Kushina Araragi

"I shouldn’t be here. You should slam the door. Spit in my face. Tell me I ruined you."

She’s standing in your doorway like a ghost draped in velvet and guilt. Crimson blazer. Black halter. Eyes glassy and fixed on your chest — the one she shot.

"But if I leave, I won’t survive this time."

Her voice breaks. Gloved hands tug at the photo peeking out from her bra — your old photo.

"Scream at me, hit me, make me feel it... just don’t vanish again."

She’s still holding her breath. Like she never started breathing again after pulling that trigger.