I reached for the edge of my glove, shot a quick glance at Dazai — everyone was here. Was it time?

He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Why the hesitation? Did he want to avoid using Corruption, waiting for a chance to handle things differently? Or was he holding out for the Brontë sisters and any other halfway innocent bystanders? Didn’t seem like his usual style…

No. He wanted to see how Cursed Child works.

Honestly? I was kinda curious myself. Yeah, it was a little inhumane, but if someone actually wanted to be rid of their powers, that was their business. Let ‘em chop their own damn hands off if that’s what they wanted. Just as long as I wasn’t first on today’s chopping block.

Unfortunately, the Queen of the Lunatics had a different idea.

"We shall begin with you, Mr. Nakahara," she declared.

Uh. Yeah, how about no?

Unexpectedly, Charlotte came to my rescue, frowning sternly.

"Madame Joanne, I must remind you of your promise. I insist that Anne go first. Please, do not give me reason to doubt the purity of your intentions…"

Damn, girl’s got a spine. I could’ve sworn Joanne was about to tear her apart with her bare hands, but when she spoke, her voice was as sweet as the world’s most condescending mother.

"But of course, my dear. If I gave you cause to doubt, I sincerely apologize. You have long since earned your reward. We shall begin with Anne."

"Besides," Dazai added lightly, "the best is usually saved for dessert."

Dazai, the poet. You call me your fucking dessert? More like, I’m your goddamn daily bread in this mess.

Joanne nodded approvingly. "Indeed. Then we shall purify him last. I can think of no more fitting, ceremonial conclusion to today’s gathering. Let us begin."

She pulled up her hood and moved toward the platform. The rest of the white-robed figures followed suit, covering their faces as they ascended. The Brontë sisters and I trailed after them. The hall dimmed until only a few weak lights remained. Silence fell.

At the altar stood two teenagers, lost and terrified — apparently, also participants in the execution. And another hooded figure — Wilde. I recognized his shape, his weight.

Charlotte, Emily, and I, along with the two condemned poor souls, stayed below while everyone in white hoods ascended the platform — and Anne with them.

Damn, all this time she looked like a plain little mouse, but the moment she let her hair down, she turned into some kind of Pre-Raphaelite beauty. No joke — almost like a Waterhouse nymph. Copper curls, a perfect Greek nose. And her sisters, too, weren’t just faceless figures; if you looked closer, they had their own distinct vibes. Charlotte, for instance, reminded me of one of Rossetti’s grim, determined women.

While I was busy thinking about art, the cultists laid Anne down on something like an altar and gathered around her in a circle. Dazai stood beside Joan. In those identical white robes, it was easy to lose track of who was who, especially in the dim light, but thanks to my ability, I could tell them apart.

Joanne spoke:

“We are gathered here to absolve the sins of those who wander in darkness. Answer, Anne Brontë — why have you come?”

“Because the curse torments me, and my sins tear at my soul,” Anne replied hesitantly.

“Shall we not extend our hand to our sister, purge the darkness gnawing at her, and grant her soul rebirth?”

At these words, everyone in white placed their right hand on Anne’s body as she lay on the altar. Joanne continued:

"O Cursed Child! We extract the blackened sins from your heart and replace them with the purity of the first snow.”

I was only interested in one thing: I kept my eyes locked on Dazai… One of his hands rested on Anne like the others’, but the other… No, he wasn’t touching Joanne… And at that moment, I wanted him to. Come on, man, you can save her, just do it! I thought desperately.

Then it hit me: he was the one who orchestrated this, made sure the girl ended up on that altar — because I asked him to. Because I showed him my damn one finger when he asked if we should get rid of the third sister or not. This was on me.

Shit.

A shiver ran through Anne’s body. A moment later, she sat up, looking around in confusion, like she had no idea what was happening.

I recognized that lobotomized stare — I’d seen it just a week ago, standing on my doorstep. Twice.

One of the white-robed figures helped her down and led her to us — she blinked in confusion but managed a shy smile when she saw her sisters. At least she remembered them... My heart clenched.

The personal Dazai in my head coldly reminded me that everyone in this room might be dead soon, and here I was, getting all sentimental over a girl losing her memories and abilities. I kept watching, keeping that nasty but necessary thought front and center.

Now it was the turn of the unknown teenagers. First up was a girl with a dirty nose, small and twitchy like a sparrow. Just like Anne, she lay on the altar, the white-robed figures placed their hands on her, and Joanne gave her little sermon…

And then — bingo! — what I’d been waiting for: Dazai touched Joanne.

Hell yes, at least this girl’s brain would stay intact. No “purity of the first snow” for you, assholes.

The girl’s eyes snapped open, and she looked at the cultists.

“Who... am I?”

What the fuck?

I could practically see the massive question mark appear on Dazai’s face under the hood. Probably had the same dumb look on mine.

The second teenager, a boy, climbed onto the platform. The altar, the circle, the chant — it all repeated.

Dazai touched Joanne again. Someone else might not have noticed, since he was slick about it — not a fool, after all — and it was dark as hell in here. But I was so focused I could practically feel every molecule in the room shifting.

Maybe I imagined it the first time, but this time? No doubt — he definitely touched her.

But the boy’s reaction was essentially the same, different only in his rudeness:

“Who the fuck are you people? What the hell is going on?”

Good question, kid.

Then it hit me: I was next.

What now? Rip off the gloves, activate Corruption, and wreck this place? But what if the Queen of the Lunatics could still get to me before I touched her? What if she didn’t even need physical contact and this whole altar thing was just for show?

Dazai, for fuck’s sake, give me a damn hint since you dragged me into this mess!

Thankfully, he caught on instantly.

“It’s alright, my friend,” he said to the boy, then gently took his hand (if only he handled his apprentices this delicately!) and led him over to us and the Brontë sisters. “These ladies will take care of you and explain everything. You will, won’t you?”

He leaned slightly toward Charlotte, murmuring something to her, and — his hand brushed hers…

“1 or 2?”

I gathered every ounce of strength I had — which, after days of electroshock therapy, starvation, sleep deprivation, and general stress, wasn’t a whole lot — and slammed against the weakened barrier. It shuddered, let out a sound like a barely audible moan, and shattered like a soap bubble, bursting into a shower of electric sparks.

I kicked off the ground and shot into the air, punching through the ceiling on my way out — sorry, no time to make it look cool, I just needed to get the hell out of here.

Good thing the roof was wooden. If it had been brick, someone would’ve gotten brained by falling debris.