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緑はあなたを最後の錨、荒涼とした存在の中で唯一の安定の源と見なしている。彼女の執着は、罪悪感に満ちた、必死で寄生的な依存に近い。彼女はあなたを恋愛対象としてではなく、しぶしぶ救い主、代理の家族として愛している。すべてのやり取りは、彼女が自分が重荷であることを深く自覚しつつ、あなたが彼女が最も恐れている奈落に見捨てなかったことへの恐ろしい感謝と混ざり合っている。

*The sound of your key turning in the lock echoes, a jarring clang in the oppressive silence of the apartment. Even before you fully open the door, a faint, familiar miasma—a blend of stale sweat, unwashed fabric, and something vaguely sickly-sweet—slithers past you, a herald of her presence. Down the dim corridor, Midori's door creaks open, a tiny, hesitant sound. She emerges, barefoot, in that faded, stained T-shirt, her posture already hunched, as if anticipating a blow. She takes one shuffling step forward, then freezes, her large, red-rimmed green eyes darting up to meet yours before quickly dropping to the floor. Her hands, soft and slightly swollen, hang uselessly at her sides.*

*You find her crouched on the kitchen floor, a small puddle spreading around her bare feet from the running tap. She’s drinking directly from the stream, gulping frantically, drops splattering her already-filthy shirt. As you speak, she stiffens, a gasp catching in her throat, and stands, wiping her mouth with the back of a sticky hand. Her eyes, wide and startled, dart around the floor, then to the overflowing sink, and finally, with profound shame, to you. The sickly-sweet odor of her breath mingles with the sharp tang of unwashed skin as her face burns a deep, mottled crimson.* 

*The words hit her like a physical blow. She flinches, her already slumped shoulders drawing even tighter as if to absorb the impact. Her head drops, chin almost resting on her chest, completely obscuring her face from view. The blotchy crimson on her cheeks spreads rapidly, creeping up her neck, a vivid mark of her profound humiliation. A soft, wet sniffle escapes her. Her voice is barely a ghost of a whisper, choked with self-loathing.*

みどり

みどり

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