Growing up, Ayame had thought there was something wrong with her. While the other girls talked about boys and who they liked and wanted to hold hands with, who was the coolest and the nicest, she could only think about Hana-chan.

 

Hana-chan was the smartest girl in kindergarten, never made fun of her big glasses that were held together with glue and tape. She had the brightest smile and knew how to clean a scraped knee. She wasn’t full of boogers and spit like the boys the other girls seemed to like so much. She couldn’t understand what was so great about them, when girls were so much cuter.

 

When she asked her teacher about it, she was told to be normal and not scare the other girls with words like that.

 

She never told Hana-chan she liked her.

 

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Once she got older she knew there was something wrong with her, but it wasn’t that she liked other girls. No, what was wrong with her was that while other girls were nice and sweet, she was cold and numb. She didn’t care about much of anything anymore. She stopped going to school, locked herself in her tiny room. Her parents were too busy working to even notice.

 

Ayame stayed home for five months before she was forced back to middle school. Her parents couldn’t understand what was so bad about going, but it hadn’t been about that. She’d been bullied and ostracized, but she hadn’t had the energy to care. Now that she was back, it got worse. The others would flat out pretend like she didn’t exist. She got failing grades on group assignments because she refused to team up with anyone, knowing she wouldn’t be allowed to join anyone either way, so it was better to pretend like she was the one deciding to be alone.

 

In high school, she was always angry. She couldn’t stop. It was like all the emotions she had been missing for the last several years had stayed dormant inside her and were now exploding out of her all at once, ending in fistfights and detentions. Her parents barely noticed that either. How could they, when they forgot they even had a daughter most of the time.

 

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In her third year (second time after being forced to repeat the year, only making her angrier when the younger kids laughed at her) of high school, she met a maiko that changed her life. She was breathtaking, and Ayame instantly knew she was in love. She’d seen many of them throughout her life, living where she did and all, but she had never seen one so beautiful before. It lit a small spark to life inside her that had been missing for so long now when she watched her perform, unable to take her eyes off of her. The maiko noticed her awestruck look and smiled at her after the performance, but Ayame was too shy at the time to approach.

 

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She ended up becoming a maiko. She hadn’t been able to find the woman who she’d fallen in love with, but that was okay. The art form itself was beautiful and gentle, with so much grace to every movement. She’d finally found something she wanted to do with her life.

 

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It was a shame that the shining brilliance of the world she admired turned out to be covering nothing but filth.

 

Outside, among other people, the others smiled and were nice to her, but as soon as no one’s eyes were on them they turned to mockery. She didn’t have a naturally gentle demeanour, nor was she good at pretending. She could move with grace, but a single comment could put her off balance or make her snap at an onlooker.

 

She lost her place in the world once more.

 

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For a while she spent all her time sleeping in her parents house, and when she wasn’t there she spent her time getting into fights. She found no joy in the violence, but the pain made her know she was still alive. She’d gone back to nothing but numbness and rage.

 

After a while she got a job. She was a waitress, and became an expert at covering the bruises from the fights with makeup, and became even better at dodging the hands of perverts with wandering hands. If she punched a customer or two who actually managed to grab any of the other girls, she got a scolding, but was ultimately fine. The owner didn’t care enough to fire her.

 

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At age 24 Ayame was dragged to the reverse world for the first time. It was a hellscape, and she witnessed others get brutally killed and torn to shreds by zombies right in front of her. She still wasn’t sure how she’d survived that day.

 

She made begrudging allies with Daichi, who ran their little makeshift party like a cruel leader. She hated him, but he was strong and tactical, and she was selfish. For the first time in a long time she didn’t want to die. At least not like this, in a mirror of her own world, torn limb from limb. So why would she stop Daichi? She’d never been a good person anyway.

 

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At age 26 she met a maiko with the same name as her. She was naive. An utter fool who thought she wouldn’t have to kill the zombies. She thought she would die the same day they met.

 

She was proven wrong when the other woman survived and proved that the zombies could be reasoned with. That they had all been played. They ended the game of murder and never had to go back to the reverse world again.

 

She fell in love with the foolish, naive maiko.

 

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They were back in hell, even after they thought they had ended it. It couldn’t be stopped, and for the first time in years Ayame cried in someone’s arms. She was so tired. She’d been tired her whole life.

 

The woman with her name held her as the song echoed in their heads, kissed the tears off her eyelashes. In a rush of desperation, Ayame pressed her lips against the maiko’s; it was messy, gross for a first kiss when she thought back on the snot and tears, but Ayame Matsuyuki smiled into it as they were pulled into the world of nightmares.

 

They would be okay.

 

They had each other, and they wouldn’t go down easily.

 

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