lefthertainted | [btr] [unfortunately public]

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When I was six, my older sister shoved me down a hill into a pile of broken glass because I could play the violin better than she could. The glass caused severe lacerations on my face and I also broke my arm.

I've always told people that the scars on my face were because of an "accident", but in reality the only accidental part about it was that my sister wasn't expecting the broken beer bottles to be there.

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[he probably just stares for a good ten minutes]

There's not really a good way for me to say this. Sorry sounds like pity, and I don't pity you.

I just wish I knew better how to help with that pain... because I know what it's like.

I'm over it now. Misao and I were competitive before that, and continued to be competitive for years afterwards as well. I just learned how to structure my battles differently after that.

I think, in the end, what cut deeper is that my scar became the most obvious reason why my mother could never love me. It's not as if she loved me all that much before, so it not like it was all that much of a loss anyway.

Your mother was awful, to put it nicely. We're always craving that respect and appreciation from our parents, but we're never really enough. At least, in the case of our families.

Your mother makes my father look like a bloody saint though.

She was an empty shell of a woman, obsessed with chasing something that could never be truly attained. I can at least understand that, even if it was deeply unhealthy and lead her to become emotionally abusive to those around her.

My father, on the other hand...I try not to dig into his motives too much. I already have far too many hungry ghosts that whisper to me in the night.

My mother was just weak. Loved my father too much, and was willing to turn a blind eye whenever he lost it. I never much held it against her, I suppose. She couldn't help being in love.

I can understand that. However, I would really rather not understand how someone would decide to murder their own brother and his entire family over a dispute. And I am not talking about about killing in the heat of the moment--I am talking about coldly plotting it out in advance, and then killing the man who was (presumably) blackmailed into setting it up and the rest of his family in order to cover it up.

The second part makes sense, in a very ruthless way, but it rests upon there being a logical reason for the first part.

Sometimes, when I'm falling asleep at night, I can hear his voice explaining his reasoning to me. And that scares me, more than a little.

There's a part of us that will always be connected to our parents, even if we don't want to be.

You felt remorse, when you killed. He didn't. That makes you different. I think I cling to my guilt because it does separate me from my father.

I think that connection is perhaps a little bit more literal in my case than most.

...not always. I've never felt bad about killing my father. Not even a little.

I think the more pertinent difference between my father and I is that I believe in the ideals of honor and duty, even if I'm perfectly willing to compromise either of both of them if necessary. He never believed in anything outside of himself.

Do you think there's still... a link?

There's a difference though. I never felt bad about any of the men I had to kill, because they were a threat to others. It's the innocent lives I still mourn.

Not so much a link as...more like an echo, I suppose.

Communication to the various dwelling places of the dead is definitely not within my skill set. I'm not really even all that good with earth-bound spirits. I'm perfectly happy to leave all of that the the spiritualists, mediums, and exorcists. Dealing with the living is bad enough, in my opinion.

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