kim-onka disclaims Darker than BLACK

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Moonlight shone on her face, slid across her fair hair, illuminated her petite face and small hands raised from ivory keys as if to welcome the unseen rays. Pure, untainted light of the full moon she felt on her bare skin without testimony of anyone's eyes.

She used to love that light, once upon a time; before the moon became witness to too much and eventually hid away, stealing her sadness.

She remembers it all and can recall it any time she wishes; but she does not wish any more.

.

That night the silver light drained away, and with momentarily dreadful certainty she knew it would never caress her face again; and together with it something else faded into darkness, something recognisable only in that brief moment of agony.

It would never have occurred to the little girl called Kirsi that concepts of personality and emotion relate to something that can be removed from her life.

The numb girl with empty eyes couldn't imagine what they relate to at all, even if she tried; but she does not try.

.

There was nothing.

There appeared to be something on the outside; touch, sound, movement. There were commands, obeyed automatically for the lack of reason for any other reaction. There were things done robotically without any aim or purpose in mind. Stiffness, strangeness. Her voice was monotone in her ears.

They said she was a Doll. She recognized the word and registered it impassively.

She was a Doll. For her silver hair they called her 'Yin'.

.

A Doll understands words, yet they hold no meaning to her. A Doll records sensations, yet she does not evaluate them. A Doll communicates, yet she hardly can interact. What propels a Doll is not her choices, but programming and orders. A Doll is hardly a person, more of an unperson.

It may be that a Doll's only shadow of a chance is to meet someone who refuses to understand that.

As for now, no one appears to expect anything beyond a Doll's behaviour from her, herself included.

.

Tap, tap, tap, water drops bang against a dish in the tiny flat behind the tobacco shop no-one ever visits.

Water is close in a manner she could not describe if asked; there is a part of her that can travel between droplets and peep out at the surroundings. They call it her observation spectre and find it useful; she just does as she is told. Most of the time, anyway.

On that day, why did she send her spectre after him? She didn't think it about then, or later; but his thanks became the first words between them that might perhaps be called private.

.

Yet again something is cut off, and she wanders unsteadily away among the crowd, legs carrying her aimlessly around the place. Suddenly, as if from the far-away of secluded memory, familiar sounds drifting through the air reach her ears. The melody echoes within her, enhancing the notion of a lack of something, or perhaps a presence of emptiness; her fingers move by themselves as if in an attempt to tame the notes by capturing them into a series of accurate strokes.

But it all lasts only a few whiles before being interrupted, and she lets herself be lead off by some girls.

.

That girl says it is important to smile. And that she looks cute. It appears that a Doll has little control over her facial muscles, and the corners of her mouth wouldn't rise unless supported by fingers. Once upon a time she was told faked feelings can become real. When she tries it out, all she can feel is still the pressure of fingertips on her cheeks.

The girl combs her hair and puts something on her head. This triggers a memory. She used to do that too, once upon a time, with a porcelain doll. And now she is a Doll.

But Hei shielded her.

.

This meeting seems vaguely out of place; words are empty, actions pointless. Once upon a time she would have understood why he had come. Now he was beginning to understand that the person he had been searching for no longer exists.

To a Doll there are no reasons, there are only facts. She says she will not go, because she knows that.

Memories appear one after the other, called forth by the man's voice and the sound of piano keys striking vibrant, familiar notes. Memories are also facts, plain and void of the heaviness they once possessed.

Somewhere, on the verge of comprehension, there is a nagging notion it should not be so.

.

The touch on her face is unmistakable: for a brief moment, against all possibility, silvery moonlight strokes her features. Her figure awash in brightness, she withdraws her hands as if to embrace all that was once lost, and for a fleeting while her heart trembles and tears well up in her eyes.

There is Hei. Hei tells her to decide. Hei will respect her choice, even though a Doll is supposed to have no choices.

Standing between the past and the present, she thinks she might just catch a glimpse of the future. And decides.

.

Her name is Yin.

Perhaps if Yin raises a corner of her mouth, Hei will like it too.