find solace (belong) [KNY/BNHA]

[08] burning, an undeserving world

A neatly pressed letter, perfectly waxed and stamped in the shop's signature stamp of an aromatic flowering mint. The edges were folded crisply, and the moment Charlotte laid hands on that smooth envelope paper, she couldn't help but feel at a loss of what to do.

Open me, it beckoned. She didn't want to, really. She didn't want to see that image of Gin within her mind, in the depths of the night or the drowsy early morning, writing away this letter to her, knowing that it would be for the day of his demise.

But alas, she needed to do so. Carefully, she cut open the letter with still fingers.

It had started with her name.

Dear Char, it wrote, carving a knife into Charlotte's freshly wounded heart, still raw from grief and pain. She could imagine Gin saying that, patting her head like he'd usually do.

Char.

Even if you've told me the spelling of your name, it still feels a little strange to write it on paper.

Where do you come from? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? So many questions, I guess I'll never get the answer. Or perhaps I will someday, in a distant life.

I want to ask why you are the way you are. A mentality so strong, yet a heart so fragile.

I've known you for nearly a year now. To be quite fair, it's not a very long time. It feels like time has passed in the blink of an eye. Look at how much you've grown, young one!

Char. My dear Char.

Did you know that one's first impression of another is decided within the first seven seconds of encounter? When I first met you, it was as if you fell out of the sky.

Not familiar with the land, the sky, the earth, the sea. Not knowing where to go, when to be, and how to stay. When you first helped me up, small hands firmly grasping my arm, looking at me with eyes of consideration, I could see uncertainty in your gaze.

Fear, nervousness, adrenaline. It was as if I could feel it in my own bloodstream, the rush of excitement, the feeling of the moment, as one's heart races, breathing quickens, eyes dilated.

I know I'm being rather poetic right now. Perhaps it's due to my growing age.

In all honesty, I racked my brain to figure out what had made you the way you are. As if everything precious to you would somehow, without a doubt, disappear. As if you were preparing yourself for the day that you had to let go of what you try desperately to keep hold of.

Believe it or not, I was once a military man. During one of my long breaks, I married the woman I loved, had a beautiful daughter with her and decided to retire from my post. I had enough achievements and had served my country to the best of my abilities, so I packed my bags and left, to the house that I built myself for my beloved.

We were happy. I witnessed the growth of my own daughter, how she smiled, ran, played, exercised, ate, danced, sang. Granted, I made her train, but in this world where women are naturally weaker than men, I didn't want her to be taken away, pulled aside on the street and devoured, in more ways than one.

My wife understood but didn't completely approve as she believed that it is a parents' job to protect their children so that they can live their childhood at ease. And I believed so too.

Still, if only to ease my heart, she allowed it.

One day, a demon attacked our house whilst I was away, killing my daughter, and leaving my wife with nothing but shallow breaths and a life that was slipping away. On that day, I was away, drinking with an old friend as he visited our town. When I got back, I fought with the demon. I never thought demons were real, as they were just a whisper of a tale on the street, meant to keep kids out at night wandering too far.