It was the summer of her 17th year.
Marsha lay in a sweltering room, staring at the ceiling, sweat dripping from her body.
When the sun set, her stepfather would come home drunk and beat her, but she had nowhere to run.
No, perhaps it was more accurate to say she had no will to run.
But every time she thought about it, she was too terrified to open her mouth.
More than the beatings, more than having her belongings taken away, not knowing the truth was the hardest part.
Stepfather: "Marsha."
At her stepfather’s voice, Marsha sat up.
Unlike usual, she hid a small dagger behind her back.
Stepfather: "You can hug me."
Even now, Marsha remembers it vividly.
Her stepfather’s face, his gaze, the coldness of the dagger, the smell of blood.
But at this moment, the stepfather standing before her gently embraced her.
Stepfather: "I’m sorry, my daughter."
Perhaps she had lived just to hear those words.
The blade hidden behind her back fell, disappearing like a mirage before it hit the ground. And time reversed.
Years of condensed, twisted emotions exploded in an instant, like a spirit bursting forth from a fully opened consciousness.
Marsha: "Waaaaah! Dad! Dad!"
Marsha clung to Shirone, crying like a 17-year-old girl.
Shirone silently stroked her back.
Marsha: "I’m sorry! I’m sorry!"
Even though the event never happened, the past was shattering in her mind.
As the twisted logic disappeared and her memories were reconstructed with new logic, Shirone felt all her magic returning.
Freeman looked on in disbelief.
Freeman: "Ma, Marsha."
The reason he had stayed by her side through all the harsh treatment was solely for this moment.
’But... I couldn’t do it.’
Giving everything to someone you love isn’t a sacrifice.
That’s why the weight of what Shirone had given up for Marsha felt even heavier.
’It’s a complete defeat, Shirone.’
Marsha’s crying showed no signs of stopping.
She, too, knew. If not today, the door might never open again.
Marsha: "Waaaaah! Waaaaah!"
The endlessly deep wound was healing.