when one looks back to their childhood, one remembers the vivid springs of laughter, climbing trees and reaching out for the stars, and making flower crowns in fields of flowers. but when [name] looked back at her youth, it was void of those colorfu...
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chapter 78. she who faces him, he who faces her
[ a moonlit sunflower facing my sun ]
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[name]...hates no one.
she was taken in by the dressrosa police and thrown into some toy factory, deep underneath the ground where she was now. it was a trade port, a place where joker conducted his black-market dealings.
working like a slave.
it was another thing that she had somehow found where the SMILE factory was...but she didn't have the strength nor the will to disobey the commandment set on her by sugar to do anything she wanted.
not that she could do anything in this body anyway.
working like a slave...this was familiar.
"carry it properly!" one of the soldiers working for sugar and a top executive named trebol kicked her harshly when she nearly tripped on her legs, making her fall to the ground.
"you useless toy!"
there were so many toys here...and each one of them was being worked against their will.
...it hurt.
she didn't need her black flames to know how this felt.
it was like she was a slave to marco all over again.
the hoof of the soaring dragon was always on her nape, but she refused to be a slave...the hoof of the soaring dragon was no longer on her nape, but now, she was working like a slave.
what kind of irony was this...?
she unwillingly was picked up even when she screamed at her body to not listen, and continued her work.
karma was at her.
she forced her body to listen to her...now her body was forcing her to listen to it.
she had emotions but locked them away all that time...now, she had emotions and wants to feel...but cannot.
the gods were playing with her, weren't they?
her body feels so numb; no warmth, no cold, no touch, nothing at all. her tiny legs press into the blurry edges of her soul and she suddenly hurts all over again. smoke and mist, white fog that was her whispers, rose inside her nonexistent ribcage that surrounded her nonexistent heart that she could feel was on fire, bones forming dust and ash.
she hates no one for forgetting her.
it...wasn't even their fault.
little or no little--even if layla means the world to her, [name] is slowly forgetting her.
