Grimgal of Ashes and Illusion - Volume 14 - Chapter 10

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10. The Longing Called Love [loveway]

Once upon a time, was there me?

Yes.

There was.

Me. I was there.

I’m sure noooobody noticed me, or cared I existed, but...

I was there.

Kinda like... the air?

That was me.

I mean, noooobody really cared about me, right?

Up on a stage with lots of boys and lots of girls, dancing and singing, la la la, I was screaming.

Me...

Look at me!

I’m right hererererere!

Look at me!

These people aren’t the main characters, I am!

Why is it? Why will no one look at me? Am I lacking something?

Oh!

I know! I know I knoooow!

Up, up, up shoots a hand.

Okay, you there.

Who aaaare you?

Ohhhh.

Me?

I’m the only one who’s been here all along, aren’t I?

Well, whatever.

Go on, answer the question.

It’s because you’re not cute.

Yes. That’s it. I’m not so hideously ugly it’s hard to live, but I’m not cute.

Well, I’m sort of normal, I guess?

No, no, not normal at all. I mean, I know what a pretty face is, and I’ve read about it in books, so I’m sure I’m right, but it’s the ultimate in average. If you added the faces of a million people together and divided by one million, people are made in such a way that they’ll find the result pretty. That’s why not being ugly, but not being cute, isn’t normal.

If I had to say I was something, it’s nothing.

People don’t look away from me, don’t stare at me. I basically have no value.

I bet that’s probably why my parents gave me a bit of a different name. It’s not a common one. At the very least, I’ve never met a person with the same name as me. Still, it doesn’t fit me.

When I give my name, everyone looks at me like, Oh, yeah?

I’ll bet they’re thinking, You look so average, so below average, but you have that name?

And that’s it. No matter what name I have—no, no matter who I am—no one cares. No one takes an interest in me.

There aren’t many people who cast a shadow as weak as mine. When you stand out as little as I do, Oh, you were there? isn’t even an uncommon thing to hear people say.

I don’t have any particularly amusing anecdotes about my utter lack of presence. I just don’t draw attention, and no one takes an interest in me. If I call out to someone, they’ll go through the motions, but the conversation never really takes off, and nothing comes of it. I know full well that’s how it’ll be, so I don’t talk to people unless I have business with them.

When I tell it like this, I sound like my abnormal lack of presence leaves me alone all the time, and that, in some way, I’m an unusual individual. That is not true. It’s just that I want to be a little different, so I’m spicing the story up.

The fact is, I’ve had a few passing friendships here and there. I’ve been asked directions by passersby, too. I may lack presence, but it’s not like I used to be a pale shadow of a human being, or anything like that.

However, my friends hardly ever contacted me. If I didn’t constantly interact with them, any friend of mine slipped away in no time. I might not have been hated, but I wasn’t especially liked. They clearly didn’t place much importance on me.

I, honestly, didn’t see those people as irreplaceable friends, either. Did their not caring for me make me not care for them, or did my not caring about them make them not care about me? I can’t say, but it was probably both.

Hey, hey, I’m lonely.

Oh? You’re lonely? There, there, you poor thing.

But it’s okay. Let’s play?

What do you want to play with today?

(Dolls...?)

That’s right. It was dolls that gave me comfort.

I bought and collected dolls they sold in stores a little at a time, and when I got tired with that, and it wasn’t enough, I’d make outfits to dress them up, or make changes here and there. I even made my own out of clay.

You could use longer legs, couldn’t you? Let me stretch those.

Now that your legs are longer, they’re out of balance with your arms. Let’s make the arms longer, too.

You could use a longer neck, too.

Your head is kind of big.

(Oh, the dolls...)

Let me put this little head here on you.

Your ankles are so fat and ugly. Let’s file them down.

Mind you, it’s not like I spend all my time setting up dolls. I think about all sorts of things, taking them into account, but the thing I focused on most at the time was improving my appearance.

In the end, you can dress it up however you want, but a girl who isn’t cute won’t get her due. It’s not just with me; all women are the same. When they see another woman, they decide in an instant if she’s cute or ugly.

Not many will say it out loud, but being ugly is a sin.

And not just any sin. A deadly sin.

Normally, if you bring up the seven deadly sins, there’s pride, wrath, envy, sloth, greed, gluttony, and lust, but for some reason no “ugliness.” I’ve always found that mystifying.

I want to be cute. That said, there’s nothing I can do about my face. I can’t freely reshape it like a clay doll’s. Maybe I ought to go for plastic surgery, but that’s expensive, and even if I might consider it an option in the future, it’s not possible now.

I secretly practiced putting on make-up alone, too. Maybe there’s something in common between make-up and doll-making, because I really improved. If a plain girl like me who doesn’t have much presence suddenly showed up in make-up, wouldn’t everyone be surprised?

No... worse than that. I’d stand out in a bad way, they’d think I was creepy, and then I’d be shunned for sure.

I was chubby from a young age. I decided that if I ended up fat on top of ugly, there was no hope for me. I’d be so ugly it would be hard to live, so I did my best to watch myself there.

However, I was genetically predisposed to put on weight easily. On top of that, I was born bearing the triple curse of big bones, thick skin, and hard flesh. No, I also had dark and dry skin, so make that a quintuple curse.

If I put on even a little too much weight, I’d end up a hideous barrel of person, and wouldn’t be able to get the weight off easily. Despite that, my one joy in life outside of doll-making and playing with dolls was eating. Sweet things, salty things, I loved them more than I could help. When I was sick of it all, I had a tendency to gorge myself, alternating between sweet and salty, until I puked.

But I had to lose weight.

No matter how lovely an outfit is, it looks hideous on a fatso. If you just slim down, even cheap clothes you bought anywhere will look good.

I resolved to get thin. I wanted to be as white as I could, too, so I did my best to stay out of the sun. Even if I didn’t change my face, or put on make-up, I should have been able to be pretty. I wanted to be pretty. If I was pretty, I was sure my situation would change.

It was rough.

Even more than I imagined I would, I suffered, and suffered, and suffered, and suffered, and suffered.

When it came time to limit my eating, for some reason, I’d end up thinking, I want to eat, or, I can’t eat, or, I can get away with eating this, or, Just one bite, or, No, I can’t, after all, or, I’ll die if I don’t eat, or, It’s not natural for a living being not to eat, or, If I just eat a little, I can throw it back up, or, Whatever, I just want to eat. I thought about nothing but eating.

Then, one day, while eating like always, I had a sudden thought.

They say the human body is about sixty percent water. If that was right, then reducing the amount of water would lower my weight. If my body were lighter, I’d be thinner. If I couldn’t go without food, I just had to go without drink.

I tried it out right away, and the results were dramatic. By not hydrating, my body weight fell rapidly. My throat would get so dry that it drove me nuts, but I’d eat stuff to distract me from that. That sometimes made me gain again, but it’d drop off again after a while.

I got thin. That must have made me that much prettier. My friends would say, Have you lost weight?

However, nothing else changed.

Weird.

Maybe it’s not possible to become pretty without changing my face? If there’s something I can do, I want to. I have ideals, too, you know. I don’t have wishes like, I want to be popular with boys, or I want a boyfriend. No, I just want to be pretty, that’s all. I want that kid to think I’m pretty. I want to be seen as special.

I don’t plan to kiss up to men, so I don’t need to be feminine, or sexy. I don’t need boobs, either. I want to be slim, and look good in anything. To catch eyes, and not let them go. That’s the kind of person I want to be.

Is that no good?

Is this not enough?

Yeah, I’m sure it’s not enough.

I have to get thinner.

Make my arms and legs, thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and thinner.

They’re so thick and gross. I wish I could tear them off and replace them.

You dolls can all do that, but I can’t.

Ohhh, it makes me so mad.

My throat’s bururururururururururururuururururururning.

I made dolls of young girls and broke them. I had no particular model for them, but men were out of the question, and women were no good, either. They had to be young girls.

The truth is, young girls weren’t in line with my ideal, either, but I could only think of young girls back then. That’s because I hadn’t met that person yet.

It took me by surprise. When I met that person.

(Alice...)

Yes.

Alice, that was the kid’s name.

The first time we met, Alice gave off an aura that was not male or female, not even human anymore. The kid was clearly not normal.

And the weak constitution, due to a congenital condition and a number of other ailments, made Alice feel special, too.

It’s not just people; I think each living creature has their own color. However, Alice had no color.

Alice was endlessly transparent, a phantom-like existence that might vanish at any time. If there were a flower made only thin glass somewhere in this world, it would no doubt look just like Alice. I’m sure there is only one flower of that kind in this world.

It bowled me right over. I knew it keenly. I wanted to be like Alice. I wanted to be born as Alice. Though, of course, that could never be. Because, as you’re well aware, I am not Alice.

With a degree of forwardness even I couldn’t believe, I approached Alice. I talked with no shame, and I would do anything to draw Alice’s attention.

I think I had two emotions inside me.

The first was a desire to be with Alice. I would make Alice like me, as a friend maybe, and hang out with Alice. If I did, I could look at Alice all I wanted, hear Alice’s voice, and smell Alice’s scent.

The other was a desire to get to know that person, and uncover Alice’s true nature. I suspected that Alice was all appearance, and little else.

To put it bluntly, I loved Alice. Yes, I was in love with Alice. But I hated Alice just as much.

The thing I’ve always wanted, the thing that, if I had, I wouldn’t need anything else, Alice was born with. How could I not hate Alice?

I mean, if I found out that Alice was all looks, that there was nothing special inside, just a void, if I found out Alice was the ultimate doll, that would have been some consolation.

Hey, what do you think?

What is Alice thinking?

I don’t know. I don’t really know. There’s no figuring that person out.

Alice never talks about personal feelings.

I never know if Alice is lying or not, either.

Alice is cautious.

Wary of me.

But still, Alice doesn’t try to push me away, or avoid me.

Does Alice hate me?

I wonder about that.

Maybe Alice is just cautious.

Is it hatred, maybe?

Even though I love Alice so much...

I don’t know.

I don’t knoooow.

There were days when Alice was listless, and other days filled with gloom. Whenever I saw Alice depressed, I felt uplifted and full of energy. On the other hand, whenever Alice was strangely cheerful, I was struck by uneasiness, and I’d feel down myself.

Sometimes, Alice was disappointingly normal. Deliberately bringing up popular topics and seeing what reaction I’d give, saying boring things anyone could come up with, and making me disappointed.

For me, whenever I saw Alice try to talk about things everyone knew, even though Alice wasn’t especially knowledgeable about the topic and only had surface-level knowledge, yet was attempting to talk about it like it was a familiar subject, that was the least “Alice” thing I could think of.

However, Alice most definitely had a side like that.

I often started to feel ill after I ate something, so on those occasions, I immediately threw whatever-it-was back up. Naturally, I made sure no one saw me doing this.

No one paid attention to me, so I felt safe in the thought that no one would realize, but whenever I was done and came back, I’d receive a knowing look, like Alice understood my circumstances and was just saying, “Welcome back.”

Every time, I felt like Alice was seeing right through me, and it gave me the chills.

I tailed Alice countless times. I was as careful as I could be, trying to follow carefully, but at some point, I always lost sight of Alice.

I think Alice probably noticed and shook me off. Despite that, Alice never said a word about it.

I gradually became thoroughly obsessed with the idea that Alice might completely understand how I would react to and feel about anything Alice did.

It wasn’t just me; Alice was toying with everyone nearby, and while it seemed blatant sometimes, there were other times I had to conclude I was overthinking things.

I occasionally had the delusion that though Alice was in front of me, the real Alice wasn’t there. I could see Alice clearly, without squinting, but I couldn’t reach out and touch that person.

The thing I thought was Alice was just a mirror reflection of Alice, and if I turned around, Alice would be there, but if I touched that Alice, it was always just a mirror, too.

Every once in a while, something Alice said or did would touch my heart or hurt me with its sharpness. I was getting hurt by Alice on a daily basis. However, I practiced the utmost care, and made sure I never hurt Alice.

If killing Alice would let me become Alice, I’m sure I’d have done it. That was, of course, impossible, though.

If I killed Alice, Alice would disappear. I wouldn’t be able to see Alice anymore.

I was not Alice’s only friend. Curse the rest of them. I wanted Alice to myself, but if I was too pushy, Alice would come to hate me, so I had to mind myself.

Alice’s friends were all people who made me want to say, Why are you even friends with someone like that?

I had ten or twenty complaints about every single one of them, and it was exceptionally painful for me to get along with them.

Even so, I had to do it.

When we were on a school trip to the sea, and talk of gathering volunteers and going spelunking came up, I wasn’t interested in the slightest. However, I heard one of Alice’s friends would be participating, so I panicked.

Knowing them, they were sure to invite Alice along. Alice probably wasn’t keen on exploring, but might reply, Oh, sure, why not?

I decided to act first. Before they could invite Alice, I’d do it myself.

Betraying my expectations, when I said we were going on an adventure, Alice was interested enough to go get a shovel from somewhere. You never knew what Alice would do.

I do regret it.

The kid I thought might invite Alice along never actually participated in the adventure. I didn’t care about the cave at all. It was just that I never wanted to feel like someone had taken Alice from me.

If that kid had invited Alice, and Alice had gone, I didn’t want to be saying, I’ll go, too, then. You couldn’t have made me say it.

Because I invited Alice on an adventure for that petty reason, my fate changed massively.

Ohhh, ohhh, I don’t want to remember!

As we pressed through the cave, we got surrounded by gas at some point, and eventually ended up unable to see. I couldn’t even find Alice, who should have been right beside me.

“...Nui?” I have a faint memory of Alice calling my name.

I might just have imagined it, though.

(Ito Nui...)

I wanted to hear it so badly, it may just have been an illusion my brain created for me.

It probably has to have been.

“Nui...!”

I definitely heard someone’s scream. Lots of them, actually. There were voices I recognized, too. There was a sound I couldn’t quite identify.

What on Earth was happening?

I got scared.

There isn’t a person who wouldn’t have been scared in that situation.

Alice! Alice! I think I called out. More than anything, the fact that Alice wasn’t at my side terrified me.

At some point, my world had stopped being about me, coming to center around Alice instead. All thoughts led to Alice, and anything not Alice-related fell out of me and vanished.

It was Alice who made me realize I was suffering from what you’d call an eating disorder. It’s not that Alice told me that directly. But Alice was good at hinting at things subtly.

One day, Alice talked to me about it.

“I know you may think I’m kind of weird, Nui. But you’re pretty weird yourself.”

“How so?” I asked.

Alice went silent for a moment, then replied, “It’s just a feeling I have.”

Whenever Alice went silent, I remember thinking about all sorts of things. That was how Alice would make me think, getting the point across without coming out and saying it clearly.

It must have been self-protection for Alice, too.

I managed to uncover the fact that Alice had been bullied before. It was something I heard from other people; the bullying had been really intense, not just fun and games.

When I found out Alice had been through such a terrible experience, I felt so sorry for Alice, I cried. At the same time, it gave me leverage over Alice, so I was really happy.

When I thought about the moment when I would present my secret weapon to Alice, I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep. Using dolls to represent me, Alice, and the onlooking crowd, I put on a little performance of the scene.

I could corner Alice at any time.

I could make Alice submit at any time.

But I wouldn’t do that. That was because Alice was important to me, and I loved Alice. This was the proof of my love.

Still, if Alice ever mistreated me and tried to throw me away, I’d use my secret move. That was when I’d finally hurt Alice badly.

And so, I finally confessed my feelings to Alice.

I said that no matter what Alice was really like, I would love that Alice.

I said that I really liked Alice.

That I loved Alice.

I said I’d never hurt Alice again, that this was the last time I’d dig at old wounds.

I wanted Alice to trust me, to open up and show me everything, and to know it was safe to do that.

I was confident a day like that would come.

But now, Alice was gone.

Gone. That was what Alice was.

It was more than thoughts like, I can’t see, or, I know we went into a cave, but this can’t be a cave, or, Where is this? or, Our spelunking group seems to be under attack, or, What is attacking up? Is it a beast? Or a ghost?

What really frightened me was, Alice is gone.

Alice couldn’t be gone. The world could be turned upside down, and if I was with Alice, it’d be no big deal.

Alice is gone. That’s the one thing that troubles me.

“Nui...!” Alice was calling.

(You feel that strongly...)

I searched, and searched, and searched for Alice. Searching, and searching, and sear, search, sear, sear, searsear, searerererchinginginginginginging and searchsearchsearchsearchsearch.

I was so lonely and alone.

Being all a-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lone was just too sad.

Doll.

Who are you?

I’m Alice.

Who’s that?

A-lice.

Alince?

Alinoce?

Alialialialinocececececececececececealincealialialinocececececececece?

There’s no person like that.

Not anywhere.