I lost consciousness, the yokai's final words echoing inside me:
"So who is cursed and who is not? Let this world bleed. So are the majority always right? Dead and living are two horrors, really that different?"
The smell of rain was still fresh.
The coldness of the raindrops clung to my skin like an old memory.
In the pitch darkness, there was a single source of light:
a door, shining so brightly with yellow light that it painted the darkness in the colors of dawn.
Its warmth neutralized the cold rain clinging to my body.
I stepped toward it, and when I finally stood in front of it,
I reached out and touched it with the tip of my finger.
The next moment, I was waking up on a soft mattress under a silk blanket.
The roof above me was painted white and blue.
The bed was made of polished oak wood.
The air carried the faint scent of roses.
My head was hurting.
I couldn't remember anything clearly.
I sat up and pushed the blanket aside.
As soon as my foot touched the wooden floor, a cold sensation ran through my body.
The floor was freezing.
I wore the shoes kept beside the bed and slowly moved out of the room.
The corridor was quiet.
On the walls, I could see faint discolorations—stains of time.
Suddenly, my head throbbed.
A gloomy room flashed behind my eyes: dull grey sunlight, broken windows, and the same stains of time.
The shooting pain forced me to stop and lean against the wall.
I tried to remember more.
Nothing came.
I continued exploring and descended the stairs, eventually reaching the garden.
It was snowing outside.
A single cherry tree stood there, its pink petals falling slowly onto the white, snow-covered ground.
I stepped into the garden and looked up at the sky.
It was dark, covered with clouds.
The falling white snow felt familiar—like something I had seen before, something other than snow.
My breath grew heavier and deeper.
Fog escaped with every breath I let go.
My ears turned a faint shade of red from the cold.
Then another shooting pain struck me.
A white dandelion field flashed before my eyes.
A girl stood in the middle of it.
I couldn't remember who she was; I could only see her back and her yellow hair, the color of a rising dawn.
Another image followed—
a night scene in the same field.
Fireflies illuminated the darkness beneath a giant moon.
Finally, the girl turned.
Her face was blurry.
I couldn't recognize her.
But her voice—soft as silk yet firmer than iron—echoed clearly:
"Live for me."
The vision shattered.
I fell to my knees.
Tears began falling.
I didn't even know who she was, yet the tears wouldn't stop.
They streamed endlessly, uncontrollably.
My heart felt heavy, but my chest felt lighter than a feather.
A single question repeated in my mind, escaping my lips in a trembling whisper:
"Who was she?"