This is the story of the end.
...Papa, from where shall I tell?
When you were gone, a man that looked like you took me in. He told me that I resembled his departed wife, and if their children were alive, his daughter would surely look as old as me.
I also met a beautiful golden-haired girl by the sea, and with glassy eyes she said I reminded her of a girl she and her brother once loved.
Ah, the sea. A legend goes that a wish in a bottle would come true. Please, come back. Bring my parents back.
Papa, are you listening? Tell me, tell me, how was I able to live when I drowned in the middle of the free seas? How am I not dead without anyone left to love and with no one who could love me? You always have the answers, right?
Just like the hero in the stories you always tell me before bed, you are– you were strong. You were cunning. You were powerful. You held the law as your sword, slashing down criminals as you see fit. And yet, all it took was a single gunshot to your forehead to spell your end.
Yes, I dreamt of her once, Papa. Your killer. My own sister. But that dream was just that, a dream. I wasn’t there, you weren’t you, she wasn’t even her. So why? Why did she?
—Papa, praise me, I managed to get my hands on a treasure well-kept by the last Moonlit. Hanging round his neck, a glass bottle that gleams in the sorrowful moonlight. Papa, you told me that the Witch Queen’s Gift is very potent. Surely, with this tiny vial of death in my possession, this painful story will reach its finale.
...that, that girl…!
When the ruler of Hell released the black box of destruction, everything came to a stop.
And now, I will go see you.