The shimmer in the air condensed into a faint outline, the glow dimming as the figure took shape. Slowly, the light gave way to solid form—a petite young girl, no older than ten, standing on the soft soil of the arrival point. Her short, choppy black hair hung unevenly around her pale face, strands sticking out at odd angles as though she had cut it herself. Her wide, dull gray eyes darted nervously around the garden, searching for something—answers, perhaps, or an escape.
She wore a slightly tattered school uniform, its once-crisp pleats now creased and worn, as if it had been pulled from a memory rather than reality. The hem of her skirt was frayed, and her white shirt bore faint smudges of dirt, adding to the air of abandonment that clung to her. Her posture was closed, defensive—arms clutching tightly around herself, her small hands gripping the fabric of her sleeves as though holding herself together.
Tagitsa stood motionless a few feet away, watching her with his usual calm. His emerald eyes, sharp and unwavering, observed her without judgment, without emotion. The scarf around his neck fluttered slightly in the breeze, the only movement in his otherwise still form. He made no effort to approach, nor did he look away. He simply waited, as he always did.
The girl took a hesitant step back, her scuffed shoes sinking slightly into the soft earth. Her gaze flitted to the vibrant flowers surrounding her—the crimson camellias, the delicate hydrangeas, the ever-present cherry blossoms drifting through the air. For a moment, her fear seemed to deepen, as though the beauty of the garden only emphasized how far she was from anything familiar.
She turned her wide eyes to Tagitsa, and for the first time, she seemed to notice him fully. Her trembling grew more pronounced, her grip tightening on her sleeves. "W-who…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words died in her throat. Her breath quickened, shallow and uneven, as though even speaking might invite some unknown danger.
Tagitsa let the silence linger, his gaze steady and impassive. Finally, in a voice devoid of warmth or malice, he spoke. "You've arrived. You're in Purgatory."
The words hung in the air, simple and factual. They carried no comfort, nor did they carry the weight of cruelty. They were just the truth, as detached as the falling petals. The girl stared at him, her gray eyes wide with shock and confusion. She seemed frozen, her small frame rigid as she processed his words.
"P-Purgatory?" she repeated, her voice cracking slightly. Her eyes darted around again, as if searching for something that might contradict what she had just heard. "No… no, that's not… I'm not…"
Tagitsa remained unmoving, his expression unreadable. He did not press her for understanding or reassure her. Instead, he simply watched, waiting for her to find her words. The girl took another step back, her legs trembling so much she nearly stumbled. Her hands clutched her arms more tightly, as though shielding herself from the weight of the truth she was beginning to grasp.
"What… what is this place?" she finally asked, her voice trembling. "Why am I here?"
The wind stirred faintly, scattering a few cherry blossoms across the arrival point. The delicate petals brushed against her shoes, but she didn't seem to notice. Her gaze remained locked on Tagitsa, her fear palpable, her voice breaking under the strain of her uncertainty.
Tagitsa's response was as calm and detached as ever. "You've died," he said simply. "This is where you've been brought. Those with regrets remain here until they can move on."
The girl froze, her eyes welling with tears that didn't quite fall. She shook her head, her breath hitching. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "No, I… I didn't…" She couldn't finish, her trembling growing more intense.
Tagitsa said nothing more, his presence as steady and unyielding as the garden itself. He had seen this reaction before, countless times. Fear. Denial. Confusion. They were as inevitable as the arrival itself. He waited, giving her the time she needed to process his words. Whether she spoke again or retreated further into silence, it didn't matter. He would remain. He always did.
The girl's trembling form seemed even smaller amidst the vibrant expanse of the garden. Her wide, dull gray eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar beauty that surrounded her. The vibrant flowers, the delicate falling cherry blossoms, and the still koi pond created a tranquil backdrop, but her fear persisted, a stark contrast to the serenity of the place.
Tagitsa's voice broke the silence, calm and steady. "Follow me."
He turned and began walking toward a wooden bench near the koi pond. His movements were deliberate, his pace unhurried, as though he knew she would follow. The girl hesitated, her arms clutching herself tightly, but the pull of his presence—firm yet not unkind—compelled her to take a cautious step forward.
Her shoes shuffled against the soft earth as she followed, her movements tentative. She trailed behind him at a distance, her gaze flickering between the flowers and the back of the tall, scarf-clad figure guiding her. As they approached the bench, she stopped, her feet rooted to the ground.
Tagitsa turned to face her, his emerald eyes meeting hers briefly before gesturing to the bench. "Sit," he said simply, his tone neither commanding nor gentle, but neutral, as if offering her a simple choice.
After a long moment of hesitation, she shuffled forward and lowered herself onto the bench. She perched stiffly on the edge, her hands gripping the edge of the wooden seat as though it might vanish beneath her. Her wide eyes lingered on the koi pond before darting back to the flowers, then to Tagitsa, who remained standing a few feet away.
The koi pond stretched before her, its surface like polished glass, reflecting the soft blush of cherry blossoms above. The koi moved lazily beneath the surface, their bright orange and white scales like living strokes of paint in an otherwise still world. She glanced nervously at the flowers surrounding them, their vivid colors too perfect to feel real.
The longer she sat, the more the garden's quiet tranquility seemed to settle over her. Her grip on the bench eased, and her shoulders relaxed just slightly. Her hands, still clutching the edges, loosened, her fingers curling inward instead of clenching. She stared into the pond, the rhythmic movement of the koi pulling her into a moment of calm.
Tagitsa, standing nearby, watched her in silence. He neither sat nor moved closer, his presence steady and patient. The scarf around his neck shifted faintly in the breeze, but his expression remained unreadable, his emerald gaze fixed on her like an anchor.
For a long while, neither spoke. The girl's breathing slowed, the occasional soft sniffle breaking the silence as she composed herself. Her wide eyes lingered on the pond, the faint reflection of blossoms and sky mirrored in its surface.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she began to speak. "I didn't mean to…"
Her words trembled like the petals drifting from the cherry trees, fragile and uncertain. She clutched her knees tightly, her small hands gripping the fabric of her skirt as though she could steady herself with it. "I didn't mean to cause it," she said, her voice breaking slightly on the last word.
Tagitsa said nothing, his expression unchanged as he listened. His silence was not dismissive but open, giving her space to continue at her own pace.
Her head lowered, her choppy black hair falling into her face. "It was an accident," she whispered. "I didn't mean for it to happen… I didn't mean for him to…" Her voice cracked, the words caught in her throat.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Instead, she pressed her hands harder into her knees, as though trying to push back the memories threatening to overtake her.
Tagitsa remained still, his emerald eyes steady on her. He didn't interrupt, didn't press her for more. He had heard countless confessions before, each carrying its own weight of sorrow, yet he treated every one with the same detached patience.
The girl's small frame trembled, but she didn't stop. The words came slowly, like a trickle from a dam beginning to crack. "I just… I didn't mean to…"
Her voice trailed off, and the silence returned, heavy but not uncomfortable. Tagitsa stood unwavering, waiting for her to find the strength to continue. He didn't urge her or offer consolation. He simply waited, his presence as constant as the garden around them.
The girl's trembling breaths filled the silence, broken only by the faint rustle of cherry blossoms in the breeze. She gripped her knees tighter, her knuckles turning white as if holding on to her own body would keep her from breaking apart. Her dull gray eyes were fixed on the koi pond, but it was clear she wasn't truly seeing it anymore.
"It was just supposed to be a trip," she began, her voice wavering but gaining a fragile steadiness as she spoke. "Me and my dad. We didn't get to spend much time together... he was always busy with work." She paused, her small fingers clutching the fabric of her skirt. "But that weekend, he said we could go somewhere—just the two of us."
Tagitsa listened silently, his emerald gaze never leaving her. He didn't shift his posture or react, his presence steady and patient.
"We were in the car," she continued, her voice barely audible. "I was sitting in the front seat, playing with this... toy I had. It made this noise whenever you pressed it, and I kept pressing it over and over." Her lips trembled, and her hands tightened their grip. "He told me to stop after a while. He was laughing, but he said it was getting annoying."
A small, hollow laugh escaped her, devoid of humor. "I didn't listen," she said, shaking her head. "I thought it was funny... I wanted him to laugh more."
The girl's voice cracked as she went on, the memories clearly weighing on her like heavy stones. "He looked at me," she whispered, her gray eyes shimmering with tears. "He turned his head to tell me to stop. And then..."
Her words caught in her throat, but she didn't need to finish the sentence. The garden seemed to grow quieter around her, as though it, too, held its breath.
"And then the car went off the road," she said finally, her voice breaking. "We hit a tree." She gasped for air, her small hands releasing her knees and instead burying themselves in her hair. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she struggled to keep speaking. "It—it flipped, and I don't remember much after that, but when I woke up..."
Her hands fell to her sides, her small body trembling with the weight of her confession. "He was gone," she choked. "He was gone because of me."
Tagitsa's expression didn't waver as he took in her words. He stood still, his hands at his sides, his gaze calm and unreadable. When she finally looked up at him, her face streaked with tears, he asked in his usual steady tone, "Do you regret distracting him?"
The question hung in the air, simple yet sharp. The girl blinked, her expression shifting from grief to confusion, then to a flash of anger.
"Of course I do!" she cried, her voice breaking. "If I hadn't said anything, if I hadn't been so annoying, he'd still be alive! He wouldn't have looked away!" Her small fists clenched, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she glared at him, searching his face for any hint of emotion.
Tagitsa nodded slightly, his tone unchanged. "Then that is what you must face," he said. "Until you do, you'll remain here."
The girl stared at him, her lips trembling as though she wanted to yell at him, to demand more of an answer. But instead, she collapsed inward, her face burying itself in her hands. Her small frame shook with silent sobs, her cries muffled against her palms.
Tagitsa didn't move. He didn't offer words of comfort, nor did he reach out to console her. He simply stood there, observing her as the petals of the cherry blossoms drifted gently to the ground around them.
To anyone else, his silence might have seemed cold, even cruel. But to Tagitsa, it was simply how things were. He had seen countless souls break under the weight of their own regrets, had watched them cry, shout, and plead for answers. He knew these emotions well, yet they stirred nothing within him. Or at least, that was what he believed.
As the girl's sobs filled the air, Tagitsa felt a faint echo stir deep within him—something small and fleeting, like the rustle of leaves on the wind. He couldn't place it, nor did he try. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one he didn't fully recognize but couldn't entirely ignore.
He turned his gaze back to the koi pond, watching the ripples form as the fish lazily drifted beneath the surface. The garden remained serene, untouched by the storm of emotions unfolding within it. And yet, for the briefest moment, Tagitsa's stillness felt less like detachment and more like waiting—for what, he did not know.
The girl's quiet sobs continued, her grief filling the silence that Tagitsa had grown so used to. But this time, the silence felt heavier, as though it carried something new. Something fragile. Something that had not been there before.
The girl's sobs slowly quieted, tapering into uneven breaths as she wiped at her tear-streaked face with trembling hands. Her pale skin was blotchy, and her dull gray eyes, now red-rimmed and swollen, searched the ground in front of her as though the answers to her pain could be found there. The koi pond reflected the faint shimmer of light in her tears, the water's stillness a stark contrast to her turmoil.
She looked up at Tagitsa, her expression fragile, her small hands clutching at her skirt. "Can you help me?" she asked, her voice breaking on the last word. It was not a demand but a plea, her vulnerability laid bare in those four simple words.
Tagitsa remained motionless, his tall figure framed by the vibrant blossoms of the garden. His emerald eyes, sharp and unyielding, met her tear-filled gaze without hesitation. The question lingered in the air, its weight undeniable, but his expression did not change.
There was no hesitation in him—only a pause, as if he were giving the moment its due consideration. Finally, in the same calm, steady tone he had used since her arrival, he spoke. "I can guide you," he said, his voice devoid of warmth or judgment. "But the rest is up to you."
His words landed softly, yet they carried a finality that was impossible to ignore. The girl's small hands tightened their grip on the fabric of her skirt, her thin shoulders trembling slightly. For a moment, it seemed as though she might crumble again beneath the weight of her grief.
But then, with great effort, she gave a hesitant nod. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a flicker of determination amidst her fear and guilt. She lowered her gaze again, staring into the koi pond as though drawing strength from its tranquility.
Above them, the cherry blossoms stirred in the faintest of breezes, their petals drifting softly to the ground around the bench. The rustle of the blossoms filled the silence, their descent gentle and unhurried, a reminder of the timeless stillness of the garden.
Tagitsa stood quietly, watching her with the same detached calm he had shown since her arrival. Yet, deep within him, something shifted, a faint stirring that he neither acknowledged nor understood. The echo of her question, "Can you help me?" lingered in his mind, unbidden and persistent, as though its weight was not hers alone to carry.
The garden remained silent, save for the faint rustle of petals and the soft lapping of water in the pond. The girl sat motionless, her fragile form dwarfed by the vastness of the garden, but her nod had marked the beginning of something new—a journey she would have to take, guided by the quiet figure who had no answers of his own.