#fragile dreams: farewell ruins of the moon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mollypaup · 11 months ago

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(hi please read this collection of side stories from Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon, one of my favorite video games ever.)

Seven Colored Bells

I looked upon those seven girls no longer breathing.

I recalled the word “deathbed.”

In that bright white alley, they lay there lifeless. I didn’t think to explore the cause behind it.

Death cannot be overturned or reversed. It stays right where it is. It doesn’t go anywhere.

The only reason I spilled tears was because of the wretched shape I was in.

I had no memory of being loved.

Especially not at first glance.

The day they were welcomed into their homes, they were given heirloom bells. It proved that they were loved like family.

In all my days, I’d never been given a bell.

And yet here I was, alive, while these girls, who were supposedly loved unconditionally, were dead.

It might have been poison. Perhaps even disease.

Maybe I, too, would be whisked off by the cold wind of death.

Either way, I was alive.

A part of my heart scoffed, ‘Served you right. Just look at the evidence. You ridiculed me, and I survived. You paid the price of cruelty with your lives. Behold! I’m alive!’

But no matter how much I yelled, none of them opened their eyes.

And my tears didn’t stop.

As I picked up one bell after another off the floor, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t grieve over them.

Not after I’d endured such suffering my whole life. I had the right to mock their life and death.

The sound of the bells that were not mine echoed in vain through the air like the tolling bells of a funeral.

Red Bell Anri

Cough! Cough cough cough!

From beyond the tiny window, fitted into the side of the tiny house, a raspy cough could be heard.

There was a tiny bed in the room, where a tiny human child’s body lay resting.

"Honey, you know you have to get some sleep."

The scolding came from a tall woman who entered the room.She’d come to put out the lantern as she rubbed the boy’s back.

"No." he replied, shaking his head.

"I’m not sleeping. Anri might come back home."

"Oh, sweetie…"

The mother’s face was troubled. It was easy to see she knew something. She knew that the “Anri” the young boy was waiting for was not coming back.

"Anri’s coming back, I know she is! She always comes home. I gave her a red bell. She’s my little sister.”

Ah! So evidently, Anri was this little boy’s sister.

I continued to watch them in silence.

Thinking about the boy, I was reminded of Anri, who was even tinier than her poor, sickly brother.

Once, she came to visit her big brother.He was so pleased and overcome with love for her, that he gave her a red bell.

Although I was not there, I could picture the scene already.

"Well, if Anri does come, I’ll be sure to wake you."

"I know the sound of Anri’s bell better than anyone!"

Anri’s bell was small and red, but she was no longer with us.

Her red bell was only here because it had been stripped from her dead body.

As I looked up at the moon, I recalled the words "desecrating the dead."

What I was about to do was the epitome of spitting in the eyes of the dead.

That was exactly what I was doing.

I had already abandoned her corpse, and now I was adding another sin to my list.

But this was my revenge. It was the perfect thing to do. This was my revenge on her for calling me mangy.

I called to the boy in a delicate voice.

I rang the bell, the sign of his little sister that the boy claimed to know so well.

The window opened.

"Anri?" The boy called to me.

Yes! It’s me!

It’s me, Anri!

He stretched out his arms to embrace me.

"What happened to you? You’re all scruffy." he asked.

I looked nothing like the beautiful little girl he knew and sounded nothing like her either.

Only the red bell remained the same.

My revenge was secure.

I’m Anri. Anri, with her red bell.

The youngest little sister embraced by her brother’s small arms.

Blue Bell Fleur

"I just don’t get the boss these days."

Behind the mill, I heard two men talking. They wore matching white uniforms smeared with soot, while smoke seeped from the mouths on their young faces.

I snuck up to where their shadows touched the earth and eavesdropped from behind a pole.

"He missed the deadline again."

"And he smacked me just yesterday. Said I left the ashtray full.”

"Huh. If he didn’t dog us like that, he wouldn’t have anything else to do.”

"Heh, he said all we do anyways is smoke cigarettes."

"I just don’t get him."

"Boy, you said it."

There was the banging sound of a mallet.

Word had it this mill was built by the skilled, but eccentric, foreman.

He’d since taken on two assistants to make furniture around the clock. But the two men just idled their days away, breathing out an endless stream of white smoke.

"It must be you-know-what."

"Wouldn’t be surprised."

"Ask him."

"You idiot. He’ll do more than just box your ears if you do. I wouldn’t complain even if he ran me through the sander alive.”

"Ugh, you just can’t win with him."

"Boy, I’ll say."

And with that, they let out white sighs.

"It’s seriously been a month since Fleur went missing? Huh, I guess she’s not coming back."

"She probably finally had it with that barbarian, but I’m gonna miss how one look at her kisser and the boss’ mood would do a 180.”

That was as far as I overheard.

Stealthily, I did an about-face and skirted the wall of the mill. From my neck now dangled a blue bell. The symbol of this mill.

Today, I had come to be the boss’ Fleur.

Approaching the window, a loud voiced boomed from inside.

"I told you, it’s just not possible! You’re not making any sense, you dimwit!”

The sound of the receiver slamming down was coupled with wood being shaved.

My ears stood on end and trembles racked my body.

The words “run through the sander alive” danced in my head.

No doubt it’d hurt like mad.

I imagined it, looking down at the blue bell.

Does it hurt more than death?

Not having experienced either, I didn’t know, but dying probably hurt more.

At that thought, the trembling stopped.

It must’ve hurt Fleur a lot.

"I can’t do this anymore!"

This time, a piece of furniture flew out the window. Things were taking a turn for the worse.

I couldn’t control my shivers and the blue bell let out a ring. The boss turned his wrinkled, brown face in my direction and scowled.

I thought he’d look right through me with his muddy gray eyes. I didn’t have the beautiful body of Fleur at all.

I was terrified he’d say I wasn’t his lovely Fleur and would run me through the sander right then and there.

He suddenly swung his hand high.

The palm of his weathered, old hand was blistered, the skin like bark. I was sure he’d strike me, but instead his hand came up to cup my face.

His rough and powerful hand stroked my head so softly.

"You scrawny little thing."

His gruff voice was more like a groan. The way it trembled struck my heart.

Didn’t he doubt me?

Didn’t he see right through me?

Should I really let him continue stroking my head like this?

I was speechless as he took me in his arms effortlessly.

"Boys, get in here!" He yelled behind the mill.

"Quit your grumbling and get back to work! If you don’t want me to wax your heads, then polish me some new wood! And step on it!”

Despite being yelled at, the two men had twinkles in their eyes.

"The boss’ Fleur is back!" They hollered, hands in the air.

Unable to speak, the blue bell spoke for me with a tinkle. At that moment, I had won over her name.

I am Fleur.

Fleur, with her blue bell.

Petted by a hardheaded boss, I am a furniture maker’s beloved daughter.

Purple Bell Silvia

Dawn was just about to break and the subdued rays of morning light were finally spreading across the sky.

I was taking my time, strolling through the bustling scene of the early hours. The clamor hurt my ears.

Angry shouts rang from the main street, while flirts could be heard in the alleys. I avoided the hubbub on my way.

Just being in a foul place like this made me remember the life I’d led.

There was a shop with its door propped open. The music that wafted from within was not what you’d consider uplifting.

The sign by the entrance was half-shrouded in dark. The world “Silvia” adorned it.

"Boss, I think you’ve had enough." A sweet voice said from behind the bar.

The bartender was a long-haired woman in a sleeveless dress who was leaning against the wall.

"I know it’s up to you, but I think you’ve been hitting the bottle hard lately.” The voice was young and lilted, like that of a male cat calling to a female.

"I think it might not-"

"Rika."

A glass clattered hard against the bar’s surface, cutting her off.

Silence followed.

"Fine… Don’t listen to me, then…"

The girl behind the counter took the glass to fill it, but grumbled in disapproval.

"I’m just saying this out of concern for you. You look exhausted these days. And the last lady to run this place… Well…you know…”

"Rika."

Again the glass hit the counter.

A cigarette was lit.

"Once you’re done, you can leave for today."

"Whaaat?"

"Do you want me to fire you?"

The woman bristled with anger, but the girl named Rika only shrugged her shoulders.

"Don’t say that. If you deserted me, I’d be all alone.”

The glass she placed on the bar didn’t smell of the pungent alcohol. It was a white liquid.

"The last owner of this place died from alcohol poisoning. I don’t want that to happen to you. See you tomorrow.”

There was the sound of high heels approaching. I darted behind the sign.

"Huh?"

Rika looked up and down the alley bathed in morning light.

"Silvia…?"

I already knew who she was calling to by that name.

Rika gave a heavy sigh for the first time and dragged her feet down the dirty street.

It was only when she was finally out of sight that I made up my mind.

I’d never heard how Silvia had been brought up before she died. She was so shy and quiet, there wasn’t much to say about her. She was the one girl I didn’t hate.

But now I was going to steal her name.

At first, I thought it was revenge. It had to be.

Revenge against them for living better lives than me.

And it was revenge against my own cruel fate.

Step by step, I made my way through the half-open door into the shop and whispered, “Mama.”

The woman was slumped over the bar, the same as when Rika first left. She sluggishly hoisted herself up to look at me and shook her head as though she wasn’t sure what she was hearing.

I whispered once more.

"Mama."

That’s when her barren eyes, laced with crow’s feet, wrinkled in a squint.

"Oh… so it’s you." She laughed with tears in her eyes.

"You poor little thing… You look just the same as when you first came here.”

Something about how she said that made her sound like Rika.

"Where have you been? You’ve been gone for so long… What have you been doing with yourself?”

"Here, drink up. You can have this, it’s your favorite. I’ll give you whatever you need. Anything at all.”

"There’s a good girl," she cooed in a slow drawl, offering me the glass.

I wonder if Silvia was also served warm milk like this the first time she came here.

"I’m sorry," I whispered for the first time to myself.

I am Silvia.

Silvia, with her purple bell.

The little girl who was held close by Mama in a small downtown bar.

Yellow Bell Lotte

A tall human was watering the garden. His white shirt and black slacks were simple and clean.

"Teacher!"

As the two young children called out, a man who was watering the grass raised his head.

"Yes? Anything the matter?"

The man they called “teacher” kneeled down to peer at the young boy through his glasses.

"Teacher, when’s Lotte coming back?" The question came from the little girl.

Even from a distance, I could see the man’s face grow dark.

"Teacher, will Lotte ever come back?"

The little boy looked up expectantly, but their teacher could only furrow his eyebrows and purse his lips.

More children gathered, questions alight on their small faces. Their matching white shirts were tattered with use.

I could imagine that Lotte, too, had joined this circle with her signature yellow bell.

The young children didn’t appear to have parents. They lived in the big, plain house with the man they called "teacher."

"Well, what’s taking her so long? She’s gone away before, but…”

The teacher murmured and excuse, but the children wouldn’t be soothed.

"We wanna play with Lotte again."

"M-Maybe Lotte’s sick."

"Maybe she’s hurt."

"I bet she misses us."

"She must miss us!"

As worry spread among the children, the teacher asked them a question.

"Let me ask you. Does it make you sad to think that Lotte’s lonely?”

"Of course."

"We miss her!"

The teacher nodded and continued. "Then, if Lotte knew how you missed her, it’d make her sad. Right?” His voice was gentle.

As I watched from a distance, I hesitated momentarily.I knew that the yellow bell that Lotte possessed was from this orphanage, which was why I’d come. But I couldn’t imagine that she really had a family in this place.

Would anyone care if she were gone?

Their worries now put to rest, the children returned to their games. But one girl lingered behind. A freckled girl with curly hair.

"But…we’re all…" The girl mumbled, looking down at her feet.

"We’re all still sad even if Lotte isn’t lonely."

The teacher put his hand on top of the girl’s head.

"I supposed there are some things that can’t be helped."

"I know what you do at night!" The girl blurted, looking at him hard.

"If you really felt it couldn’t be helped, then you wouldn’t be out searching for Lotte every night after we’ve gone to sleep!”

The teacher quickly put a finger to his lips. "Everyone’s worried enough as it is."

"But now I’m more worried about you, Teacher!"

The man simply nodded with a sad smile at the girl’s words.

"I know that. And I’m sorry."

Then, with the hose still in hand, he looked at the sky and spoke aloud. "Between you and me, I’m not all that worried about Lotte. I’m sure she’ll survive outside these walls.

"All that matters is that we all considered her family. I’m sure she wants to treasure those words too, because the family we made here is the only one we’ve ever had.

"As far as I’m concerned, we’re Lotte’s family, and as long as she knows that, everything will be okay.

And to be honest, I believe that Lotte will return someday.”

Night came and the lights in the orphanage winked out. I slowly crept out from the shadows that spread before the orphanage.

The moment the teacher saw me, he stopped in his tracks.

The light from the full moon completely transformed me.

I rang the bell, knowing it was all I could rely on.

"Lotte… Is that you?"

Yes, yes. It’s me, Lotte.

"So then, does this mean you’re ready to come back to our home?”

But of course. If you’ll have me, that is.

Back at the orphanage, the freckled girl was trying her best to calm the children who were crying from the teacher’s absence. For days now, she’d taken his place guarding them at night.

Holding the young girl to him, the teacher announced my return to all the children, to all the family.

I am Lotte.

Lotte, with her yellow bell.

A gentle member of this orphanage with a bigger family than anyone could ask for.

Orange Bell Bisque

Everyone in town called the old writer who lived in this house a weirdo.

The house was old-fashioned, and the walls seemed weighted with history. So little care and upkeep had been done to the place, it wouldn’t be a stretch to call it a dump.

The front door was always open, and not because it wasn’t locked, but because there was no lock at all.

Some would think that an invitation to burglars, but the place was such a mess that you’d lose all interest in stealing the moment you stepped inside.

The house reflected its owner; an oddball, aged and in disarray.

And this day, that oddball writer was laying in the middle of his hallway.

For a moment, I thought he was dead, but every once in a while his finger would twitch, betraying signs of life.

The bones in the back of hands stood out, gnarled under paper-thin skin, but his slicked-back hair looked young. The black-framed glasses he habitually wore had stayed on, even after his fall.

He’d probably worn those glasses so long that they were a part of his very being.

And there he lay.

Weaving my way through the filth and the clothes and the furniture, I entered the house, and he didn’t even notice.

"Bisque…" He called my name in a gravelly voice.

With each call, my body would shiver with surprise and the bell would ring.

It was a refreshing sound. The old man must’ve heard it, too.

He immediately leapt off the floor and turned his back to me.

"Not another step!" The man almost spat out.

"I don’t want you coming near me!"

And with that, he went back to the mountain of papers that buried what might have once been a desk. His hand never stopped moving as he scratched at his head.

Believe it or not, he’d call out, drop to the floor and do it all again.

I was thoroughly baffled, and so I sat in the corner of the writer’s room until night fell. The bell at my neck continued to tinkle lightly as I tilted my head.

Can this man truly be Bisque’s family?

I came to check up on him every few days, but each time he’d act just as wild and nonsensical.

When he wasn’t throwing himself on the floor, he was completely immersed in his writing. Disturbed by his unnatural behavior, I tried my best not to allow my bell to ring.

And so I stayed nestled in the corner, until I finally heard the sound of a pen sliding across the desk.

"Phew…" A loud sigh was immediately followed by a loud thud.

He’d fallen backwards off this chair.

"Finally. Finished."

The way he breathed those words sounded so unlike his usual crazed tone.

I lifted my head and the bell chimed to him gently.

With his back still on the floor, he let out a low moan.

"Oh, Bisque. Bisque, my dear…"

I was sure he’d yell at me to stay away again today, but instead he just lifted his thin, ghost-like arm and gestured to me.

Just as neared him with my careful, steady steps, he suddenly grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me down with him.

At first, I went stiff with fear, but then I heard the beating of his heart.

He gently closed his eyes and petted me.

"Ah, Bisque, is that you…? You’ve gotten so much thinner…since I last saw you.”

His bony hands were rough, but he petted me softly.

As I sat there, unable to answer, the beating of his heart became softer and softer. He continued to coo at me gently.

"Phew… Finally, I’m able to sleep…"

His last words sounded more like he was speaking them from a dream. As the hand on me never wavered, I finally realized.

My doubts were cleared.

I understood now that this was the orange-belled Bisque’s family.

And as I gently closed my eyes, I could feel the sound of my own heartbeat slowly melting free of its ice.

I am Bisque.

Bisque, with her orange bell.

The foster child who brings peaceful slumber to the master writer, whom everyone called crazy.

Silver Bell Chris

The silver bell wasn’t a particularly outstanding decoration, but it did ring the most beautifully.

I’d always wondered what kind of home such a lovely bell had come from.

It belonged to an old woman who lived alone without relatives, in a large mansion I’d never seen before.

"Madam, it’s time for supper."

"Thank you, dear."

"Madam, the lillies in the garden have bloomed. I’ve put them in this vase.”

"What a lovely scent."

"Madam, it’s started raining. Allow me to close the windows.”

"Yes, and draw the curtains, too."

The old woman was waited on hand and foot by her servants. She’d rely on their help as she sat idly in her chair, listening to her favorite music.

She’d even ask them to change out the records, but most of the servants seemed to genuinely adore their employer. But there was one thing the old woman would ask several times a day:

"Excuse me, but could you call Chris here for me?"

Later that same day…

"Oh, where is Chris?"

And again, even later…

"Please find Chris for me."

Though normally obedient, this one request was always met with hesitation.

"Madam, Chris is already…" The maids would start cautiously.

”Oh. Yes, you’re quite right.” the old woman would say, cutting them off.

"She’s not with us anymore, is she? Hmm… I’d nearly forgotten…” She’d murmur with a nod, but not a few hours later, she’d ask the same questions again.

She had them stop her favorite record. "Oh, wherever could my darling Chris be?"

One rainy night, the mansion was in an uproar.

"Madam?"

"Madam!"

The servants dashed through the halls in a frenzy. Finally, one of the maids shouted in despair.

"Why can’t I find her cane?!"

Though it wasn’t too cold outside, the sheets of rain continued to pour relentlessly.

"She couldn’t have gone outside, could she?"

A chill passed over the gathered servants before they set out. They put on their coats and called for help outside.

I tore my eyes from them and made for the rain-drenched town.

Amidst the downpour, I smelled the sweet fragrance of lily. In the back lane of a park, far from the mansion, I made out the figure of the old woman.

She was surrounded by a crowd who moved and gabbed around her.

"C’mon, lady, you’ll catch your death out here. Maybe you should see the police.”

The old woman’s shoes and designer clothes were soaked through.

A man tried taking her by the hand, but the old woman refused to budge, her face adamant.

Fed up with her antics, the men finally left, leaving her behind.

I cautiously stepped just into her field of vision and without saying a word, rang my silver bell.

It rang clear through the rain.

The old woman raised her head sharply in surprise, her blurry eyes looking at me.

"Chris…?" The old lady rasped. I rang the bell again in a nod, and then turned around.

"Chris, wait! Wait for me!" Her cane clicked as she followed me.

I may not be able to carry her all the way to the mansion, but it’d be enough to bring her to her servants.

I stopped often to look over my shoulder, to make sure I didn’t lose her. The sound of that beautiful bell was a beacon.

At last, one of the servants noticed the old woman and shouted, “Madam!”

As she ran towards her, the old woman bent down to scoop me up and held me, trembling.

The servants weren’t able to hide their surprise, seeing how much the late Chris had changed upon her return.

Not one of them said that I wasn’t Chris.

Because the old woman called me so, the maids nodded in obedience, just glad that their beloved employer had returned home safe.

I am Chris.

Chris with her silver bell.

I’m the tiny, adorable Chris, loved by her grandmother in this grand mansion.

Pink Bell Maria I

I’ve gained so much.

Gentle hands and many, many new names.

Monday’s Anri.

Tuesday’s Fleur.

Wednesday’s Silvia.

Thursday’s Lotte.

Friday’s Bisque.

Saturday’s Chris.

And for just one day, I’m no one else but myself.

It was supposed to be revenge.

Revenge for the deceased girls who’d led a better life than I. With vengeance and blasphemy laid to rest, all that’s left is me.

A lie.

Before I knew, I began wondering about the future.

When? Tell me, when?

When will I fall in love?

Once I find someone who loves me, I’ll finally be given a name. Not just someone else’s substitute, but a name all my own.

That’s what I decided.

So then, why?

Why did I have to meet him?

He lived on a cliff face that looked down on the town. His features were considered striking, his posture regal. But those weren’t the only things that made me stop in my tracks.

I didn’t really need a reason.

Because to him, it didn’t matter what bell I put on. Nothing would change the fact that I was nothing.

A bell with two stripes of light pink lay at his feet.

It didn’t belong to him.

The bell, like his love, was waste on the street. His features knew despair.

You could see the hollowness of death in his eyes.

No matter how much I stared or spoke, he never once looked back at me.

I gingerly pick up the rosy pink bell. Its soft sound should be enough to reach his ears, stir his heart and open his eyes.

Then, in a husky voice, he will speak in a tone drowning in emotion. He will call out the name of his past love.

"…Maria?"

And I’ll choke up with emotion, and smile as I say,

"That’s right. I’m your Maria."

And then, there won’t be any real “me” left in this world.

"Please. Tell me your real name."

I giggle softly and answer again.

"I’m Maria."

His brow will surely furrow as he snuggles close.

"That’s not your name. It can’t be."

But that’s the name of your beloved, right?

I loved you.

But the one that you loved was never me at all. You loved the real owner of this pink bell.

Imagine it, a rival whom even death couldn’t kill. The one woman he really loved.

I hated her, cursed her and stole her name and identity. And I’d do it no matter how miserable it makes me.

"Oh Maria! If we’d never met then I’m sure I’d have rotted away right on the spot!”

Those are the only words that can bring me salvation now. As long as you’re happy, then I’ll never need a silly name.

A storm was brewing.

The high winds that had been beating on the windows since morning gathered dark clouds and pelted the forest trees.

I leapt from the safety of the old woman’s blanket, raced through the town, and headed for the mountain cottage.

My old hideout.

I’d take a bell and think about the past each time I came here.

I go by many names now.

So whose ghost remains in this dreary mountain hut?

A brilliant flash of light, coupled with thunder, filled the sky. Every hair on my body stood on end. There was a tearing sound of wood splitting. Chills ran down my spine.

I quickened my pace without thinking.

A tremor crept down my back.

The scene that greeted me as I reached that hut was indescribable.

A massive cloud of smoked clogged my nose and burned my skin. The mountain was on fire, and the gusty winds helped spread the flames quickly.

In my panic, I dove into the hut.

The heat was as hot as stoked coals. But through the burning and stench, I knew I had to salvage my bells.

They’d been proof that the girls had lived and now they were the one place I felt at home.

I gathered the seven bells and made for my escape, but the hut entrance was already engulfed in flames.

I leapt through a broke window, feeling as through I was being burned alive. I could hear the destruction all about me.

Just outside the window was the cliff face. I jumped down from my perch, prepared to take the dive. Through it all, I kept the seven bells tightly held in my mouth.

Pink Bell Maria II

After falling unconscious, I awoke to the pattering of raindrops. I could still smell the mountainside burning, but the rain was now falling harder than before.

I knew I was far from safe.

Nestled close against the ground, I’d already lost the sensation in both my arms and legs.

I asked the heavens if this was punishment. Was this what I deserved for having taken the dead girls’ happiness as my own, in a twisted and shameless act?

"…!"

Through the ash-ridden world, a voice was calling me. No, that’s not my name.

And yet…

"Maria! Maria!"

Yes, the one calling me was none other than my beloved.

"Maria, hang in there! Don’t die on me!"

"Oh, yes!

My love! My one true love!

Don’t give up!” I whispered desperately. "Don’t give into the despair, please! Live!"

I thought that if he lost me, he’d never see his precious Maria again.

And it wasn’t just him.

Anri, Fleur, Silvia…

Lotte, Bisque, Chris…

They’d all been beautiful.

"Don’t kill me!" I shouted. "Please don’t kill the ones you love."

Trembling, I handed the seven bells over to him. "If you can, take these in my place. Just don’t let their loving families lose all hope."

He looked at me as if wanting to speak. Then, taking the bells with him, he turned and ran.

As his figure became smaller and smaller, it was eventually washed away by the rain.

I tried calling his name but couldn’t form the words. If I managed to speak, I might make the mistake of telling him something I could never say.

As I thought about how the cold rain would sweep away the fire along with my soul, I thought of the last person who’d considered me family.

I may not have been the one they loved, but I certainly loved the warm and gentle hands that touched me.

I lied and desecrated the dead, all for my revenge. And yet here I was, crying.

Here, on the brink of death, I’d come closest to those girls and could finally, truly cry for them. After all, you know how it is.

You must know, right?

All you wanted…was to live.

The rain washed the mountainside grey, draining the light from everything. I was cloaked in darkness and rain.

Then I heard the faint sound of a bell ringing.

At least I could tell that my ears were still working.

I focused my senses on the source. Then, just behind the sound, I heard footsteps and voices approaching.

"C’mon, Anri!"

I thought I was hearing things. It had to just be a memory enclosed inside that bell. After all, no one would call for me.

"Fleur!"

"Silvia!"

It can’t be… My eyelids fluttered.

Why…?

From beyond the falling ash, I could make out figures.

They circled around me.

The boy, the boss, Mama…

"Lotte!"

"Bisque!"

"Chris!"

No. The children…and the teacher.

The master writer, and Grandmother!

"No!" I tried to scream but failed.

No, don’t look at me!

You’ll see through my lies!

Don’t hate me! I was never the girls that all of you loved.

"We already knew that." was the reply from the one who used the seven bells to gather everyone here.

You snuggled close to me as I was wrapped in a warm towel. As you kept me warm, you dropped the seven bells.

"Heh heh. We already knew that. All along." He sounded on the verge of tears as he kissed my cheek.

"Don’t you see? The ones we loved weren’t the ghosts from the past.” His words forgave me.

"We all know you made up those lies to try and help us. No one else but you could have made us feel so good, could bring us so much joy.

"It was all thanks to you and your seven bells.”

I closed my eyes, the tears still streaming.

I thought my life was just one lie after another.

But no longer.

I finally understood it now.

My name will be the seven-colored Bell. A name given to me by my loving family and friends.

I am Bell.

Carrying my seven colors, I was the most loved in town.

I am Bell.

And I was the luckiest cat in the world for having seven names.

#fragile dreams: farewell ruins of the moon #animal death #stories that make me cry one million times while reading it

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