Work Text:
This place is quiet now, as it should be. The air hangs heavy and motionless; the bars of sunlight crawl across the floor. Every so often the silence is broken by the creak of a beam, the flutter of a curtain, and sometimes a quick soft noise that could be the footfall of a cat, or a child.
Kayako moves through her house, steps soundless on dust and drifts of dead leaves, and roomfuls of ghosts shiver away as she passes.
At a murmur she turns, sees the girl sitting curled against the wall, her eyes tired and her face stained with ash. Of all of them, she is the only one who ever speaks. Kayako feels no surprise--it is not strange that one who fought until the end would try to keep her voice.
The girl's words are always foreign, but Kayako knows their meaning: Stop it. Please. Let me go.
The sound stirs currents in the air.
Shhh, Kayako whispers as she draws close, leans over her; shhh, shhh, she breathes against the dulled gold of her hair, the curve of her mouth, the bend of her throat.
Soon, the house is still once more.