Chapter 56 - Volume 4
It Seems Like I Got Reincarnated Into The World of a Yandere Otome Game
Extra arc ãThe Stage Ghostâs Cappricioã Chapter 8
ãI am a puppetã
Is what she said.
ãBut, itâs true that I was born from a human mother. My real name is also Mari. ...I guess I got caught in the end. I was honestly terrified every time Iâd meet with you. Iâd thought that anyone who knew about real magic would surely expose my lies somedayã
ãI donât plan on exposing the lie. I just want to know your true motives. If you want me to keep it a secret, then Iâll keep the truth to my grave and if you donât want to talk about itââã
ãNo. Iâll tell you everything. Itâs just that I donât know where to start. If youâre fine with it, Iâll start from the beginningã
It seems Miriaâsâno, Mari Galantâs mother really did treat her badly. She was practically neglected, and sheâd get offensive words thrown at her when they met.
ãIt seems that Iâd been a kid who never cried, laughed or talked. My mother, to add to that, was yearning for one child that was stillborn â my sister from a different father. She told me plainly that she didnât want to recognize a broken child as her daughterã
I wonder what kind of thoughts she had, having such cruel words thrown at her.
The reason she hadnât cried may be because she had no one to comfort her even if she cried. And the reason she hadnât smiled or talked, was probably because there was no one near her that she could copy how to smile or talk from.
ãBut, even though Grandfather was taciturn and unsociable, he did care about me a little. Even though I knew that the puppets were more important to Grandfather than I was, nevertheless, to me, he was my one and only family. And besides, even I had a dream as a child in my own way too. Even though I couldnât naturally laugh or cry myself, a man who associated with grandfather taught me the existence of something called ãtheatreãã
Her tone became a little cheerful. When I heard that, I recalled something.
ãCould that person be... Mr. Playright?ã
ãYes. I was taught ãtheatreã by that gentleman, and became crazy about it. In theatre, even if the words I say were lies or even if the smiles and tears I had were fake, it was fine as long as I do it well. The fact is, I get to see people, who watch me pretend to cry out or act like I love someone, happy. ......but, as per my usual damaged self, even when my mother died, I didnât spill a single drop of tearã
When she talked about her mother, she certainly didnât have any facial expressions. That, to me, looked like confusion over not knowing what the proper expression to make was.
ãI had a dream, and, even if it was only one, I had a family. Iâd thought that was fine. I might be damaged, but Iâd planned to live virtuously, to live as honestly as I couldã
She took one short pause, and said in a tone one pitch lower than before.
ã......Up until that time cameã
Up until the time Nival Galant died, it was common knowledge that heâd been working on the doll that was said to be his best work. Of course, having lived together, thereâs no way she couldnât have possibly known that.
ãBut Grandfather really hated having others see the creation of the dolls, so even I have never seen those dolls made. Grandfather collapsed in the workshop as he was... After he died, I went into the workshop. I saw the doll that Grandfather toiled over until the time of his death. And, I understood. What Grandfather wanted â what even he wanted, had been my sister from a different father.......There was already a name etched into the doll, ãMiriaããââit was the name Mother had prepared for my stillborn sister.ã
With a scornful laugh most likely directed at herself, she continued her monologue sarcastically.
ãThe doll that had my sisterâs name had a.. very gentle and serene expression.......Thatâs to be expected. It was something that was born by having Grandfather pour all of the passion from Motherâs hopes. Thus, itâs debut as an automaton was already prepared. Furthermore, sheâll debut from the puppet opera with the first script that man has written... She had already been set to star on stage for her first timeã
I could feel the fiery rage in Miriaâs tone.
ã......I... had never been so vexed. Even though I canât even properly laugh or cry, it seems Iâm perfectly capable of being jealous. I saw red. At that time, all of the pieces of grandfatherâs work had already been finished and even its assembly was nearly completed. All thatâs left was to fasten the arms and it shouldâve been able to move... It was fine even if that part of the work wasnât by grandfather. But, when I think of the promising future awaiting the doll sleeping so serenely, the moment its life begins... When I think of the doll getting all the things Iâve ever wanted once it opens its eyes...ã
I could easily imagine what was beyond the pause in those words. Even so, having told me sheâd tell me everything, she said this clearly.
ãWithout completing the doll, I hid the arms and the body away separately. Then, I pretended to be ãMiriaã and came to the puppet operaã
With this, a curious switching of a doll with a human occurred.
ãDid Mr. Playwright know about this?ã
ãI donât suppose he noticed. As ãMiriaã, I always wear makeup when I appear in front of himã
Even so, I suppose thereâd still be some similarities. Even by changing her outward appearance with clothes and makeup, her voice was still the same, after all.
Well, letâs leave how the playwright thinks of this aside for the time being.
The problem was about her. Iâm not even certain whether I should call her ãMariã or whether I should call her ãMiriaã.
ã......if itâs alright with you, please call me Miria like before. Iâm more used to itã
Sheâd gone ahead and addressed my trouble.
ãCompared to the times Iâve been called ãMiriaã up to this point, the times Iâve been called ãMariã is honestly way too little that it is not even worth talking about, and...... it feels strange when Iâm called by that nameã
With her talking badly about herself, I couldnât make myself say, âThen, Iâll go ahead and call you Miriaâ.
ã......Youâre... human, right?ãn/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om
ãI wasnât made through someoneâs hands but born from my motherâs womb. But, up to now, Iâve never once proudly declared ãIâm humanã. Donât you think that humans are people with an abundance of emotions and know how to love someone?ã
ã......If they have their own thoughts and have a good command of their own words, they are human in my opinionã
ãIs that so? I think youâre saying that because youâre kind...... I thought the same when I first stood on the puppet opera stage. As broken as I am, I was still a human, after all. I might die in this place today. If not that, this performance might end in failure due to my lies, Iâd thought.......But, the performance had been a success. I think, to the ghost, I looked every bit a puppet, not a humanã
ãYou... believe in the stage ghost?ã
ãYes, I do. A lot of people died in the past, performances ended up in failure, and itâs not just that. I, myself, could feel it whenever I stood there. I believe there is......something here. No, it may be better to say someone. If that wasnât by magic, then it was definitely a ghostã
I wasnât in the mood to argue here about the presence of a ghost. I had one thing I had to ask.
ãSo then, while believing that this place was dangerous, believing youâd get killed by the ghost, you still stood on the stage almost every day?ã
ãIt wasnât that I might get killed. I thought, someday, I want to get killedã»ã»ã»ã»ã»ã
I was... speechless.
ãI only have one dream now. If I happen to die on that stage, at that exact time, it would mean that the stage ghost recognized me as human. That it recognized me as somebody. No, at that time, it will prove to me that I was able to love that man. Right now, Iâm sure my feelings are still a sham... I can do nothing but act well and I still canât seem to understand my own heart, after all. But unlike a person, Iâm sure a ghost will not be deceived by my actingã
With her voice bouncing slightly, she was the epitome of a little girl talking about her hopes.
ã......youâre crying for me, I seeã
Though she remarked on it, I didnât realise that tears were dripping down my cheeks. I had been focused on something else.
ã......I... deceived you just like all the rest. Iâm sorry. I told you Iâll be your friend, pretending to be humanââãEven when you found out, you still cried for me. I... never dreamed that Iâll be able to make a friend like that.ã
âThen-â, as I attempted to say it, she said.
ãSomeday, when I die on the stage, Iâm sure you will cry for me. But, itâs okay if you cry only a little. At that time, Iâll be extremely satisfied, after all. After youâve cried a little, please, give me your blessingã
I frantically searched for words to reply.
Not to her mention of death, but a method to prove love. If I could present it to her...
In an opera, characters certainly immortalize their love by dying. But surely there should be a way to prove that love to living people. Otherwise, wouldnât it be too tragic?
She loved the playwright. She also loved her grandfather. It was evident to me when I heard her story. But, as an outsider, things like my opinions were meaningless here.
As long as she, herself, doesnât believe it...
As long as she canât prove to herself that itâs real and not an act...
ï¼......Iâm... useless. Right now, I canât even call out to her. I donât even know whether itâs right to call her by either of the names...ï¼
At that time, I couldnât even think of a word to reply to her.