Hime's consciousness drifted, her body held steady by Kazuki's strong arms while her mind unraveled in the depths of her past.
..............
She was five again, her small hands clutching the hem of her pristine dress as she sat on the cold marble floor of the Maxwell estate. The grandeur of the house was overwhelming, a gilded prison disguised as privilege.
Her sisters towered over her, their perfect curls and painted lips contrasting sharply with their venomous words.
"You're not really one of us," one sneered, her tone dripping with cruelty. "You're adopted—or should we say, sold?"
"Mother and Father only wanted you because you're pretty," the other chimed in, her laughter like a dagger. "You're nothing but a doll."
The words burned, but young Lily-Anne Maxwell didn't cry. She simply stared, her wide eyes betraying nothing. That night, as she lay in her grand yet cold room, their words echoed in her mind. But instead of tears, a quiet fury began to simmer.
The next morning, chaos erupted. One sister's prized hairbrush was coated with dye, while the other's perfume had been replaced with a stinging concoction. Their screams filled the house, sharp and panicked.
Lily-Anne watched from the corner, her small fists clenched.
Her mother found her later, crouched beside the grand piano. Instead of anger, there was a glimmer of pride in her mother's eyes. "Smart girl," she said, her voice laced with twisted approval. "We can use that."
From then on, Lily-Anne became their trophy. She was paraded at competitions, praised for her wit, even engaged to a much older man by the time she was twelve. Meals were withheld as punishment, and every aspect of her life was dictated by their whims.
At twelve, she escaped. Hitching rides and spinning lies, she finally reached the Shadow District.
..............
The salty breeze from the docks carried faint shouts and the creak of wooden planks. A hungry, frail girl—no longer Lily-Anne but not yet Hime—watched from the shadows, her sharp eyes scanning for an opportunity.
She spotted him: a grizzled man with a bag of groceries, his weathered face lined with years of hardship. To her, he looked like a chance.
She darted forward, her small hands reaching for the bag. But the man's reflexes were faster. He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not cruel.
"Nice try, kid," he grunted, his voice rough but tinged with something softer.
She flinched but didn't retreat, staring at him with defiant eyes. After a long moment, he sighed and pulled her toward a nondescript building—a clinic hidden in the shadows.
Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and damp wood. A boy lay on a cot, his face pale with pain. The man, Doc, muttered to himself, listing symptoms and treatments under his breath.
"Treat the symptoms individually," the girl said, surprising him.
Doc turned, his brow furrowed. "What do you know about symptoms?"
"I read," she replied simply.
Amused, he humored her suggestion. Days later, the boy's condition improved.
The boy—later known as Berkeley—smiled at her. "What's your name?"
She glanced at a worn book of fairy tales on the shelf. "Hime. Call me Hime."
From that day, she had a name and a place. Hime began assisting Doc, soaking up medical knowledge with a voracious appetite. By sixteen, she accompanied him to treat patients, honing her sharp mind.
..............
Her interest in information started as a hobby but soon became an obsession. She pieced together patterns, deducing secrets from snippets of overheard conversations. When Doc discovered her activities, he was livid.
She had just returned to the clinic, her pockets heavier with money she hadn't explained. Doc stood in the doorway, his face like a storm cloud.
"What the hell are you doing, Hime?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
She didn't flinch. "Nothing you need to worry about."
"Don't play coy with me." He slammed a hand against the doorframe. "You've been meddling in things you don't understand. Information like that gets people killed."
"I'm not a child," she snapped, her voice colder than he'd ever heard. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
Doc's eyes narrowed. "You're barely sixteen. You don't know anything about how this world works."
"And you do?" she countered, stepping closer, her chin tilted in defiance. "You patch up criminals for a living. Don't lecture me about right and wrong."
"This isn't about morality," he shot back. "It's about survival. Do you think those people you're digging into will let you walk away? They'll kill you without hesitation."
"Then I'll be smarter than them," she said, her tone razor-sharp.
His hands balled into fists at his sides, frustration etched into every line of his face. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't a game, Hime. You can't just outsmart everyone and expect to walk away unscathed."
She stared him down, her expression unyielding. "You're not my father. You don't get to tell me what to do."
The words struck him like a blow, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the muffled sounds of the clinic outside. Doc's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice heavy with defeat. "But promise me one thing. Wait until you're eighteen. If you still want to go down this path then, I won't stop you."
Hime hesitated, her icy resolve wavering for just a moment. She nodded curtly. "Fine."
But as she turned away, the shadow of her decision loomed large over both of them.
..............
From then on, she honed her skills in silence, waiting for the day she could truly begin.