Vanitas closed her eyes, her voice quivering.
"It started like any other night. I was watching you sleep, Kafka...smiling to myself because you looked so sweet with drool dripping down your mouth, making those soft noises. I thought, 'How adorable he is.' But then then...I noticed smoke."
Kafka's breath caught. "Smoke?"
She nodded, her hands trembling as she said,
"The orphanage was on fire. Someone had set it ablaze, and the flames were spreading fast. And to tell you the truth I panicked at that time. I'd never felt fear like that before—not for myself, not for the heavens, not for anything...But for you? I was terrified."
"I was screaming, begging anyone to save you from the heavens. The nurses were rushing around, carrying babies out, but you...you were at the far end of the room, still sleeping so peacefully. They were prioritizing the others, so you were being left behind."
Her hands clenched into fists, her voice breaking.
