knife pointed at her. Her voices responded before she could fully process it, each action registering a second after its implementation.

She stepped out of the way, surprising the man. Swiftly and silently, he tried again—but she took the knife from him as he came closer, cutting her forearm. The pain brought Seiko back for a second before the blood came up and the voices returned stronger.

The brief change was enough to make the man pause, giving her a confused look. That shifted to horror as she knocked him down and stabbed him. Once, twice…five cuts by the time Miss Shiharu stirred.

Mother! I’m here! Akemi’s voice cried. Her pleading grew louder, drowning out even the violent voices, as Miss Shiharu’s eyes wandered across the room. No—no, I’m here. Not there. With Miss Tsu. I’m with Miss Tsu.

Akemi’s voice kept Seiko from using her own—kept her from trying to give Miss Shiharu the same warning, spare her the heartbreak. So Miss Shiharu turned, undeterred and groggy, towards the bodies of her two children.

What should have been a cry came out as a whisper, and she slowly crept towards them.

“I…”

Seiko pulled her knife out of the man’s corpse, turned towards Miss Shiharu as she came closer to her children. Help her, Akemi’s voice insisted.

You’ll help her best by ending this quickly.

Miss Shiharu reached Akemi and Dazuki. She held out her hand, but neither responded.

“Why…” She choked, and a few tears ran down her cheek. “But…I’m still…”

The voices used Seiko to outwardly give her their own words.

“Do you want to join them, Shiharu Yaroko?”

“I ought to.” Her answer made Seiko shiver—the silent despair was highlighted by the voices, and she didn’t expect such an answer from her. “I… Tsunkei was the only reason I’m here. If I… If Akemi and Dazuki are…”

“We understand. You are not one of us, but your suffering is unnecessary. We’ll show that we can end pain as easily as we inflict it.”

She moved closer to Miss Shiharu, passing the knife from hand to hand, until she was behind the other woman. She bent down and gently placed her right hand on Miss Shiharu’s shoulder, using the other hand to hold the knife.

The voices quieted enough that she realized she held a weapon aimed to take a friend’s life, but all she could do in protest was let out a little murmur.

“I’m sorry.”

In the next breath, she moved her arm and stabbed Miss Shiharu from the front. The woman let out a gasp and fell back into Seiko.

With their job done, the voices pulled back enough for her to realize she held a dying woman—but they kept her from actually moving away, didn’t let her use her voice to call for help.

It took tremendous effort to move so she leaned against the wall, letting Miss Shiharu’s weight fall on her because it helped make the voices quieter. Seiko slowly moved her left hand so she slid the knife over her other arm.

She closed her eyes so she didn’t see the blood and focused on the pain. She let herself panic, choked down bile and tears while she still had a clear mind. When the voices grew louder, she cut herself again, all the way until morning. She didn’t want to call it a dream, or—worse—allow her voices to move on to the rest.

Seiko tossed the knife back towards the man’s corpse after the sunlight started to creep in. She barely noticed when others actually came, didn’t react when Lord Gin asked if she could stand.

We already told you, the voices murmured as the last cut’s pain dulled. This is your purpose.