𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 ˣ 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 | ᵃʳˡᵉᶜᶜʰⁱⁿᵒ, ᶠᵘʳⁱⁿᵃ

5: 95 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙤𝙨

I'm screaming and tweaking.
Yeah I'm just forgetting the 2.5k words quota exists

6.5k words 🤝      ⚰️ 
                 Me crying

I'm going to take a small break after this one, next ch will be the qualifying and actual gp

(Re-edited)
———

"__, look, isn't she beautiful?"

My gaze flickers up from the static tv to my dad who held a sculpture in his hands. It was mom, he made another sculpture of her.

Dad sits down to the couch next to me and extended the statue to me. Clearly urging me to have a close look.

It was a small piece, only containing the head down to the neck and shoulders. Yet, her hair was detailed, the face was delicately sculpted with that gentle expression that dad oh so loved to replicate in every statue he has made of mom.

"She's always beautiful, dad." I say.

Dad looked down to me and smiled. Gaze as sweet as plum yet melancholic like the drunken night mom died.

Dad holds the sculpture's face in his hands. Mom's face.

"Do you miss her?" He questioned without looking at me. Busy caressing the molded cheek with his thumb.

"Mhm," I hum with a nod, "of course I do." I mumble.

It has been 3 years ever since mom died. Me and dad lived peacefully in our humble apartment— too peaceful, I'll say. I don't even know why, we're drowning in a debt that has yet to reach the deepest pit. Debt that mom left behind. And dad... His conditions are getting worse day by day. A kid like me had to cook for him and go out to buy some meds at a pharmacy for the sake of keeping him stable.

He lives blissfully unaware. Dad has shut every problem out. Even when there's loud banging on the door, shouting his name and shouting; "Where's our money?!"

I don't ever open the door to those yelling men. Dad says I shouldn't open it, I obeyed his word. I'm a good daughter after all. A good kid.

Dad though, I don't know if I can call him a good dad either. He's not bad. He's just... Not both of them.

Sculpting every day. Hours spent on getting his hands covered in clay. The only time we get to talk is when he shows me his sculptures.

He's been like this ever since mom went away. It's his only way to ever hold mom's face again. His way of coping over her loss.

Pitiful. I'd describe. But, I'm pitiful too.

I don't have good memory. Dad says I'm a forgetful child.

He started saying that when I asked him how mom lose her life. He didn't answer and just teased my forgetfulness. Teasing, but he cried when I asked.

I want to know, but I fear that tears will pour out of his again if I ask. That's something would rather not see.

We've been living like this. Dad would make a sculpture of mom and show it to me for feedbacks. Asking me if he depicted her accurately. I'd always answer, despite not knowing what mom looked like at all.

Strange, isn't it?

I don't remember ever having a "mom".

***

It was morning in Liyue when I woke up from my peaceful sleep in a bed that I don't recognize. A ceiling that I don't recognize. Walls that I don't recognize. I remember what I saw before passing out hours ago. I was in the airport waiting for... Furina, was it? Ah, yes, yes—her. I passed out from complete lack of sleep but I didn't expect to wake up in a completely different place.