Dance of Two Colors (Genji x Reader)

Chapter Forty

"The swan was a good swan.

Kind.

Caring.

Happy.

But bad things happen to good swans.

She lost those closest to her, one by one.

And a part of her died along with them.

She was twisted.

Curled into a staircase of darkness.

Full of evil.

Alone, she broke at last, and cried.

For she did not know who she was anymore."

I looked up at him, my father. He had a sad look in his eyes; the same look that he always had when he told me that same story again and again. He placed his hand on my head, softly patting it. He could see the disturbance on my face.

"Why do you always tell that story, Dad?" I asked, all efforts to comfort me remaining futile.

"Does it scare you?" he asked quietly; sympathetically. He had dodged answering my question again, using his own question to thwart my curiosity.

I nodded, gripping the hem of his shirt with teary eyes. "It makes me sad, too."

"Do you feel sorry for the swan?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "It's only a story, (y/n)."

"But... wait... Dad, does she get a happy ending?!" I exclaimed.

My father avoided my eyes, staring off at nothing in particular. He had a distant, faraway and cloudy look on his face as he seemed to ponder the possibilities of how to end the story.

All the while, I was almost shaking with anticipation, hoping and praying, that the swan would eventually find happiness and be good again.

He then shrugged, the depth of his thoughts shattered and shaken off brazenly. "Can't tell you that! I have to foster that curiosity within you!"

He leaned down and pecked the top of my head as I huffed loudly with disappointment. I ran away from him, pausing to twirl myself into a classic ballet spin, hands above my head. A smile broke out on my face.

"Hey, Dad! I can dance the story one day! I'll do it for you! I'll be the swan!"

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I heard a gasp.

The faint images of my father disappeared, leaving me in none other than the cold and dark bluntness of my reality. My body was stiff. My throat was dry. And I felt like none other than a corpse resurrected from a slumber that I would have chosen over this.

I swallowed dryly, and found myself wanting to escape this blackened hell. So I forced myself to pry open my eyes, so I could see the world, with all of its imperfections.

Bright white lights hit my eyes as soon as they opened. I felt irritated, but that was the least of my struggles. Pain etched its way onto different parts of my body as I slowly regained consciousness. 

I flinched as I remembered the physical pain of my moments before I had blacked out.

The searing cuts marking themselves on my skin. The blood. The arrow embedding itself into  me.