Warnings: Child abuse, poverty, character death, attempted murder, trauma to a child

Part One - There's Such a Thing As Too Special

The body of her mother is ugly in death.

It's twisted and awkward, forced to snap back into place to fit into the coffin for burning. Her face is the only pretty, sensible thing. They won't show it, the relatives found one of the better pictures of her mother for her to carry through the procession. The ones right after her marriage or before she was pregnant had been examined with care by a cousin. Chise, having been unable to eat, had slept through it all.

Now Chise, who looked so much like her according to every whisper, did not remember her mother's pretty face. She remembered her clammy, sweaty hands over a birdlike neck. She remembered kicking and gasping, remembered her mother's words-

You should not have been born-

In her soul.

The darkness whispered into her ears, crawling up the wall she sat against. Chise shut her eyes to it, her heart trembling with an urge to cry itself. There were no tears, however.

If she cried, the monsters would come up and eat them. And then they would eat her.

They had done that to Mama too. They had eaten all that was good and left only a monster in place. Only a monster who hated her daughter, who blamed her for the curse they shared.

Mama must have been powerful, she realized. Her stronger perhaps, but her mother was the one with the stronger heart, the better endurance. She was an adult with years of experience.

And now she was dead.

She wasn't just gone like her father and brother. She was dead so she was never going to come back.

Was her father dead? Was her brother dead? Would she know? Ever? Probably not. She had to keep away from them or they would turn on her like her mother too. And, and her brother was such a baby he was so small, what could she do to him?

What can he do to me?

Her father could finish what her mother started. He may never have a reason to, or may never find her to do it, but he still could. Knowing that made her heart clench, but it was also easier, better. Because where she stood was clear.

I don't wanna…

Chise tried to cap the thought, dragging her fingers over the floor to remind herself of how it felt. But it was, unfortunately, already smothered in shadow, soft and warm and… fluffy? It was almost like fur. It was already trying to warm her chest. She swallowed another sob.

Something brushed her cheek and her eyes opened wide, frantic and large. She made to back away but there was nowhere she could run. There were people on every side.

Then, her vision cleared from its panicked blur, revealing a short woman with a rounded face. Her large green eyes were almost teal and her cheeks surprisingly sallow. Maybe it was because of the lighting but she looked frightfully young.

Then she smiled.

Chise had learned from her father that if you were too unkind, it would take to your face and body and cause you to wither from the weight of your own cruelty. She was the opposite, all warm smiles and gentle hands. They weren't strong from work nor weak from doing nothing at all. They were somewhere calloused in the middle.

"Chise-chan," she murmured, like they'd known each other for years. "Can I call you that?"

Chise balked, resisted the urge to curl in on herself. She'd not spoken to anyone before for long, never been around people that weren't family for very long without having to leave and now and now-

"Hatori-chan?" the woman tried. "My name is Midoriya Inko. My husband is your father's brother."

"I… what?" Her throat hurt but the surprise of all of that sentence was just so big like a balloon that she couldn't help herself. "P-Papa had a brother?" They had never met, but then, the last thing she remembered was his back and Fumiki's sleeping face as he drooled on her father's frayed shirt. "He, he didn't-"

"He wouldn't have." Midoriya-san squeezed her hand and when she did, the shadows hid behind Chise's bottom. "My husband's Quirk is not fit for children to see, really. Fire breathing, quite like a dragon from the old stories."

Chise wilted at the thought because she could imagine it. She could imagine the flames reaching out and consuming everything, making her brother cry, taking her father with ease. Then, she blinked. Confusion rubbed her head. "A Quirk?" The word was familiar, tasteful on her tongue. She could imagine her father whispering about it in between the moments of magic and thought and weight but then her father wasn't here.

"Yes," she said gently. "Do you have one? Some people who are in a lot of pain don't experience a Quirk coming to life for a long time. Your father never really communicated with us all that much but things must have been hard."

Hard. It felt like an understatement, felt too small for what it actually was, too weak of a word. But it was also a careful word, a place where she could feel like herself and say things she believed. It wasn't forcing words onto her and with her mother gone, no one could do that again.

Still. She has asked about a Quirk. Is the Quirk important? Is having one important? She hadn't been outside alone, so she had no idea. She hardly saw people use Quirks, except maybe children. Maybe them.

Chise shut her eyes and squeezed her knees as her thoughts simply grew like a fungus. As her shadow rose up, huge and hungry. It spread like wings until the room felt darker behind her eyelids and people were gasping and the whole place seemed devoid of candles.

Chise opened her eyes and saw only Inko's smile, only her pro-offered hand and the way her knees were digging ceaselessly into the tatami.

"What a strong Quirk," she said in that whisper. "A strong Quirk for a strong girl."

Chise didn't feel strong, not at all. But something in her heart warmed up big and bright at the thought of someone believing it and the room filled with it. It almost felt comfortable.

That was what got Inko's large green eyes to widen to the size of apples and her smile to go a knowing soft way that was like her mother in that photo. Without the strain though, without the weight of nothing being safe or warm ever again. She meant all that wonder in her face and suddenly Chise felt -

Hungry.

Her stomach grumbled. It was louder than the whispering ladies.

She hadn't been hungry in days and the thought of being hungry made her giggle.

Chise watched as Miss Inko did the same, giggling like she was the child, not Chise.

"Let's put some food in you," she said.

Chise, thoroughly charmed, took her hand and left the room - and her mother's altar - behind.

The hands were still on her throat, sure, but they went ignored in the dark, ignored in the sounds of scuttling and monsters. Her shadow squirmed as she walked, but she didn't care.

She wasn't dead. For the first time in days, Chise did not want to die at all. And food would help with that.

When the funeral ended, Chise was not there. Chise was sitting in the hotel dining hall, chewing on a late brunch and sipping orange juice. She didn't ask about her father, her green eyes (we have the same eyes, Chise thought, glancing at Inko-san every few seconds and wiggling in delight on the inside every time she saw that) roving the room and her and her food and not caring that her clothes were ragged and her appearance was getting sneered at by onlookers. Inko nibbled on her yakitori skewer as she mumbled to herself. Chise, politely, did not listen in. She was probably figuring out what to say.

Then she looked up at Chise and smiled over her chopsticks. Chise smiled back. It was tremulous, shaking so hard she missed her next spoonful of rice. But she wanted to mean it because Miss Inko was nice.

"Is it good?" When Chise nodded, Inko nodded with her. "I'm glad. I've never been here before." She focused on her bird for a few more minutes.

A chill began to seep into Chise's stomach, taking up more space that the food needs. But then she said,

"Chise-chan? Would you like to come home with me?"

A/N: Hello, I'm here to bring the pain... and the love to Chise. And Ruth eventually.

Challenges: Epic Masterclass (AMB) 7, Three-Sided Box, Magic Diversity 29.