Envie De Voyager

Old Evanescence First Chapter Drafts #5

Journal Entry #31

Date: March 31

Dear, Journal #3

"I will do all in my power to help you."

Her bittersweet words were all I could remember as I stand over her — no, a cold, empty shell that used to house her. Before me was the remains of only woman who could ever love someone like me, and I have not even a single idea of what had happened to her. The one who had opened my eyes, yet here she is, eyes to be closed for all eternity.

She made me a new man.

We started off as foes, only glancing at each other a few times because of certain meetings that required both of us to attend. Though we had barely interacted, her affiliations alone were enough to make me despise her at the time. After all, her team was far superior to mine, and they constantly reminded us of it.

That superiority played out later on, when we had to butt heads. By the second half, the end results were already obvious, and once the end whistle blew, my world was shattered.

My team, a team that had never known defeat, was brought to the ground the same way amateurs would be. Where we used to reign, we were now the prisoners of. The effect of the loss was so powerful that I called out for Death. Anything, anything but this shame. My teammates yelled alongside me in agony, all of us in such despair. So much despair that Death was to be a gift.

And their Captain was eager to hand it over. He had done it before, calling himself merciful for it. But he was stopped by her protesting voice.

Initially, I found this enraging. I had wanted it to end there, but she insisted on keeping us on Earth. I was not grateful for it at the time, but a week later, I began thanking her.

The pain of loss inspired us. Inspired me. Seeing the horrors that we used to inflict upon others made us all throw away the masks and pendants that symbolised our statuses as faceless terrors. We rediscovered hard work and dedication, which were warped by the 'gifts,' that served as our dog collars.

It was not long after when I finally got to meet her as a person, talk to her. It had been a month and a half since that faithful loss, and we became quick friends.

I was still a little angsty, and it showed sometimes. Things weren't perfect — I still had bouts of violence, and even stated that our tactics should be designed to inflict maximum pain. The others cheered my violent behaviour on. Despite claiming to be reformed by throwing away the masks, what we really only did was mitigate our negative habits by a small degree. I was still brutal, uncaring of life. I just understood that there would be a lot of work needed to traumatise more people.

And she completed my rehabilitation. We spent the last months of the school year constantly travelling around Tokyo, and I soon gained an appreciation for life. For choice. I had never been given a choice as a child, my life and feelings directed by the implants that used to subtly alter my mood. She told me that there was more to life than just what I thought of it.

She taught me many things. I had been in school for many years, learning numerous things, but I learned from her how to live. And most important of her lessons was "Justice is sacred."

Sacred was one of her favourite words. Indeed, she was Christian, making her unique amongst the Japanese, as I only knew one other. And though I do not share the same beliefs as her, this made her endearing and inspiring. As her take on justice being sacred eventually found itself rooted into me.

Her words made me believe that I could fight the system.

She was greatly against me openly rebelling against my puppetmasters, always trying to calm me down when we walk past Teikoku or Sakurazaki's former location. I would instinctively clench my fists at the sight of it, and she would respond with a gentle squeeze.

"Attendre, et Espérer."

Wait and hope, in French. She admitted that these were the only French words that had stuck into her mind, but that is because it is one of the greatest of statements. In her view, this represents hope in tomorrow, that one day, God will come and serve His Justice.

But I cannot forgive or wait any longer.

My dear Mitsuka Jeanne, I dedicate my next move to you. You've tried so hard to flip me around, and I appreciate it. However, I cannot deny the rage I feel this day, the old version of me creeping out to do one last thing before I completely forget him.

You may not look at it with complete approval, but I know that you will understand. You believed in a sacred Justice, but now, I will be taking it into my own hands. A tainted Justice, but Justice nonetheless. No matter what is ahead, be it death or grave injury, I will face what will be handed to me by fate. As long as I have my revenge — we have our revenge.

Grave injury. Hah. That will be my last pun for you, my love.

That is all for today,
Kurogane Suabara

Shortly after the all-dialogue prologue, I made another prologue. This time, a journal entry by Suabara detailing that love of his that died. Aside from wearing masks, Sakurazaki members also had the pendants that would later be reused by Kageyama for Shin Teikoku. In here, Suabara was going to be more vengeful and seething with enmity, but more refined. Unlike other iterations, where he will likely burst out an insult immediately, he is more of the biding type.