Chapter Text
"- Do you think parents care for their children because they love them, or because they have no other choice?"
Mizi's voice cut through the quiet evening once, sudden and uncharacteristically serious.
The two girls sat on the grass, their hands intertwined between them. Her green gaze was fixed on the horizon, on the slowly darkening sky.
Sua blinked, turning to look at her.
"- What?"
"- They have no choice but to provide for their children. So is it really an act of love?" Her voice was thoughtful and distant. "If there wasn't this societal expectation that it's natural for a parent to love their child, would they pretend to? I often wonder if their love is truly real, or if they're just performing because they legally have to, because everyone pretends it's the norm."
The dark haired girl studied her profile for a long moment.
"- Did you argue with your dad again?" She tilted her head until it rested on Mizi's shoulder.
"- It doesn't matter. Just answer."
Sua was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was measured and careful, like it always was.
"- I don't know, I think it depends on the parents." She squeezed Mizi's hand gently. "Not every parent wanted to live this life, you know? Some idealize family life, and then reality crushes them. Others have children by accident and spend their whole lives resenting it. I think most people procreate because it's simply the norm. They're expected to settle down with a lover and have children of their own, just like their parents and grandparents did before them."
"- It doesn't answer my question." She muttered. "In any case, I don't see how someone can love unconditionally another human just because it's their child."
"- Well, it's not always the case. For example, I don't think my biological parents loved us unconditionally, otherwise, they wouldn't have treated Ivan like that. But my adoptive parents chose to have us. We're like... a blessing in their life, and they don't fail to show it." A small smile crossed her face. "They couldn't have children of their own, so we're both so precious to them. And I just... feel it, more than I've ever felt anything like it before." She turned to look at Mizi directly. "I think, ideally, that's how parents are supposed to love. But for that, they shouldn't have children if they don't genuinely want them. They can only love them unconditionally if they truly want them."
"- But even if the parents truly wanted them at some point, they don't necessarily end up loving them, do they? What if the children they had disappoint them?"
Sua lifted her head from her shoulder, turning to face her fully. Her blue eyes were soft, understanding and sad.
"- Well, I don't know. I don't think they truly wanted children if they expected anything from them. That's not how it is." She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arm around them. "My parents were like that, but I think the wish to have children is supposed to be motivated by something simpler. Love. You love your partner so much, you want to gift the world the product of it. You wish to care for another human, to watch them grow up, to be there for them. To love, unconditionally." The pink haired girl was silent beside her, listening. "If you want children but you don't want them to turn out a certain way... you don't want children at all, you just have an egoistic need to live through someone else." She turned to look at Mizi, her blue eyes earnest. "How egoistic and narcissistic is it for a parent to put conditions on their love?" Her voice gained a slight edge. "«I will only love you if you turn out the way I want you to turn out.»" She scoffed softly. "Isn't that just manipulative and lazy?"
"- «Lazy»?"
"- As a parent, why don't you become the person you wish your child would become? Why are you allowed to rest and to remain where you are, but you want them to work harder than you ever did? And if they don't, you're disappointed? It's ridiculous and pathetic."
"- Don't they just want their children to succeed, and to have a good life...?" Mizi muttered, unsure.
"- Who defines success anyway?" Sua scoffed. "As long as they're alive and happy, then their life is the most successful of all."
Mizi turned to look at her, lost in thoughts. She watched her, just like she always did. Sua's skin was pale, the kind of flawless, porcelain pale that caught light and held it. Her eyes were blue, that particular shade that shifted between sky and storm depending on the light, the one that appeared in paintings of saints and angels. Her hair was black, straight and soft, framing a face that was thin, small and incredibly, impossibly beautiful.
Since they were young, everyone had noticed : Teachers complimented her and classmates admired her from a distance. Sua wasn't the type anyone approached easily, there was something untouchable about her, something that made people hesitate before speaking, as if they needed permission just to exist in her orbit. They watched her instead, watched the way she moved, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she smiled softly at things no one else noticed. Boys loved her in silence, they couldn't speak to her, every word died in their throats the moment those blue eyes turned in their direction. She was simply too beautiful, not the kind of beautiful that invited conversation, but the kind that demanded reverence and made them feel foolish for even trying.
Sua walked through the world like she was unaware of the effect she had, the way she made people hold their breath without meaning to. She was thin, small and delicate in a way that made people want to protect her. She had this soft voice and personality, both shy and gentle. Somehow she always said exactly the right thing, every word that left her mouth seemed righteous, measured and perfect, just like she was.
Mizi was everything she wasn't. Sua was God, in some ways, too good, too pure, too right for this world. Mizi was the devil, loud where Sua was quiet, impulsive where she was measured, too much where she was just enough.
When the dark haired girl came over to her place, Mizi's mother always complimented her. She welcomed her with warm smiles and words that made Sua blush timidly. She was fond of her appearance, of the way she held herself, of her shy personality that always charmed everyone she met. Sua was calm and mature, the kind of friend every parent hoped their child would find. She had good grades, good manners, and this ability to sit quietly and obey, like the perfect future spouse she was. Hearing it always made Mizi frustrated in a way she couldn't describe, the simple thought of Sua being anyone's spouse made her clench her fists uncontrollably.
Her mother called the dark haired girl the «perfect daughter», Mizi heard those words every time, at dinner, in passing, or during the afternoon when Sua would visit. The dark haired girl absorbed the words greedily, Mizi could tell how much she loved being reminded how perfect she was, especially when women were the ones praising her. There was something about female attention that made Sua pliant and receptive, hungry in a way she never was around men. She leaned into it like a flower toward sunlight, drinking in every compliment and every gentle touch.
She was an angel, a divinity, a being too perfect for this world, too pure to exist on Earth. Whenever the dark haired girl talked with that soft tone, spilling those too-mature speeches for her age, the younger one felt herself unravel.
Because Sua's purity begged to be stained, her frail body pleaded to be crushed. The thoughts coiled in Mizi's stomach like snakes, whispering things she couldn't say aloud, images she couldn't scrub from her mind. She wanted to ruin her, wanted to break her open, to see what was inside.
She wanted to show her off the way someone shows a conquest, to make everyone know that the unreachable God had only eyes for her. That the smartest, most perfect girl was hers to crush. That Sua loved to obey her every word, that she would never love anyone more than she loved Mizi. She wanted to prove the control she had, to make everyone see the power she held over this perfect, untouchable creature. To watch their faces as they realized that the girl they admired from a distance, the girl they were too intimidated to approach, the girl who seemed to exist on a different plane entirely, was on her knees for Mizi.
And worse, she wanted to show how pervertedly Sua enjoyed the control she had over her. Because she did, Mizi knew she did. She saw it in the way her breath caught when her voice dropped lower. Saw it in the way her blue eyes went dark when Mizi pushed and teased just a little too hard. Saw it in the way she leaned into the ruin, invited it, wanted it, faked it just to make Mizi happy.
In one abrupt movement, the pink-haired girl grabbed Sua's face, fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open slightly. Then she crushed her lips against hers. The girl's blue eyes flew wide, shock rippling through her entire body, the force of the collision sent her backward, her head hitting the grass with a soft thud. The world tilted, the sky, the trees and even the fading light, all of it replaced by Mizi's face, her mouth, and her weight pressing her down. The pink haired girl didn't move or pull back, she pressed harder, tongue sliding into her best friend's mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperate. For a moment, Sua's frail body remained frozen beneath her. Then, slowly, her blue eyes squeezed shut and her hands traveled to Mizi's back, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer.
The green eyed girl smiled against her lips and pulled back just enough to look at her, her body remained above Sua's, arms carrying her own weight. Her gaze was everywhere : tracing the flush on the girl's cheeks, her parted lips, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She looked up at her, breathless and wide-eyed, pinned beneath her like something caught and claimed.
"- Last year, you said you loved me, right?"
Sua looked away immediately, her cheeks flooding with color.
"- Yes." Her voice was barely above a mumble. "Is that why you're teasing me...?"
The taller girl simply grinned. There was something warm spreading through her chest, a pride she couldn't name and didn't want to examine too closely. The knowledge that Sua loved her. that she had chosen her, made her feel better about herself in ways she couldn't articulate.
Till, who was loved by Mizi's father almost like a son. Sua, who was adored by her mother because of her beauty. Both of them only had eyes for her, her parent's rotten daughter, the one who never quite measured up according to them. Both of them were vulnerable when she was around, only she could influence their feelings, only she could crush them.
With the light haired boy, she chose not to ruin him, not because of mercy, but because of disinterest. She could admit she had been jealous of him most of her life, jealous of the way her father looked at him, of how he became someone Mizi didn't recognize around him. Jealous of the way he talked about Till at dinner, recounting his latest basketball achievement like it was his own. Jealous of the way they played together in the yard, laughing in a way Mizi had never heard him laugh with her.
Her father had always wanted a son, and that's what the neighbor boy became, he was the son he never had, especially since Till didn't have a father of his own. They completed each other like two halves of something she wasn't invited to join. She hadn't minded, at first. Before puberty, her father had played with her too, he had given her his love, his attention and his time. She remembered being small and sitting on his shoulders, being taught how to ride a bike, she remembered bedtimes stories and forehead kisses.
Then her body changed and all of it stopped. Suddenly, everything was an argument : the tops she wore were too short, her pairs of pants were too tight. Her pajama, which had never been a problem before, suddenly showed too much cleavage, and as a father, it wasn't normal that he could have a glimpse of her body. He would sit on the sofa, feet on the table, ordering her around the house, commanding her to help her mother with cooking and chores, as if it were her duty and her place. When she'd point out that he could help too, he'd scoff and tell her he wasn't a woman, that his role was only to earn money and protect them.
There was something ironic about it. His only role, the thing he clung to like proof of his worth, wasn't even fulfilled. The safety a father was supposed to provide, the invisible fortress around his family that kept the world out and warmth in, was the furthest thing from what he actually gave them. The only thing they needed protection from was him. But he didn't seem to care about his role every time he lifted his hand and his palm connected with his wife's face. Every time her mother flinched, or stumbled, or pressed a hand to a reddening cheek while murmuring apologies.
Mizi watched these moments from doorways and corners. She watched her mother absorb blows meant to correct, to discipline, to punish failures so small they shouldn't have registered. Badly cooked meat, a slightly raised voice, a question asked at the wrong time.
Her mother took it all, silent and accepting, because wasn't this just how things were? Wasn't this what marriage looked like behind closed doors? She never condemned her husband's behavior, never raised her voice, or pushed back, never once suggested that the hand that struck her was wrong. She shut up and accepted, internalized, normalized, and when Mizi, young, furious and unable to comprehend, complained about it, her mother would look at her with something between pity and warning. She'd tell her that's how things were, and that the same awaited her. She'd tell her that one day, she would marry a man too, give him children, «progenitors» she called it, like Mizi was a royal broodmare. The pink haired girl would have to be patient, with his moods, his demands, his hands. She would raise his children, keep his house, manage his expectations. She had to stay healthy and strong, her mother often emphasized, not weak like her, who could only manage one child before her body gave out. More children apparently meant a happier husband, especially sons.
Mizi wanted to scream every time she told her that. She wanted to grab her mother by the shoulders and shake her until those hollow eyes focused. But she never did, because what would be the point? She was too far gone, she couldn't hear her daughter anymore, couldn't see her at all.
Mizi had a bitter taste in her mouth, it lingered at the back of her throat, coating her tongue whenever she thought about her mother -which was often, always, inescapable.- The worst part wasn't the violence, the silence and the acceptance, it wasn't the way the woman normalized the abnormal until it became just another Tuesday. The worst part was knowing her mother believed she deserved it, that she felt guilty, not for staying or for accepting, but for giving her husband an only daughter, as if Mizi was the worst thing that could have happened to them. As if her very existence as a girl and not as the son he wanted and the heir he deserved, was the original sin that justified everything that followed.
Sons were easier to manage, apparently.
Or maybe sons weren't managed at all, maybe they weren't raised so much as spoiled, infantilized, handed the world without being asked to earn it. They never had to do anything, they simply existed, and that was enough.
Daughters, though, had to become everything. They had to be beautiful, smart, quiet and useful, they had to cook, clean, bear children and smile through pain. They had to be able to do everything, be everything, give everything, and somehow, no matter what they did, their worth would always be less than their brother's, less than any man's. It was an equation Mizi couldn't solve, a math that made no sense. They had to work harder, be better, give more, but no matter how much they did, they would still be told they weren't enough, they'd still be struck for a badly cooked meal.
They were a devoted Christian family. Mizi went to church every Sunday, not because she wanted to, but because her parents did, or maybe only her father did. She sat in the pews, knees pressed together, hands folded while mouthing hymns she didn't believe. She listened to sermons about love and forgiveness and somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if her father was listening too. She never heard anything about how being born a male gave someone the right to punch and degrade someone just because they were a female, maybe she had missed that chapter, or maybe she hadn't read the Bible enough. But then again, why would a woman read? Her father did all the religious teaching at home. He interpreted the Word, decided what it meant, and if that applied to them or not.
Mizi pretended she believed, she nodded along, said the right things, kept her doubts locked in a small box inside her chest where no one could see. But in reality, she didn't care about religion. She didn't believe in a God who was a man, one named Jesus, called He, depicted with a beard, robes and that gentle, paternal smile. A Savior who looked like everything that had ever hurt her. Her God was different, it was a woman, it was Sua, delicate and frail, with pale skin, blue eyes and a soft voice. Sua, who looked at Mizi like she was something precious, who begged and pleaded and cried for her. Sua, who would do anything, be anything, give anything just to stay in Mizi's light. Her faith in Sua was stronger than any Christian's faith in their savior. She would die for her, kill for her, burn down the world and build it anew just to give Sua a place where she could exist safely. That was real worship and devotion, not this hollow ritual in a building full of people who sang about love and went home to hit their wives.
She swore that she would never, ever be like her mother, she would never apologize for existing, would never shrink to make a man feel big just because he had money, never accept a role she didn't want, as if they were characters in a play she hadn't auditioned for.
Her father didn't only teach Mizi to ride a bike, he had taught her plenty of other things, like shame and loneliness, he taught her how love and violence could coexist, and that the same hands that had once held her could become fists. She learned that her existence as a daughter was acceptable only as long as she remained a child, innocent and uncomplicated, unpolluted by the woman she would become.
She always found gender roles dumb and illogical. A system that made no sense when anyone actually thought about it. Because why would women have to work for the men of their family? Why was their labor expected, demanded, treated as natural, while men's contributions were celebrated as exceptional? They'd never had to learn anything, there was always a woman to do it for them : first their mothers, maybe their sisters, then their wives and daughters.
Men were all pathetic, and Till wasn't an exception. Mizi watched him from a distance, the boy her father idealized, the son he never had, the perfect replacement for the disappointing daughter. She watched the silver haired boy stumble over his words around her, watched him turn into a blushing, stammering mess whenever she so much as glanced his way. It had made her realize, eventually, how silly her jealousy had been. He was weak, simple and transparent in his wants. Her parents liked him, of course they did, he was the perfect son-in-law, they even wanted them both to get married someday.
Till would blush and glance her way shyly whenever they said it, but Mizi would only feel disgust.
She hated how she was reduced to her gender, how her only purpose in life seemed to be learning to take care of a house, waiting for a husband to come home so she could massage his feet and suck his dick because he'd worked so hard for a salary he wouldn't even share with her. While all she'd done all day was for him : cooked his food, cleaned his dirty underwear, pretended to have orgasms whenever he fucked her with his micro penis that always ejaculated prematurely. The imagery was sharp, visceral, disgustingly clear in her mind.
She hated men, hated them with a devotion that bordered on religious, a fervor that consumed her from the inside out. It wasn't a casual dislike, wasn't the performative frustration of someone who'd had a few bad experiences. It was something deeper, more fundamental, woven into the fabric of who she was. She hated everything about them, their bodies, the way they took up space, sprawling and spreading as if the world belonged to them by right. The bulk of their shoulders, the thickness of their hands, the coarse hair that covered their skin. She hated the way they smelled, hated their voices, carrying and demanding to be heard. She hated the way they talked over women, interrupted, explained things no one had asked about. Hated the condescension that dripped from their words when they spoke to girls, to waitresses, to her mother. Their minds, the way they thought, the assumptions they carried like armor, the certainty that they were always right about everything. She hated their entitlement, their casual cruelty, their ability to hurt and forget.
She hated men, and Till wasn't an exception. But she didn't have to ruin him, because he ruined himself. He was weak and pathetic, lacking the sole pride that made men ignore their own misery. He lived outside the norms, sweet and soft as a girl, but trapped in a disgusting body with an even filthier mind. They all had the same one underneath, and all wanted the same things. All would use her the same way given the chance, Till just hid it behind blushes and stutters, but Mizi wasn't fooled. She saw the boy beneath the shy exterior, the one who would grow into a man just like all the others. That's why she felt nothing for him, not hatred, not jealousy, not even real contempt. Just a vast and empty indifference. He wasn't worth ruining because he'd do it himself eventually.
With Sua, it was different and more complicated. The dark-haired girl was fragile, thin, vulnerable and delicate in a way that made Mizi’s hands itch not with concern but something closer to hunger. There was a strange perfection to Sua’s frailty that made Mizi crave every small crack in it. She loved watching Sua's flaws surface: her jealousy, her insecurity and her clumsiness. She adored witnessing the moments when Sua’s composure slipped and she became needy, whining for attention, struggling through despair, suffering in small, beautiful ways. So Mizi made her sad on purpose : a cold shoulder here, an absence there, just to see what it would do. To watch that expression flicker across Sua’s face and hear that particular, pathetic tremor in her voice. Sua obeyed Mizi's every word, always trying to gain her favor, always seeking her approval. Everyone's spoiled little princess had no pride when it came to the pink haired girl. She begged, pleaded and cried, she confessed and apologized.
Mizi loved to ruin her, loved to shatter Sua's perfection, to break that innocence into pieces. She wanted to turn her into someone as filthy, so they could stand on the same ground. She wanted everyone to be repulsed by her, wanted them to stay away, to leave Sua alone, to stop looking at her like she was something holy. So that Sua would have no one else, no one at all but Mizi.
She looked down at the dark haired girl beneath her, flushed, breathless and hers, then she smiled.
"- I love you too." Mizi's voice became more intimate. "So let's date. Let's be two girlfriends." Her lips brushed against Sua's ear. "Let it be the proof that you're the only God I believe in now." Her mouth crashed into the girl's neck, not gently but with a hunger that had been building for years. She kissed the pale skin, then let her tongue trail along the column of her throat, tasting salt and warmth.
Sua let out a small whimper while her thighs pressed together instinctively, a reaction she couldn't control. Mizi felt a smile curve against her skin, the reaction only made her want to laugh. She wanted to mock and point out the vulnerability as well as the physical attraction Sua couldn't refrain, the desire she couldn't hide no matter how hard she tried. The power she held over her was intoxicating, a proof that the dark haired girl was just as ruined for her as she was.
"- Come play at my house tonight." Mizi's whisper was hot against her ear. "I'll give you what you want." She bit down gently on the earlobe, just enough to make Sua shiver.
The dark haired girl nodded slowly, those blue eyes staring into Mizi's green ones with an expression that was impossible to read and yet completely transparent. Mizi wasn't dumb. She knew the smaller girl saw right through her, knew those blue eyes missed nothing, understood everything, catalogued every dark impulse and possessive thought Mizi tried to hide, aware that her girlfriend was planning something. But she never cared and she always listened anyway. That's how she was : docile in a way no one else was, choosing every time to follow Mizi into whatever darkness awaited. It should have made the pink haired girl feel guilty, instead, it made her want her more.
She didn't know how she felt toward the blue eyed girl at first. She had secretly known for years that Sua harbored feelings for her, known it in the way she looked at her, the way she found excuses to touch her, the way her voice softened when they were alone.
Her confession made something itch inside Mizi's skin, it burrowed under her skin like insects, crawling, biting and refusing to leave her alone. She tried to deny her own feelings at first, tried to convince herself this was just a phase girls went through. She reread the Bible again and again, flipped through pages she'd heard quoted her whole life, searched for the verses that would give her a reason to push Sua away, to protect them both from whatever this was. She read until her eyes burned, until the words blurred together, until she realized she couldn't believe no matter how much she wanted to.
She invited Till over, tried to seduce him with nice words and warm smiles, the way girls were supposed to. She let him sit close to her, touched his arm, laughed at his jokes and waited for something to spark. But she couldn't feel anything.
She tried watching videos of men and women kissing on screens, making out and having sex. She forced herself to sit through them, to observe and to learn normality, but she only felt grossed out, not by the acts themselves, but by the men. By everything about them : their bodies, their hands, their sounds, their presence.
She thought it was hilarious, how her parents always forbade her to close the door when Till was over. They'd check constantly, making excuses to pass by, ensuring nothing inappropriate could happen between their daughter and the boy they hoped she'd marry. But when it was Sua, they didn't bat an eye. Mizi couldn't comprehend how they wouldn't, when she wore those short white dresses, when she sat so innocently on her bed like a lamb playing in front of a starving wolf. The door could be closed for hours, and they wouldn't suspect a thing that was going through their daughter's mind.
Mizi's thoughts unraveled every time. Her green eyes would drift to Sua's naked thighs, smooth and pale against the dark sheets, and her mind would wander to what hid just above. She'd imagine the curves, the softness, the places she'd never seen but desperately wanted to know.
Those small dresses drove her crazy. Their spaghetti-like shoulder straps, always falling to the side, always revealing just a hint of cleavage that Mizi's gaze kept getting caught on. Her mouth would go dry and her hands would clench at her sides as she'd force herself to look away, only to look back a moment later.
And when Sua burst out laughing on her bed, arms spreading across the sheets, her dress riding even higher in the movement, Mizi couldn't stop glancing. She'd stare at the whiteness of the fabric, so thin it let everything show through when it clung to Sua's skin as she laid down. At the way her best friend didn't even bother to put anything on underneath, except her white panties being clearly visible through the translucent material.
Mizi felt like a starving dog, her thoughts circling endlessly around the same question of whether she'd ever let herself bite. She tried desperately not to, every time Sua visited, every time her dresses rode up or her straps slipped down, the pink haired girl fought herself. She'd glance at her best friend sitting right there on her bed looking like temptation incarnate, and force herself to look away.
She fought back the urge to enjoy the fact that Sua loved her anyway, she tried to ignore the power she held, the effect she had, the way Sua's body responded to her presence. She fought back her demons, her lustful fantasies, every image of the dark haired girl beneath her that flashed through her mind unbidden. She held back, clenched her hands and bit her tongue, refusing to let her hungry and desperate feelings ruin things between them. Sua was too important and too precious, too perfect to be tainted by whatever darkness lived inside Mizi. So she starved and looked away even when every instinct screamed at her to look closer, like a dog who tried to sit still even though its leash was in its own hands.
Because that was the thing, there was no real barrier between her and what she wanted, no parent watching, no physical restraint keeping her in place, only her own refusal and the knowledge that once she bit, she might never stop.
Sua was right there in her room, on her bed and in that dress that showed almost everything : the curve of her thighs, the shadow between her breasts, the outline of her body beneath fabric so thin it might as well have been mist, pretending she didn't know what she was doing. But she knew, every time she stretched, every time she laughed and let the straps slip, every time she caught Mizi's eye with that innocent look. She was testing, pushing, seeing how far she could go before Mizi finally snapped. Her trap was so obvious yet the pink haired girl walked right into it every time, caught in the snare of her own wanting, unable to look away even as she refused to move.
Sua loved her, wanted her so badly she offered herself up like a sacrifice to a god. Yet Mizi sat still, knowing perfectly well she could cross the room and lower herself onto the bed to take what was being offered. Because the dark haired girl would let her, she would welcome her and probably cry with relief after finally having what she'd wanted for so long.
Mizi didn't know what Sua saw in her, maybe the righteous girl too felt the need to own someone. Someone who wouldn't belong to anyone else, especially not Ivan.
But Mizi's need for ownership outreached anything Sua could have imagined. She didn't want anyone to love the smaller girl, she wanted to be the only one. She wanted custody of Sua's mind and body, wanted to be the only person allowed to say her name, to think of her, to exist in her orbit. She wanted to be the sole occupant of her world, the only face she saw when she closed her eyes, the only voice she heard when she was alone. She needed Sua hers and hers alone. It wasn't love, exactly, or maybe it was, just a version of love so possessive and so consuming that it looked like something else entirely. Mizi didn't know how to categorize the feelings that lived in her chest, she only knew they were there, constant and hungry, desperate to show everyone she was worthy of love too, that she was adored unconditionally by the most perfect girl they knew. She wanted to show them, to hold Sua up like a trophy, like proof, like a mirror reflecting everything Mizi had never been given.
The need itched every time her parents gave Sua those warm smiles, every time they complimented her, praised her until it looked like adoration. The need crawled under Mizi's skin and settled there, demanding attention. She wanted to show them, wanted to drag them into her room and make them watch how the divinity they worshipped was just as filthy, hungry and desperate as Mizi had always been.
She knew the leash never existed, there was no restraint holding her back except the illusion Sua had carefully constructed. The dark haired girl had trained her all along, every glance, every stretch, every «accidental» reveal was part of the education, and Mizi's snapping was just the final step in the training.
She knew that's what Sua wanted, and she knew with certainty that she couldn't fight it. Because she wanted it too, as desperately as her master wanted it, as hungrily as God expected worship.
So she let herself fall, she approached Sua as she waited on her bed, wearing that white dress that made her appear pure and innocent. Mizi wasn't fooled, she clearly saw through her blue eyes and the starvation they carried. Underneath the small cloth, there was a reason why Sua never wore anything but that white lace pantie, the one with a bow on the front.
It was the gift offered at the end of Mizi's training.
When she crossed the room, and her knees hit the bed, when she lowered herself over Sua's waiting body, she couldn't be blamed for giving God what She wanted. She couldn't be blamed for showing the world how imperfect God was, for sinning just to let the mask fall. Was it even sin if she sinned with Her, with God Herself? It couldn't be, so she just had to prove it. She'd drag Sua down from her pedestal, stain that purity with her own filthy hands. She would make Her fall into filthy desires, would show Her a pleasure She had never known. Mizi would make Her scream, beg and shake pitifully, wrecked and undone, crying out for more. She would show Her a glimpse of paradise, a real one, made of flesh and heat and the joining of two bodies. And she'd let everyone watch. She'd let them see and let them know how easily she could make Her Universe fall into pleasure and debauchery. Let them witness the perfect girl come undone beneath someone like her.
Her mother, guided by the sounds of their pleasure, by the moans, the whimpers, the rhythmic creak of the bed, would follow the noise, confused at first, then slowly understanding. She would push open the door to Mizi's room and see the scene. Her eyes would widen and she'd gasp, then wrath would fill her gaze. But she wouldn't hit Mizi. The pink haired girl had known already, somehow, that her mother wouldn't touch her or blame her, that when she would see her daughter's body tangled with another girl's, she wouldn't think Mizi was the corrupt one.
She would go for God instead, because seeing Sua, such a delicate and perfect person, naked and exposed, her sins visible for the world to see, would make her mother demonize her immediately. It would give her the explanation she needed: her daughter's debauchery wasn't her fault, it was the whispers of this Devil wearing an angel's face, this seducer who had led her child astray.
And when her hand crashed against Sua's cheek, the dark haired girl wouldn't say a thing, she wouldn't even be mad, instead, she would welcome the pain and act as if it were normal. Mizi would burst out laughing, because it was too perfect, because her mother, for once, would be right about who Sua was. Not an angel but a divinity who wanted, who craved, who begged, one who had chosen Mizi over purity, over perfection and over Holiness. A divinity just as ruined as a rotten daughter was, and they would be ruined and rotted together. She would laugh because at least everyone's mask was down now : hers, her mother's, Sua's. They were naked and truly exposed, finally seen for what they were.
Her parents would hate her for this, they would look at her with disgust and disappointment, with the cold realization that their only child was an even greater failure than they'd imagined. But she wouldn't repent and especially wouldn't stop. She wouldn't beg for forgiveness, promise to change or pretend to be something she wasn't. Because she had planned it all, and despite how sinful her existence was, she chose to make the best out of it.
She wasn't only a woman, she was also a lesbian, the worst two things someone could ever be. In the hierarchy of unforgivable identities, she occupied a special place. Not even a racist pedophile could compete with the sheer wrongness of her existence, at least he had the comfort of being what the world expected, twisted versions of acceptable, but recognizable nonetheless. Mizi was an aberration, a mistake of nature. A girl, -which was bad enough,- who loved girls, which meant she loved wrong, loved badly, loved in a way that made people uncomfortable, angry and violent.
But she would live. She would live, she would love, and she would sin. She'd embrace the sin itself, she'd lick it, taste it, let it swallow her tongue and her fingers. She'd worship the sin, bury her head in it, breathe it in until she couldn't tell where she ended and the sin began. She'd glorify it, celebrate it with every touch, every kiss and every desperate press of body against body. She'd learn its shape, its taste, its texture and memorize the way it felt beneath her fingers, the way it responded to her attention, the way it changed and demanded more. She'd listen to the sounds its God made as she played with it, Sua's moans, soft at first, then louder and more urgent. Her whimpers escaping despite herself, betraying every pretense of control. Her God's desperate pleas for more : more touch, more tongue, more fingers and more rubs, for harder and faster movements, for a night that would never stop. She'd listen to the holy chants of God calling her name repetitively, begging and pleading. She'd watch and feel the sin become wet and sticky and its juice so impossibly delicious. Hot and slick with evidence of how much God Herself wanted this, wanted Mizi, wanted to be consumed by the very thing that would damn them both.
Because at least, it was delicious. Impossibly, indescribably and devastatingly delicious. The pink haired girl would never get enough of it, she would never stop wanting it, chasing it, drowning in it. Both the God and the Sin was hers now, hers to worship, hers to celebrate, hers to taste on her lips for the rest of eternity. And she would never, ever repent.
If sinning was all she was condemned to do from her birth, then she'd sin until she died. And when she stood before the Creator of everything, when she was judged for every wrong thing she'd ever done, she wouldn't cower or plead, she wouldn't even apologize. She'd face Her, God, Sua. She'd kiss her right there, lick her, touch her, make love to her again. Because even death couldn't extinguish her desire. Even the grave couldn't hold her back from reaching for the dark-haired girl and swallowing her whole with sharp teeth.
They would be together, in this life and in the next. In every version of existence the universe could conjure. And Mizi would never, ever apologize for it.