𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄 - ★彡[ᴋᴀᴍɪꜱᴀᴛᴏ ᴀʏᴀᴛᴏ]彡★

十二 - 12

 Kamisato Ayato sat at his desk, stiffly rummaging through the paperwork that his sister had filed out. He stared blankly at the words scrawled over the paper, speaking of festivals and preparations of that sort.

How bland.

An assortment of the casual activities of his daily life hadn't seemed so bad back then.

He stood up and figured that he would go outside for a walk- maybe that would ease his boredom. It most likely wouldn't, but it was worth a shot.

The sky was a dull gray color consisting of a thick blanket of clouds, it would most likely rain in a few minutes or so. Across the pathway he saw the familiar white hair of his sister, and called out to her.

"Ah, Brother," she dipped her head politely, "how are you?"

"The same old," he smiled, "I would hope that you are faring better."

"Ah, I just visited Miss Shimoda," Ayaka smiled, "I suggest that you do the same."

The name pricked something within his heart, but he shoved it down. "I don't want to see her."

"I see," she smiled softly, "so you're still playing at that."

A small drop of anger began to boil in his chest. "What do you mean?"

Ayaka turned to him, her hair blowing out behind her in the wind. The look on her face was one of sadness and regret, one that he had hardly seen on her face before.

"Are you acting this way because it reminds you of Mother?"

Drip.

A small droplet of rain fell onto the walkway.

"Lady Kayo!" a woman shrieked as his mother lurched over, coughing erratically.

"Young Master, what are you doing out? You must be training!" the boy was shoved backwards and out of the room.

"I want to see my mother-"

"You know that you must focus on your work! You are the next head of the Kamisato Clan, you cannot be worrying about such trivial matters."

Trivial matters, huh.

"Your mother has many years left, you only have a few until your adulthood!" the man lied straight through his teeth. "So please, forget about her."

The boy knew no better, and decided to believe the man, walking away from his mother as she quickly grew closer and closer to her death.

'Work harder, work harder,' the people of the house would say.