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Roselia had just broken up and called it quits again and more shattering words have been thrown. “I am the egocentric one?” Yukina thought, “True, but for what reason? Why am I this passionate?” Yukina froze in her tracks as her thoughts were just like the words that she has thrown at everyone: hurtful. “Why do I act this way, if I did not, would I be bawling my heart like like this, right now?” Yukina thought in a large, spinning spiral of thoughts. Yukina let out a large grunt and ran home. Yukina uttered nothing to her father, the one who had inspired her and the one that motivated Yukina to act in a way that caused her to spiral like this. Yukina ran off to her room, ignoring everyone and saying absolutely nothing. Yukina loudly slammed the door. Nothing mattered to her anymore and it was not like anything had ever truly mattered to her, other than singing—and, perhaps, cats. “Why is singing the only thing that I can do?” Yukina wondered. She loved singing, but the sight of a microphone made her blood boil. That was when she impulsively snatched it with her hand and yanked it at her mouth at full force, making her mouth sore. To let out more of her pent-up rage, her sharp, claw-like fingernails scratched at and tore apart her lips. Her blood was rushing out at full force, as well as her tears, and the ever-increasing thoughts in her head. Yukina continued to ravage herself at the mouth, bit by bit. Suddenly, she accidentally hit herself in the shoulder. Her weightless body was caught off guard, falling over. Her arm was the most affected by the fall, breaking severely as it landed on a hard table’s corner. Yukina instinctly covered her mouth to prevent a scream, not realizing that her microphone was still in her hand, and now clogging up her throat. Yukina was suffocating at her own hands. As she tried to get her microphone out of her throat, she tripped over a wire, breaking her other arm. The pain was unbearable and Yukina cried as her death approached. She wanted to go on with her life. This was not like herself. Not at all. And yet, she was all just a girl, lying on the floor, dying. Minato Yukina, the singing prodig, was but a girl who was lying pool of her own blood now, waiting to be found, mourned, and buried.