7
Masanori
In the darkness of his own mind, Masanori trembled.
He lay on his side, staring up at the rice paper walls, where blood dripped and dried along the cages of painted dragons. The beasts lifted their heads as Masanori climbed to his feet, vile lilac mist pooling around their snapping maws.
This dream, so regular now that Masanori became lucid within, did not need to fully take hold for him to latch on to the stinging scent of burning flesh and hair. He did not need to turn to glimpse the corpses of his family on the backs of his eyelids, to witness Hidekazu’s vacant expression, to hear his screams or blubbering moans.
A crimson pool settled around Masanori’s stiff body. The dead part of him was already desensitized to finding Aihi at his side. Dead, like the others. The only
