𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚎 | 𝙱𝚂𝙳 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌

Prologue

Thirteen Years Ago

-

I wish to see.

And suddenly, she did. The ink faded in the shape of an outline; a pale face shrouded in waves of hair one could only describe as something warmer than grey. She reaches out to caress the woman's cheek, gazing into eyes a brighter shade than anything she'd seen before.

"Beautiful," she murmurs, tracing her mother's jaw.

The skin underneath her fingers is cold, rough. Mizuki's fingers shy back, hovering, hesitant, her mouth curling into a frown.

"It's not proper to touch the dead, you know." A voice.

Her fingers retract.

"I know," Mizuki murmurs, tilting her chin down. Guilt coils in her abdomen, a fierce, unwelcome feeling. She blinks at the sudden wet lining her lashes.

She'd been able to see both of them that day.

The day she lost her mother in sirens and waves of heat, sparks and choking smoke. Hearing about the loss of her father whilst swirling in and out of consciousness, surrounded by the whirs and beeps of hospital machinery. The emptiness that followed, days where she couldn't bring herself to speak or eat. She barely felt human.

Maybe she didn't deserve to be human.

Mizuki's frown deepens. She couldn't tell anyone about her secret, her curse. She could hear their voices, their accusations, how their words would cut deeper than shards of broken glass.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

You should've seen it coming.

You should've done something.

Mizuki retracted her hand, clenching it at her side. Her breaths felt unsteady, shaky, never acquiring enough oxygen to keep her afloat. She swallowed. Her throat was parched in comparison to her eyes, which were lined in a familiar, warm, wetness that dribbled down her cheekbones.

She would give anything to be held in their arms again.

Mizuki's legs wobbled underneath her weight, her hands unfurling to grip the edge of the casket. She squeezed her eyes shut and collapsed to her knees, fighting a wave of nausea.

She couldn't fight back the vision behind her eyelids.

She could see. One thing, at that, but she could see. She could see how her mother's hair unfurled in waves and rested just below her shoulders. She could make out the way her clothes clung to her curves and were made up of all sorts of unfamiliar hues. She could see her smile, her shining eyes, the way she'd tuck her hair behind her ear when she laughed.

If Mizuki were to think about it, it was almost unfair that she couldn't see the remains of her breakfast, cheesecake fresh from the coffee shop, or see the radio that hummed out old tunes. She was simply happy to finally see someone, something.

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again, tugging at the invisible seatbelt around her waist. Joy, innocent and warm, rose in her chest, bubbling over and clouding her thoughts. It didn't matter that only one thing existed in her murky world, the fact that she could acknowledge and notice and comprehend the singular sight before her was all that mattered.

"Mom?" Mizuki twisted her fingers together, curling them around one another. She gazed, wide-eyed, at her mother.

"Yes, Mizuki?" Her mother glanced at her from behind the wheel. She laid her foot on the brake as they approached an intersection, resting but not pressing. The light was green.

Neither of them noticed the car in the near distance, careening their direction without intention of stopping.

As they entered the intersection, the girl inhaled from her place in the seat, her voice giddy and twisted with barely concealed delight. "I love you."

Her mother didn't hear those last words.

Or maybe she did, Mizuki would never know.

The driver had been dually drunk and drugged, his senses scrambled by the substances he'd digested. He didn't notice the red light through his haze, slamming into the front end of a passing car, colliding with the engine, and wrecking their cars beyond repair.

Not that either of them would ever drive again. Both him and the adjacent driver, Mizuki's mother, died on impact.

Mizuki, unfortunately, wasn't so lucky.

The girl, covered in scrapes and bruises, had been flung and knocked unconscious. Metal scraps clung to her skin, and she reeked of smoke. When the paramedics arrived, they claimed it was a miracle that she survived.

The girl remained comatose for three days, constrained by a web of IVs and wires. Whilst she slumbered, the hospital officials requested that the police alert Mizuki's father of her unconscious state, along with providing him with papers to fill. They'd need to find a way to cover Mizuki's hospital fees.

Her father was long gone by the time she awoke.

He didn't even leave a suicide note. The police had approached the home early the next morning, but when he didn't answer the door, they'd barged into a silent house. They'd searched the home, seen the empty liquor bottles, seen the cigarette stubs (that he'd sworn he'd quit), seen the dried splatters of blood on the adjacent wall.

The body was cold by the time they found it.

Once the girl awoke, she was alerted to the deaths. She'd wailed, tugging at her constraints, and refused any and all substances offered to her, splattering them onto the adjacent wall. Her refusals grew weaker by the day. Instead of force-feeding her, they pressed her to digest a clouded liquid, a feeble form of nutrition fed through her wires.

The week thereafter, she was shoved into funeral attire and dragged to a hastily assembled service. She'd collapsed halfway through, consumed by grief and fatigue.

She never once visited their graves. After the service, her remaining family was contacted, but none wanted to care for the blind orphan that could barely speak, sleep, or eat. Mizuki drifted into foster care, slipping from home to home as she barely clung to life.

She didn't exactly have a reason to live. After years of guilt, burdened by her curse, she opened up to a local therapist. They spoke, arranged meetings, and kept in contact for several years. Eventually, the therapist told her about the agency.

The Armed Detective Agency was an ability user organization. They had an offer for her, had use for her ability, and were willing to take her in.

Mizuki was removed from the foster care system at the age of 17.