The Sixth

[ShiroKirishiki]

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Ashen streets greet weary feet.

Tattered, yet no longer fettered,

Sullen faces smile, freedom oh-so sweet...

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I am I am not I am I am not. What was my name. What was hers...Is it back there? Is it inside my skin?

An artist glanced from their easel, brush ghosting the canvas with vibrant blue.
They found two wayward souls ascending the steps from the shore, battered and bruised.
The lights behind the painter bathe the tattered pair in cool glow, smiles looking almost misplaced upon their lips.

outoutoutoutoutoutoutoutoutoutoutout...OUT!

"Help?" The artist asks, placing their brush down gently. "Is everything alright, you two?"
Is this hand mine, or did is this the one she replaced...?
Before they could speak, a man appears behind. His smile was blinding in the dark night, like a lighthouse upon the shore.
He raised his hand towards the pair, a black glove adorning it like shadow that refused the light.
The man nears them, his eyes just hidden by the brim of his hat.

The walls are watching. The trees are watching. The grass is laughing. The ground is drinking. Why is it drinking?

"You both look terrible." Somehow, he seems almost charming. "We cannot have that in our fair city. Come, come. I will see you mended."

...stop naming things...stop naming them...stop naming me...stop giving me more pieces...

Like a prayer finally, finally answered after so long, help had arrived.
They were taken to a tower near the sea, away from the city.
For appearances, the man assured them, for they would return to the shining city soon enough.

She tried to sew us into screams...the thread broke...we have to hurry...we have to run...

Yet, as soon as the door was shut, the man vanished. Not a trace remained, not even the warmth of his smile.
Then, they felt it. The familiar chill. The harrowing certainty that follows that monster's arrival.
It was ingrained in their bones, in their very marrow. The cuts, the blood, the muttered prayers to an accursed angel.
A voice so perfectly peaceful, so wonderfully serene, that it sent chills down their spines.

...painted blood...paint...not real...not really...not real...

"How wonderful." Like a ghost's forgotten breathe, she speaks. "The power of friendship and love.. I want to paint it. I want to capture it.

You will be my canvas. Your blood will be the paint.

Rejoice, my dears. Rejoice.

Your lives will finally have meaning."

Yaeka...Yaeka...Yaeka...Yae-ka...Yae....ka......She watched...She didn't stop...She couldn't...

She had found them. No, he had brought them to her.
It was as if she knew. It was as if she had been watching them the entire time, just behind them without their knowing.
Fear crept in. Their lungs refused to breathe, unable to release the screams of terror that desperately wanted to claw their way out of their throats.
Frozen, petrified, they nearly wept as they heard her voice with their own ears for the last time.

Not the cage...Not the hooks...They're in me...They're digging into my arms...My arms...Not my arms...They aren't mine...

Four hands became two. Twenty fingers, ten.
The best of both woven together by the accursed claws of a monster disguised as a small girl.
The discarded pieces were reformed like clay, made to join the final piece despite their cries.
Two hearts beat as one, blood stained black breathing life into something that wasn't there before.
Hair-raising cries scrape along the stone walls, followed by an even louder silence.

She sings when she peels my skin away...my ribs remember what the air felt like...It was like her breath...

Two became one. One became many. Many became whole.
The whole shattered into broken fractals, shards that pierce the mind with screams of sorrow.
Not again...not again....not again, not again...she sees me. She's picking the next shape...not again...not again...

"Finally, the Sixth was a success." Her whispers break through the endless sea of pain, one of the first things it heard.
"But it is unfinished. There is no direction, only meaning. A poem that rhymes, but only once.

I wonder...what is it missing?"

Right goes left. Left to left. No..it goes in front, not behind. Sides? She painted over those...

The silence that follows carries the weight of The Sixth's entire existence.
Like needles, each possible fate pricks at the future.
Death. Life. Suffering. Solace.
Happiness. Woe. Terror. Loneliness...No.
No, the answer was far worse.

"...Freedom."
Never again...she painted us together when we tried to run......us? who is....us....?

The cage was broken, fetters shattered.
The night was the same as the first, the moon hiding behind ghostly clouds.

My nails are my teeth. My teeth are my nails. My bones are reversed...Why doesn't it feel wrong? Why doesn't it feel right?

Something was missing. Something was found.
The Veil...I can smell it. It's smiling. It's smiling. It's smiling It's smiling It's smiling It's smiling It's smiling
What was it? Where was it?

'Who...am I?'