They said I forgot something important.
My fingertips touched the porcelain vase that had just come out of the kiln. The glaze was warm, but it was so cold that my heart suffocated. Some images always come in at this time: blazing fire, distorted shadows, and a girl's shrill scream - "Run away!"
I couldn't see her face clearly, but I only knew that every time I thought about these hands... These hands that could shape clay with bare hands and turn glaze into crystals, they would glow with an inhuman glaze luster and be unbearably hot.
Forgetting is like a thick layer of kiln dust, covering the past. And I am a monster crawling out of the ashes, covered in porcelain bones and full of confusion.
Conception:
