[The city is better than anything Aimee could have imagined or read about, all glittering lights and towering buildings, with technology she had only heard about. People dressed beautifully and their words were equally beautiful. It's honestly dizzying at times, and she fears she may get swept up in the current.
She needs a job. She tries learning how to become a magical girl, how to at least get noticed long enough to have a chance to be one. They seem to mesh with this place perfectly, with puffy skirts and silky hair, bright eyes and smiles. She more she tries to be like them, the deeper she seems to sink. She doesn’t give up completely, but she shoves her wish aside. She needs a place to stay first.
The first time it happens is an accident. Aimee sits on the floor, staring at her shaking, stained hands as the knife clatters on the floor. The body in front of her won't move. Someone tries to reassure her but she finds out it’s a lie so she runs before she can get caught.
People really are stupid.]
[She could never be a magical girl now. Magical girls represented all of the purest, most brilliant aspects of feminity, along with justice. She could never attain that now, but she finds out that people underestimate her. And she quickly learns how to use a gun.
She uses that to her advantage, lending a sympathetic ear and smiling politely as she takes job after job. She won't get her hands dirty and quickly learns the most efficient, cleanest way to cut her target's life short. Word about a young assassin who doesn't look like much but who is reliable and trustworthy (or as trustworthy as any assassin is) circulates. She does enough reading to learn how to avoid leaving any signs that she was there. When she’s not exhausted, she spends time reading in the library. She just wishes that the justice in those stories existed in the real world. Maybe things would have turned out different.
People talk. She starts getting better jobs that pay more. She doesn't even have to steal and has a nice enough apartment that's her own, as well as connections who provide her better work. She stops feeling guilty when she stands over her target, their life in her hands. She doesn’t provide any words or apologies and gets it over with.
The person who referred her the job praises her.]
You really are a prodigy! You did a great job!
You really think so…?
[She should probably be more shaken up about it, but she just stares at the floor shyly without any remorse. To be truthful, she isn't certain if she ever felt guilty. All she feels is a lingering resentment for the people she works for. Why can't they be happy with what they have?
But things are better now, aren’t they? She finally belongs somewhere and she can blend in with the rest of the splendor around her. Maybe this is her justice. If she’s making someone’s life better…it’s not that different from the stories, is it?
So she gives them what they want, and in exchange she gets to live. It's her mask, her role in this terrible play.]
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cw: violence and murder
She needs a job. She tries learning how to become a magical girl, how to at least get noticed long enough to have a chance to be one. They seem to mesh with this place perfectly, with puffy skirts and silky hair, bright eyes and smiles. She more she tries to be like them, the deeper she seems to sink. She doesn’t give up completely, but she shoves her wish aside. She needs a place to stay first.
The first time it happens is an accident. Aimee sits on the floor, staring at her shaking, stained hands as the knife clatters on the floor. The body in front of her won't move. Someone tries to reassure her but she finds out it’s a lie so she runs before she can get caught.
People really are stupid.]
[She could never be a magical girl now. Magical girls represented all of the purest, most brilliant aspects of feminity, along with justice. She could never attain that now, but she finds out that people underestimate her. And she quickly learns how to use a gun.
She uses that to her advantage, lending a sympathetic ear and smiling politely as she takes job after job. She won't get her hands dirty and quickly learns the most efficient, cleanest way to cut her target's life short. Word about a young assassin who doesn't look like much but who is reliable and trustworthy (or as trustworthy as any assassin is) circulates. She does enough reading to learn how to avoid leaving any signs that she was there. When she’s not exhausted, she spends time reading in the library. She just wishes that the justice in those stories existed in the real world. Maybe things would have turned out different.
People talk. She starts getting better jobs that pay more. She doesn't even have to steal and has a nice enough apartment that's her own, as well as connections who provide her better work. She stops feeling guilty when she stands over her target, their life in her hands. She doesn’t provide any words or apologies and gets it over with.
The person who referred her the job praises her.]
You really are a prodigy! You did a great job!
You really think so…?
[She should probably be more shaken up about it, but she just stares at the floor shyly without any remorse. To be truthful, she isn't certain if she ever felt guilty. All she feels is a lingering resentment for the people she works for. Why can't they be happy with what they have?
But things are better now, aren’t they? She finally belongs somewhere and she can blend in with the rest of the splendor around her. Maybe this is her justice. If she’s making someone’s life better…it’s not that different from the stories, is it?
So she gives them what they want, and in exchange she gets to live. It's her mask, her role in this terrible play.]