[Mikazuki's voice is flat, his movements mechanical; behind them, shards of steel glint in the moonlight, and it's all too much. A pressure has begun to build inside of him, crushing his heart until he can scarcely bear to breathe. It hurts. It hurts like he's been wounded, like he's the one being broken-- like he's a human.
He pulls away from that lifeless touch, stumbling towards the mirrors, driven forward by the burning pain in his chest. He knows what's going to happen (of course he knows) but he can't look away. Not for anything.]
How? [It's little more than a hoarse whisper, and Namazuo's shoulders tremble as he speaks. He feels helplessly small as he reaches out, resting a hand against the glass. Is he trying to steady himself, or to reach through to the past? He doesn't know. It doesn't matter-- he can't do either.] How can you turn away so easily?
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He pulls away from that lifeless touch, stumbling towards the mirrors, driven forward by the burning pain in his chest. He knows what's going to happen (of course he knows) but he can't look away. Not for anything.]
How? [It's little more than a hoarse whisper, and Namazuo's shoulders tremble as he speaks. He feels helplessly small as he reaches out, resting a hand against the glass. Is he trying to steady himself, or to reach through to the past? He doesn't know. It doesn't matter-- he can't do either.] How can you turn away so easily?