Sukoshi Chō (Little Butterfly) Yomo x reader x Uta *postponed*

Prologue

My name is Iba Kakoto, I'm 25 years of age, and consume human flesh to survive. I just returned to Japan from the United States of America. When I was traveling from Japan to countries that believed they had completely exterminated the Ghouls that had inhabited their borders, I couldn't help but feel a little sad. It's not every day that you go to a youth shelter and see kids not eating because they don't know that the food that's being shoved into their mouths isn't meant to sustain their life forms. I live in an era where Ghouls are not only feared, but attacked out of rejected knowledge. We might as well be extinct if we're going to be ignored by these fools. The only other trouble with coming back to Japan is that I'm back in a constant battle zone, now I'll have to don my ever so famous gasmask. Most beautiful thing I ever wore. I don't know why I thought coming back to the last country where I would be in danger would ever be a good idea.

The answer is I have connections, connections and a chance to survive here. Although I could survive in the other countries without being noticed at all, I would rather survive with people I know, and people I care for; besides, I got a job offer to start my own boutique in Harajuku. See, connections. My store, sukoshi chō, or Little Butterfly was set up by a good friend of mine, someone who I desperately believe can help me find all of my old associates, that or some of them. I learned to sew as a little girl in the 4th ward. Although my family lived in the next ward over, I sought to spend more time with my grandmother whom refused to move even though the "disgraceful children" were trying to "run her out". I always wanted to keep her company, as she was the only family member who would talk to me about my mother whom I supposedly looked so much like.

My mother's name was also Iba, she died in childbirth and my father, Hiroshi Kakoto claimed me, yet ignored me, failing to remember that I was part his as well. So as a byproduct of a failing man and a dead woman, I was taken care of mostly by my maternal grandmother. The old woman was kind and witty, she could make any nightmare I may happen to have, disappear in an instant with a simple, song.

Don't worry little butterfly,

Don't worry little one,

You may rest now,

Now that the pain is done,

I am here,

Do not fear,

I am here,

Eternally,

Let,

Oh let it be,

It may have been small and light, but it held great meaning for me and always helped when I had nightmares about things like the fights one the streets, the deaths of loved ones by Doves or cannibalistic fools. Soon though, I would learn the way of the streets and the 4th ward would become more than just a place of residence. It would become the place where those I loved most had held their ground and cared for me when I needed them the most.