• 𝐺 𝑢 𝑖 𝑑 𝑒 • [𝐾ℎ𝑢𝑛 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟]

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8 : I ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ

(Don't play the music now !)

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8 : I ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ

3rd person POV

The red-haired girl opens her eyes with difficulty, her eyelids opening and closing to adjust to the blinding light that was not there on the death floor. Her long eyelashes cover her eyes with a tired look as she has just woken up. She can't feel her body, as if she didn't have one, as if she were somewhere else.

The whole place is white, there seems to be no limits to this blinding glow. There's no one around. The place is empty of presence and silence reigns.

Without being able to do anything, (Y/n)'s body moves on its own, straightening up to see fields, plains that have been built in the place that seemed to be her mind.

Her memories are played out there, like a film. She sees her birth mother dancing with her on a sunny plain, surrounded by flowers of a thousand colours. Her mother's face is hidden by her hair, as if her mind cannot remember her face. Her hair of the same colour (h/c) as (Y/n)'s hair dances in the wind.

It was as if a story was being written over the pages, and the reader visualized the passages one by one, page by page. That was exactly how (Y/n) felt at the moment.

She was the reader of her own life.

She saw her memories, her whole life that she had almost forgotten to scroll past her, but she was just looking at them as a reader. She discovered the memories little by little as if they were just a story.

After a moment, the smell of blood and the sound of gunfire brings her back to reality.

This story was hers. The story of her life. We all own the story of our life, and for her, it was written again with permanent ink so that she would never forget it.

Now she knew everything. She could no longer look at her life as a mere reader, she had to enter fully into her story, play her part and carry her burden.

A soft voice echoes in the girl's ears as she looks at her hands. They have become tiny and as she looks around, she notices that she has entered into the memory. Her memory.

Her knees are bathed in a pool of blood and a red-tinted hand tenderly caresses the little girl's cheek.

"(Y/n)... Please... Promise me that... You don't ever give up..."

(Y/n) look at the face of her real mother, the one who gave birth to her, in that world outside of the tower, which looks radiant, with blue sky and oceans. She can finally see clearly her sweet face tensed by pain. Her peach-coloured lips are curled into a thin smile and her incredibly golden eyes shine in the half-light.