The whole evening went on like this, with this strangely sympathetic family in its too lively honesty, while comments, shouts and arguments were constantly exchanged within this tumultuous household. There was a powerful sense of intimacy that ran through the guests as they accessed this private world, usually hidden from view and generously unfolding before them.

When it started to get late Alistair made the decision to go home. He and Maude were reduced to carrying Lucy, who had succumbed to sleep. They left the house to return to their home, lost in the middle of the miserable meanders of London where the poor came to pile up

He climbed the winding stairs that led to their floor, the young girl in his arms, to lay her in bed, trying not to wake her. When she was snuggled up in her sheets, buried under the blanket, Alistair couldn't prevent a shiver from going through his body when he saw that tiny white face lost in that bed, that porcelain doll's face, so delicate, so fragile, that face so pale it seemed dead. Such a young child she was, after all, such a young child. She could have done something other than lock herself in such a hole with someone like him. And yet, she had welcomed him, she had never asked him questions and above all she had given him a new objective, a new existence. In that regard, she looked a lot like the one who haunted his memories. Both, when he had been at his lowest, had been of the greatest help to him. But now, wasn't he condemning her? Wasn't he dragging her into a dangerous existence from which she would never emerge unscathed? She didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve to end up like everyone else before her. She was not to end up like all those girls, her body motionless, now a broken doll, her face white as snow and amorphous, her eyes closed, destiny shattered, a comet crushed on the ground, another corpse along the way. Her long brown hair which would make like a waterfall, clashing on the white background of the shroud, on the whiteness of her skin and on the blood which would flow again. Not another one, not Lucy.

A new dream. Lucy had the impression of floating in the void, in an infinite space, the limits of which it was impossible to distinguish. Her body was lost in the middle of nowhere, without her being able to make the slightest move. She could look at herself, drifting through the air, her eyes half-open and her dress fluttering around her.

She suddenly opened her eyes. She didn't know why, but she had been terrified by this dream. She was panting and sweating. She was very hot but, at the same time, cold sweats ran down her back. She put her hand on her chest. Her heart was beating wildly. She felt like it was going to explode any moment or rip out of her chest. She was shaking. Her hands were tightened on her mattress.

She suddenly looked around her. She was no longer in her room, but in a strange bed that looked like the one from her last dream, the memory of which had not, this time, been completely erased. But this time the room she woke up in was slightly different. It was much smaller and entirely occupied by two mattresses. Hers and... Beside her, she saw another form lying under the blanket.

She cringed but immediately hit the wall of the room and hit it hard. The sleeping person stirred and then sat up.

It was a little girl, younger than her, who must have been about ten years old. She had chubby cheeks and cherry red lips. Her eyes were narrowed and she looked like the girl from her previous dream. But it wasn't the same person. She had smooth black hair, like a night stream that descended a little below her shoulders. Her eyes were dark as a well.

She still seemed half asleep, drowsy, she nodded and yawned, opening her mouth very wide. She let out a small moan, regretting that she had been roused from her sleep.

She turned her head towards Lucy and smiled.

 "Ah! You're awake !"

 "... Asami ?"

The girl in front of her smiled more. She stood up and held out her hand to her. Lucy grabbed it. They both left and arrived in a hallway.

Once again, Lucy had no idea how she knew this girl's first name. She knew it, it was like this. As she moved forward, she realized that she too was different from last time, she felt like she had arrived in a younger body. She must have been a little older than the little girl in front of her.

Suddenly, Asami turned to her and stopped in the middle of the hallway.

 "Tell me big sister, do you remember me?"

Lucy frowned. She remembered but it was as if she didn't remember. She knew this girl, but it was like someone else was remembering her for her. She had a familiar feeling which impregnated her in full. She had lived here before with this girl but she couldn't really put her finger on the memories that invaded her.

The girl held out her hand to her and she began to go up in smoke, in a cloud of ashes while from the stump that remained to her a red fountain flowed. Her legs gave way under her and she fell to her knees in front of Lucy. When she lifted her face, it was filled with tears, with traces of blows. Blood flowed from her nose and mouth. She seemed pleading.

Lucy had the distinct impression that she was responsible, that it was her fault. She didn't know how but she was sure of it and it terrified her. Tears also filled her field of vision. She raised her hands in front of her eyes. She felt as if they had been stained with blood, it was as if her entire skin had been impregnated with it, seeping into every inch of her skin and fixing itself forever like an indelible tattoo. She took a step back. The entire hallway had darkened. The darkness penetrated everywhere, it was going to reach her, to engulf her. She was going to drown in it without being able to do anything. She couldn't move. She was too scared to leave and didn't want to leave the little girl behind, but she was unable to do anything. She could only watch.

 "Do you remember ? It's you, it's you who did this! How could you forget?"

Her voice sounded like broken glass, high, sharp, ready to lacerate her. Her face was hateful, filled with rage towards Lucy. She turned away. She didn't want to see more.

And yet, it was as if Asami's face was chasing her, wouldn't leave her alone. She saw those eyes with watery corners staring at her, staring at her in pure terror. Who looked at her like she was a monster. A monster.

A monster. It was her fault. Her fault. She couldn't escape, she knew, because she wasn't meant to. Because it was her fault.

A dark, obscure voice, which she did not understand, echoed from the bowels of the corridor in which the end could not be seen. That voice, she had heard it before. It had whispered in her ears before. She was sure of it. It was a voice that told her to let go, to let go. To let the power take control of her like now. A tempting voice that suggested her to give in to the darkness, to let herself be carried away, to no longer fight against the current.

She felt seized by shivers, traversed by an icy wave which slipped along her back. Nothing seemed to exist anymore. Her vision had blurred. All was lost in a hazy ocean, a whirlwind of spots and colors that were agitated in all directions. She couldn't see anything. She was blinded. The sun, the light, the voices from outside were gone. Disappeared into nothingness, leaving her alone in the hallway. Alone against Asami's accusing gaze. She felt like he was out of air. She couldn't breathe anymore. She no longer dared to open her mouth, let any air into her lungs, lest anyone hear the distress in her breathing.

The voice continued to whisper. It repeated the same words over and over. Incessant nursery rhyme that looped. Why so much suffering ? Why restrict yourself? Wouldn't she feel a lot better if she let it all go? Why was she enduring all of this ? For her sister who was writhing in pain before her? But didn't she deserve it? Didn't she deserve to suffer? Yes. It had to be like that. She had been mean and had to be punished. Let her suffer. Lucy's gaze hardened and fixed on Asami without an ounce of pity. But does she have to be so hurt? Of course, she hurt us very badly. She didn't do it on purpose. We must understand, we must forgive.We don't want to forgive. Why do we have to apologize?We are monstrous. We shouldn't, it's bad, bad. Evil. Evil. No.Yes. Yes. We must hear her cries, we must feel her pain. May she suffer even more than she made us suffer. Let her scream until her vocal cords are broken. Let her cry until she doesn't have enough water to do it. Let her beg until despair takes her.

No. She didn't want her sister to look at her like that. She didn't want to see that disgust in her eyes anymore. She didn't want to feel her own disgust reflected within herself. She didn't want to have to hate herself any more than her sister did.

That was how it was, she was a monster, a stranger to herself, abominable. That was what he had always told her. Him, at the center of everything, who she could not remember but who haunted her memories, him whose voice kept whispering the same words in her ears, with his fingers, his long fingers like the legs of a spider, like the bones of a skeleton that ran over her shoulders like claws, imprinting on her skin a bite of ice, hot and fiery, as if playing the piano on her collarbones.

Why ? Why was she in so much pain? Why did she want to destroy so much? Let it all turn to dust. Let everything burn. This irresistible need that consumed her. Who constantly begged her to release it. She was drowning even more in the darkness.

Silence had fallen. An eerie, dead silence. A silence from beyond the grave that lurked like the mist. Heavy and thick, weighing down on her with all his weight, as if even he accused her. The stage was deserted. She was the only actress and did not know the text.

The light had escaped, unable to bear to remain in this place any longer.

She clenched her hands on the fabric of her nightgown, twisting it as if to tear it. Her feet felt damp and clammy on the cold ground.

She was nobody. Incomplete. Incomplete. Need to be completed. She didn't exist. She was useless. Useless. The words repeated themselves in a loop, resounding in infinite echoes in his head. She couldn't stop them. His words repeated so many times that they had become hers, engraved on her, in her, forever, defining her entirely.

She had to destroy, annihilate. Leave nothing behind. That was how she was. It was the only thing she knew how to do. The only thing she had been taught. She was a stranger, someone who was not meant to exist. Who was she? A lie. Why was she there? Where was that there ? She didn't know. She couldn't go out anymore.

Suddenly, she saw Asami again. Her eyes were empty, entirely black, bottomless orbits, with streams of water flowing from them. Her body looked like a corpse brought back to life. It oozed dampness, moss and fungus. Like mold. She opened her mouth, an abysmal pit, from which water also came out. She said only one word in a hoarse, unrecognizable voice, coming from the depths of hell.

 "Izumi."

Izumi. She knew that name. It was familiar. Who was Izumi? Who was she? Izumi. Izumi. Where was Izumi? Izumi, help me, don't leave me!

A mirror appeared in front of her, a large silvery surface, like a lake undisturbed by waves. She saw her face there. Her face. Izumi's. She was Izumi.

A soft female voice rang in her ear, another voice she knew. She knew she could have identified him if she had had more time. The voice whispered to her: "Wake up, my ptichka птичка.".

Lucy woke up again by hitting the ground of the room with her head. She groaned in pain and straightened up painfully.

She glanced in the mirror. She saw there the girl she knew. The dark-haired girl had disappeared. Izumi. She still remembered.

She still had her clothes from the day before and her hairstyle hadn't improved overnight. She stretched with a yawn.

She looked at her hands. Not the slightest trace of blood. Nothing about her kept track of what had happened last night. It was like nothing had happened, like it was just a dream. A dream. Yes, it was just that after all. No need to think about it or worry about it. It was no longer necessary to think about it. A dream. Dreams were meant to be forgotten, like mistakes and the past.