Frank: "No… no… No… No… this can't be true… how… she's dead! …how… Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhh!""Please calm down, sir…"Frank: "…My beloved sister… is dead! …aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhh…"
He held his cheeks and scratched them with his own fingernails. They immediately restrained him before he went too far.
(A few days later)
"He probably suffered… some kind of trauma.""As a child… he only had his sister. Even though he was only 12 and she was 16… she took care of him. Their parents were dead.""She was the only person who ever cared for him. That he'd be shocked is obvious… but like this…""I can't blame him. Isn't it enough that his parents killed themselves, and his sister had to work as a prostitute to pay off the debts?""Yes… that's right…"
Frank: "…Sister…"
Frank's eyes were soulless, as if he had given up. He didn't eat, didn't drink… For him, his sister was everything. One might think he had a sister complex… She was only his adoptive sister… yet he loved her. She died of heart failure… which made no sense at all… considering she was healthy. Yes… their parents had been rich, but in debt. Apparently Annabelle—who killed the sister with morphine—didn't know that. Still, for Frank it was tragic… He was the only one convinced it was not a natural death.
He was later brought to the clinic where Ms. Sunday was. He didn't know her, but admired her beauty—especially since she resembled his sister. Yet he also hated her for it, because she reminded him of her. Still, the first time he saw her he was shocked.
Frank: "Hahhh… are you… are you… Mia?"Ms. Sunday: "Huh?"Frank: "Oh… are you… am I dreaming?"Ms. Sunday: "Sorry to disappoint you… but I don't have a brother. And I'm not Mia. My name is Alice Sunday."Frank: "Oh… but… but… you look just like her… sorry to bother you."Ms. Sunday: "Wait, don't go."Frank: "Huh?"
She held his cheeks.Ms. Sunday: "You look so sad… What's wrong? Tell me… I may not be your sister… but you can talk to me."Frank: "Huh…"
Her hands were warm. Her smile was enough to calm anyone, to make them feel safe. She wiped away his tears with her fingers.
Frank: "…She… was… my sister… and she died of heart failure. At least that's what they say."Ms. Sunday: "So you believe it wasn't a natural death?"Frank: "No… that can't be. She was fine… she was only there for a slight fever, nothing more."Ms. Sunday: "I see… I'm sorry. If you want to talk to me… I'll be here."Frank: "(she is kind and cute)"
The warmth of her smile, her hands—it felt as if a guardian angel were with him. Only the wings were missing.
(A few days later)
Frank: "Excuse me."Ms. Sunday: "Oh… it's you. How nice. Come in."
He entered; she had prepared tea.Ms. Sunday: "…Here's some tea."
They sat down.Ms. Sunday: "So Frank… is there something you want to tell me?"Frank: "Well… it's just… I feel a bit lonely."Ms. Sunday: "I understand… that's human."Frank: "Human?"Ms. Sunday: "Yes… it's human."
It was quiet. Annabelle was already home that day. They sat quietly… silently. Frank's eyes were fixed on Ms. Sunday's lips. He wanted to kiss her… to terrible things to her… more. The boy was at his psychological end. He had no contact with the outside world… only with his sister,
Frank: "(Those lips… how calm they are… how would they taste?… how would they feel?… is her tongue soft?… Can't I just kiss her?… Do I even need permission?… My sister let me do whatever I wanted with the dolls… Can't I just think of her as a doll too?)"
Ms. Sunday: "(…That look… it's lust. A lustful gaze. I knew it. The boy doesn't know how to think about women or how to treat them. He probably wants… to do terrible things with me. I recognize it from his eyes… He craves satisfaction of lust. Lust—. When it's this strong… a person is ready to do anything to satisfy it. Lustful people are the easiest to manipulate… just like that fool Stevens. All I'd need is to kiss him once… and let him touch my body…)"
Both thought negatively about themselves—yet one knew exactly what the other was thinking, while the other thought he could do whatever he wanted. Two possessed souls at one damned table… one driven by lust, the other by greed and manipulation. As if two deadly sins were sitting together in human form.
(Years earlier)
"I'll tell my mom… your brother groped me."Mia: "Please… can't we settle this another way?""Mom!"
The girl walked slowly toward her mother—when suddenly her sister's eyes turned soulless and malicious. She grabbed a hammer and struck her head.
(SPLASH!)
The blow was so strong that the inside of the girl's skull burst out, leaving a hole in her head.
Mia: "Who do you think you are, huh? Be honored that my brother chose you! Stupid brat!"Frank: "…Mia… you killed her."Mia: "It's all right, little brother. It's not a problem…"Frank: "I shouldn't have just groped her."Mia: "No… it wasn't your fault. It was her fault. Every girl should feel honored to be touched by you… just as you feel honored when I touch you."
She touched him in a certain place.Mia: "Right?"Frank: "Yes… you're right."Mia: "Hehe… leave the corpse to me, little brother."
(A few hours later)
Mia: "Ta-da! Here's your doll, brother!"Frank: "Wow… she looks amazing."Mia: "…Yes. The best part—it's made of flesh and blood."Frank: "…Yeah."
She knelt down and slowly closed the door.Mia: "Hehe."
(Back to the present)
Frank: "(Oh… like in those perverse romance porn stories!)"
Yes, Frank was someone who struggled with pornography. That's why his sister even bought him Lust dolls—because he once tried to grope the neighbor's daughter. Lucky for him, his sister was willing to kill the girl so she wouldn't tell. After killing her, she turned her into a doll for Frank to play with. Naturally, the parents searched for their daughter… but there was no trace. How could there be—she had become a doll, for a sick child whose sister gave him everything.
Ms. Sunday: "(That gaze… now he's looking at my other body parts… my chest… my stomach… my shoulders… and further at my smooth skin. Within seconds… he'll kiss me. I must be prepared, and not react in surprise.)"
And that's what happened. He spilled the tea, grabbed Ms. Sunday's shoulders, and wanted to kiss her. She did not resist. Even though he gripped her brutally—so much that his nails injured her shoulders—she reacted cool and calm, and gently pushed him back.
Ms. Sunday: "Nana… If you react like that right away… it won't be pleasant, you know, Frank."Frank: "Huh?"
She held his cheeks.Ms. Sunday: "In such moments… you must act so that both touch each other, no dominance. For example… you must first be gentler."Frank: "Oh…"Ms. Sunday: "…and first touch me in places that please me."
She took his hand and placed it on her neck.Ms. Sunday: "…like this."Frank: "Oh…"Ms. Sunday: "See? Both want it… that's why you feel warmth."Frank: "Oh…"Ms. Sunday: "Now you understand."
She held his hand and bit his fingers, while his other hand lay on her cheek.Ms. Sunday: "…like that."Frank: "Oh… okay… next time… I'm sorry."Ms. Sunday: "Hehe… I wasn't much better. Do you know what was in the tea?"Frank: "What?"Ms. Sunday: "Hehe."
He left the room.
Ms. Sunday: "What a fool… There are people who look like devils but are angels… and people who look like angels but are devils. It's not about appearance… it's about the soul. But humans are such naive, cheap creatures… they cling to what they can see. What they cannot see doesn't interest them. That's how it is. And I'll exploit it… hehe. To be precise—I'm one of those who looks like an angel… but in the truth is a monster!"
(…Bzzzzzz… bzzzz!)
(Afterwards!)
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhh… it's Frank… he killed himself… haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!"
After the murder of Annabelle, Frank took his own life. Exactly what Ms. Sunday wanted. Once again she had exploited someone's loneliness.
Ms. Sunday: "So that's how it went… Oh, how I love it when a plan works."
She stood at the window—when she saw her. The new postwoman.
Ms. Sunday: "Huh?…"
She looked at Ms. Sunday… and smiled.Ms. Sunday: "Hehe… (What a beautiful day… in London!)"