[Setting in year 2010, Post Star Plasma Vessel and Pre-Canon]
«I'm Aoi. Aoi Fujikawa. Aoi like Hollyhock, not the color Blue. Yeah, I know-nobody ever gets it right the first time.»
A simple life as an art student in Tokyo was all Aoi ever wanted. S...
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HATE
-Aoi-
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Aoi stood finally stood in front of the art department building, her clothes plastered to her skin from the rain, her hair a wet mess that stuck to her face. She was cold, tired, and still shaken from the strange encounter earlier in the day. The feeling of that guy's mocking gaze and the way the creatures had retreated from him lingered in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to shake it off. She had trained herself to ignore those things her entire life, but there had been something unnerving about how they reacted to him, how they seemed... afraid.
It doesn't matter, she told herself, brushing the thoughts away. What mattered now was the painting in her hands. The final one. This was it—the end of her year-long project.
Her fingers clutched the edges of the wrapped canvas tightly, holding it as though it were a fragile piece of herself. She had spent months pouring her soul into this series, every emotion she had ever felt laid bare on the canvas. Each painting had been a reflection of her inner world. And now, she was carrying the last one: Hate. All she had to do now was hand it in, and she could finally rest.
She pushed open the glass doors of the building, and the warmth inside wrapped around her, a brief respite from the chill outside. Her shoes squelched against the floor as she crossed the lobby, her legs stiff from exhaustion. The familiar quiet of the building usually brought her comfort, but today it felt different, almost oppressive. The hallways were dimly lit, and the soft hum of fluorescent lights echoed in the empty space. Aoi glanced around, instinctively checking for any lingering shadows in the corners of her vision. They were always there, those twisted, grotesque figures. Lurking. Watching. But she had learned long ago how to keep them at bay—by pretending they didn't exist.
As she walked, she felt their presence just out of sight, shifting in the periphery. For some reason, they never approached her directly, but she knew they were there, hovering like unwanted guests. Sometimes she could make out their shapes more clearly—elongated limbs, misshapen faces, eyes that never seemed to blink. But she kept her gaze forward, ignoring them as she always did.
