Chapter 156 – Festival of Sins (VII)

Chapter 156

Festival of Sins (VII)

“Mama, read it again, read it again!” Light laughed brilliantly, kicking her legs back and forth while nuzzling against a kind-seeming woman whose lap she was occupying. The latter chuckled helplessly, patting the top of her head and slowly pulling the pages back to the beginning.

“There are other stories, Little Light,” her mother said. “Some more interesting than this one, too.”

“No way! Nothing is more interesting than the story of how you and Papa beat up that bad guy! Nothing!”

“Ha ha, really?”

“Really! Especially when Papa jumps down and picks you up, and then you two fly at him together!”

“Ha ha ha,” the woman laughed freely, and Light laughed with her, feeling more at ease than ever before in her life.

This was where she belonged.

“Ah, speaking of the handsome hero,” the doors to her little room swung open, and a truly stalwart figure walked through–the man loomed like a giant, dressed in rather leisurely clothes that seemed more reminiscent of a servant than a king. He had long, black hair and a pair of twilight-colored eyes that Light herself inherited.

She jumped off her mother’s lap and ran over full speed, jumping at him.

“Papa!”

“Hooh,” he crouched and grabbed her nimbly, lifting her up in the air. “Did my little Princess miss me?”

“Missed you! Missed you tons!”

“Ha ha ha, I missed my little princess too, you know? Tons and tons!”

“He he~ sit with us, Papa! Mama is telling me the story of how you two beat that bad guy Shi!”

“Oho, is she now? Ha ha, well, let’s hear it. Do I come off as dashing as I remember being?”

**

… it’s depressing, to be honest.

I don’t recognize that girl.

That laughter. That smile. That light in her eyes. For the first time, I kind of get why they named her ‘Light’. Thus far, she was the antithesis of the name–glum, silent, apathetic, cold… yet, the little girl was hanging onto every word spoken as though it were gospel, her arms desperately trying to dig even deeper into the skin of the ones she loved… she was light.

There were voices wrestling in me, some of which were yelling at me to just walk away. To close my eyes, pretend I didn’t see anything, turn around, and just… leave.

I knew that there was something in her that was broken–I didn’t need to be a board-certified psychiatrist to know that a girl who just lost her parents and is seemingly feeling just about nothing over it has some issues under the surface. Yes, she was broken, but a part of me always felt that, with a bit of time, I could help her heal.

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But look at her.

Do I really have the capacity to make her laugh like that? To make her smile like a six-year-old child should be smiling?

It’s not even the question of whether I can ‘raise her’, but simply… am I qualified, in any capacity, to look over a child so broken that even the godly talents she has aren’t enough to not fall into the simplest illusion?

Because, honestly, even a blind person could see through this shit–the room itself was largely fine, but there was nothing outside of it. Just some vague colors that roughly resemble some buildings and a white void.

But none of it mattered.