“Eighty-Three, come here,” A kind man beckoned a beautiful young woman. His wide hands pulled her in and embraced her shoulders, his voice warm and grateful; all topped with a smile, “Let me show you your new home.”

  The run-through had begun. Emiko was in the third row from the front, her thick black glasses in her hands as she cleaned the lenses. She pushed the fringe of her matching black hair out of the way as she returned the glasses to their spot on her face.

  Director Ttio watched from the front row of the audience seats, with a good majority of Hanako Hall’s theatre troupe scattered around him. His commanding voice directed this scene that dares to step into reality, all while his tone continued tender and disciplined.

  Hatsuko was seated at the rear of the hall, not that Emiko paid any mind to her, as Hatsuko tensely leaned against the showy and tasteless red wall. Her eyes were locked onto the stage as if she were peering through a telescope, and that actress up there was the sole star in this galaxy of a stage.

  “Don’t stray too far. Take it slow, this is your home now, it won’t run away. I promise.” Kenji comforted the woman, the two of them slowly sinking into this start-up of a scene.

  The woman was beautiful, but more than that, Emiko thought she was kind. No, she knew she was kind. Just as she knew she was trustworthy, and loving, and selfless, and oh so easy to be around- like the softest mattress she’d ever slept on; the woman was softer than that. Her presence was relaxing; a single word from her lips could put you to sleep, and as you drifted off into your dreams, she’d gently cradle you using her body as a pillow, and if that wasn’t enough, she’d find a way to make it enough. Sacrifice every bit of herself just to see you smile.

  That’s who Seina was to Emiko. She could tell her anything, and there would be no judgement or questioning glance. A secret would remain, and a smile would be shared freely. It didn’t matter if she seemed cold on the outside; Emiko could ignore that and instead focus on her warmth. It took no effort at all. One look and Seina became a star, bright and homely, a forever memory of blissful times that settled itself in the present regardless of the contradiction.

  Yes, that is Seina.

  “I’m scared.”

  And she was scared.

  The man looked at her with reassurance, his face harsh and worn yet soft and kind. He knelt down beside her. He was taller than her, and he had no choice in the matter because he was her father. The script demanded it, and as actors, they could only obey what it said. It was their Bible, and they would have it no other way. So when Kenji kneeled before her, the script placed Seina above him, so she became the one looking down on him.

  “My beloved daughter, I am here for you. And I will never let you go again.” He declared, the words leaving his mouth drenched in love and compassion.

  “Okay…”

  The scene rippled, Seina was desperately trying to turn this stage into reality. The cracks on its edge, life slowly being weaved into their actions, everything built up and showcased in such a manner that it could- yes, it could- turn into actuality.

  She moved tenderly, the movement made with grace barely overstepping the boundaries of Eighty-Three, yet it still overstepped. Her face perfectly sculpted, in line with everything expected from her, emotions that dripped off her personhood and fell into a puddle that comprised an actress. This was Eighty-Three, and it was also Seina.

  Her thoughts could be read no different to a signpost on the side of the road. Its emotions are as telling as the sign’s lettering, however one leads to a location and the other to an idea. Is Eighty-Three loved? Is this her true father? Why does she know everything except her past? These are all the thoughts Seina holds within her, racing around with no destination because that’s all irrelevant to the thought. Yet it is not Seina who should hold them, but Eighty-Three.

  So yes, if she traded those thoughts for feelings; and perhaps if she removed her personhood from the role; and maybe if she solved her overstep and remained in the boundary of her character. Then she could- yes, she could turn this scene into actuality.

  But she can’t.

  Seina isn’t quite there yet.

  She might be an actress, but that actress isn’t yet Eighty-Three.

  He stood up, placed his hand on her meek head, and ruffled her blonde hair, bright and consuming like a star. “Don’t look so sad.” He continued, raising her stare from the ground to look at him with his homely words rather than demands or forced actions.

  This balance of love and fear is lopsided.

  But of course it is, Jinko hasn’t taken the stage. How could Eighty-Three fear or love in unequal amounts until Jinko’s arrived? There is no fear of losing your purpose, nor love for a sister finally returned.

  So why isn’t she quite there yet?

  “Let’s go inside now, we can have a little tour, does that sound like fun?” He continued, hesitating and slow, everything done for her, not him.

  Emiko doesn’t know…

  “Do you know who this is?” Kenji asked slowly and carefully, the words being said for his sake, not Seina’s. “It is my daughter. She looks like you because… in a way, she is you, and you’re her.” He paused, watching her face go through different emotions, never settling on a single one as she aimlessly wandered for an answer: “You’re a clone of her.” He finished, announced, and spoke.

  But Seina does.

  “You’re like her twin sister, the exact same in every way.” He continued, no tenderness in his words as it had been replaced with bluntness. Yet there was no hate within it, he could never hate Eighty-Three, the replacement chosen so the pain of Jinko’s death can be glossed over. It was the quick ripping of a bandage on top of a wound, similar to a distracted swipe of a small white napkin over a grazed knee, the acknowledgement that haste would dampen the pain if done now rather than be left to fester.

  It’s her parents.

  “And that makes you my daughter, as well.” He finished. He had no photo to place back on its cosy spot above the fireplace, just as he had no fireplace to put the photo atop. This was the run-through, there were no backdrops or props to be used, the focus was purely on the actors and everything else fell to the wayside. Yet even so, Kenji’s remorse was replaced with hope, and his smile was no longer bittersweet.

  But why is it her parents? Eighty-Three has just met her father? Surely there is nothing here to disturb the scene. It's all fresh fruit on the stand, a brand new layer of paint over a wall, no issues could arise because this warm meeting is the first of its kind; nothing can taint it.

  So why is it tainted?

  “This is the kitchen. Here we can eat as a family again, you and me. Just like how it was.” He stated, bright and happy, leading her to another spot on the stage without a trace of tears to be found beneath his eyes, but that does not mean they do not appear once Eighty-Three is out of sight.

  The reason shouldn’t be surprising. It's another repeat. Even if Emiko isn’t aware, this has happened before the first time she played this scene. Her parents are still with her now, in every action she does, every thought made, and every idea formed. Always in the back of her mind, should you be doing that? Did I give permission for that? I don’t remember telling you to do such a thing?

  “I have a twin?” Seina replied, her eyes curious, yet her mind was elsewhere. The words still spoken perfectly, but her actions were further away. Not that it matters; no one else noticed, the mistakes were already plastered over and only Emiko’s stare could see beneath the hastily applied concrete.

  It's a confliction of states. Eighty-Three has just met her father. She is a blank slate being treated kindly who gets wrapped up in the love of a parent. However, Seina cannot act as Eighty-Three, as the memory of her parents is still here, biting at her heel. She struggles to return this kindness as no matter how kind Dr. Akamine is, the tether to her parents remains.

  “Yes,” He answered, his voice deep and heedful, “She has gone to a better place now. You’re all that remains, my beloved daughter.” He continued, and Seina followed up by asking, “What was her name?”

  Her idea of parents is tainted.

  “Jinko.” He finally released the word, that little name he had wanted to keep trapped on his tongue. And though it was hard for him, Seina repeated the name back to him, “Jinko?” She wondered, thinking of the revealed name of her twin who had already died. The cruelty of the world to give her a sister and then take it away; she decried it, knowing that it would have been better to stay ignorant.

  Perhaps if the tether was cut, if that name didn’t still cling to her. Then she could be free, and Eighty-Three could reside in this reality for the brief moment when an actress overlaps with her.

  But she hasn’t cut it yet. Even if the scissors are held within her palm, the cord will remain up until that family name is finally changed- until the tether is cut and she can be Seina.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Hmm, her mother chose it.” He replied, embracing Seina in his arms as he suddenly picked her up and carried her out of the room into the imaginary garden, “Just as I chose your name.” He mumbled, putting her down on the stage and allowing her to sink further into the scene; the buzzing creation of artificial plants and dirt appearing then vanishing as she failed once more.

  Just Seina

  The scene didn’t last much longer after that; its conclusion was rapidly approaching. Emiko found herself lost as it did, thinking of how Seina had progressed this much in such a short amount of time. Perhaps if it were any other day, she would have been proud of her, happy that Seina had listened to her teachings and grown, but the Director’s offer was lurking within her mind.

  To be a director over an actress, to achieve her goals in a different manner than how she expected she would.

  It could all be summed up easily; if Seina has surpassed her in only a few weeks, then why is she still trying?

  This path is not meant for her. She has no choice but to accept that she’ll always be an ex-child actor and that her dream cannot be reached as long as she remains on the stage rather than beside it.

  But that… that is a cruel thing to accept, so she tries her best not to. Searching for any reason at all to deny it, to push this can down the road in hopes of finding something deep within her that suddenly improves her acting and reopens this barred path.

  It won’t happen… but it could…

  “Cut!” Director Ttio called out with a swing of his arms as the pair of actors left the stage, “Good scene. Let’s move onto the next one.” He continued, the second stage rapidly starting up and going on.

  So after that, a new one began. The format repeated over and over as scenes came and went, none of which included Emiko. Seina came over, her voice bringing some sense of ease to Emiko as they chatted in the rare openings that Seina had away from the stage, but they were brief in both time and comfort.

  Soon it was time for Emiko to don the role of Yuki. To climb onto that stage and act out her only scene, the best friend’s discovery of Eighty-Three, the clone whose appearance was inspired by Jinko.

  And as her feet stepped onto the stage, she found herself once more thinking about Director Ttio’s words. He didn’t outright say it, but she knew the implication. There is only one reason why he would say that her dreams would be better achieved as a director rather than an actress.

  It’s because he doubts her; he knows she has no talent at this.

  Emiko isn’t blind. She can tell that her abilities fall short of people like Kaede and now even Seina. But still, she tried her best. She doesn’t want to remain as just an ex-child actor, yet does the director think that’s all she’s worth? He wouldn’t ask her to become a director if he didn’t, just as he wouldn’t claim that being a director would make her goals easier to complete.

  So if that’s what he thinks… then she’d prove him wrong. Right now, atop this stage, as Yuki, she will show him that she can act, that she is worth more than an ex-actress, that she has more ability than he thought she did.

  She is an actress, and she has to be beside that stage.

  No- on top of that stage.

  “You liar!” She accused her tone that of an actress, with no room for doubt, for this is her proof, “You aren’t her, you’re not her! Why? Where is she? I don’t know you anymore!” She continued, her tone self-mutilating and pained, the cry of it causing this makeshift audience to stall momentarily.

  Let this be her proof. Let her put everything and more into this scene. Let her acting be so magnificent that Ttio has no choice but to acknowledge her as an actress over a director.

  “I don’t understand, you should be dead? Why- how can you stand in front of me like this? You can’t be real, a poorly throughout joke, a trick of a liar. I hate you, why do you exist? Why couldn’t he let you die?”

  The more words she spoke, the higher the flames grew. She held the fire within her eyes- showed it with her actions. Yuki’s confusion increased more and more as her movement became erratic, and then she paced, her arms in perfect step, all coming together to summarise her disjointed state. This increasingly cluttering of sentences became her scripture that she declared with no misstep or thoughts over feelings, the play performed to the peak of her abilities.

  Her name was no longer Emiko, now it was Yuki.

  The best friend of Jinko, the girl who struggled to comprehend her closest friend's death. Who lashed out at her loss, refused to let it lie and asked why she had to be the one left behind. Then with nothing else to do, she fell into questions, a series of what ifs and if onlys that continued on mixed in with unearned responsibility and guilt; that consuming thought that she had any control over the outcome. After all that, reality knocked on the door with a steady rhythm, and grief welcomed itself as a numbing fog that blanketed her wit. Soon she learnt to accept her passing, the mournful weeks having lasted for more than enough time for that deathly still night where they discovered her body to have slipped from the front of her mind, and she was finally able to look back on Jinko for who she was; the best friend that helped shape who she is today.

  And with one glance, it was all washed away. Every stage of grief suddenly brought back, a collapsing tower above that buried her within this waring state of combatant emotions.

  Exactly as it should be, she acted with creation in her palm. Her emotions coming out in full force, the pains of being doubted, of being looked down upon. Has she not put her all into this? Has she not acted since she was a child? Has she not proven herself already?

  Why must she prove herself again? Why must she be a director to achieve her dreams? Why must she abandon her aspirations for a chance?

  Why is her effort never enough?

  “I’m sorry, it’s never your fault.” Yuki's eyes gave way to visible tears, streaming down as she hopelessly wiped away at them in an attempt to stem the plentiful tide, “But I wish you were dead.”

  Seina took a step closer- too close. Her eyes were filled with resolve, as if she believed what she was about to do was for the better. No doubt, she was repeating in her mind that this is for the best, that the only way for her sister to perform as Yuki, is for her to not perform at all.

  If only she’d open her eyes, then she’d see how close her sister is to the end goal. She’ll never reach it. She doesn’t have the talent for it… But she could. Yes, if given the chance, perhaps she could do it.

  But she doesn’t have it.

  “Don’t forget about your dream, Emiko.”

  Her effort wasn’t enough.

  “I’m sorry.” Eighty-Three replied, her voice meek and confused for the whole hall to hear. This was her line, and as it was spoken, Seina took a step back now that Kaede’s advice had been followed. Emiko’s emotions would now flow freely into Yuki, and even if this is their first meeting, the two characters will at last stand on equal ground, and Emiko will be kept at her pace.

  ‘I thought you trusted me…’

  Denial.

  “Jinko, why aren’t you her?” Emiko spoke; her words had no choice but to change the line said with a tone of pain and acceptance. The line is designed not by a writer but spoken by a person. It wasn’t for the audience’s benefit, but to clearly display her feelings, to offer an example of confliction.

  ‘What did I do to lose it…’

  Guilt.

  “Jinko?” Eighty-Three perked up at the name, though the shame remained laden over her head, “She’s my sister.” They were such simple words, their meaning requiring no description for love has always been innate to humanity. Or at least it should be.

  ‘Is this a mistake? You didn’t intend this, right…’

  Bargaining.

  “I miss you.” Emiko choked out in between the sniffles and hitches of her throat as she cried, and the tears were done perfectly. So realistic that the audience found themselves believing this was a scene set in reality, not a stage of fiction. These were words felt and said, “Why couldn’t she stay with me? Why did he think you could be replaced?”

  ‘But I trusted you…’

  Loneliness.

  “I miss her too.” Eighty-Three offered, the tone longing for the sister she has never met, yet somehow overlooking the sister before her. How she could misunderstand the effects of her words was a cruelness borne of ignorance. If only she knew this language of familial love as well as she thought she did.

  ‘If even you doubted me…’

  Reflection.

  “She was so kind, and loving.” Emiko continued, her voice inlay with such emotion that none could question this example of ability, “Her smile was additive, the whole room filled with it. I want her back, that grin of hers, that overflowing confidence, how her jokes could dash the gloom away, and set light to misery. She was mine. She was mine with all the trouble we got into, and with all the joy we shared. I wish you were her, I wish Jinko was here.”

  ‘Then I really have no talent…’

  Acceptance.

  “I’m sorry, I really am. I miss her so much, I can’t do anything for you, but I wish I could.” Eighty-Three cried, her voice pained and begging. Her every being alight with responsibility, believing that it is her who must set out to soothe the pain left behind by Jinko’s death, even if the task is a cruelty that should not be imposed upon anyone; it is imposed upon her.

  ‘He was right. It will be better to be a director than an actress. At least my dreams will still be within reach.’

  Hope.

  “It's not your fault. It could never be your fault. Thank you for trying to help. I know you are only trying to help me.” Emiko said, forgiveness dripping off each and every one of her words. She could never blame Eighty-Three for her circumstances, she did not choose this, she bears none of the blame, she’s only doing what she believes is best.

  Even if it isn’t.

  The scene ends.

  Emiko’s performance was the best she’d given. But the fire is dimmed, and the resignation has arrived. She has seen her limits, and they have been surpassed by a student with a month and a half of practice.

  Director Ttio called for an intermission, allowing everyone to scatter around and rest their legs, eat snacks, or grab a drink; as he retreated back to his office. Seina tried to start up a conversation, but Emiko flashed her a hollow smile and used an excuse to chase after the Director.

  She knocked on the door; the force of her knuckles measured and made with a slight hesitation. This place might be familiar to her, a meditative place she often shared, but now it felt like an altar, and her acting was the sacrificial lamb.

  The forest was gone…

  “I’ll do it. I’ll be your successor. Your director.” Emiko began, the Director’s satisfied nod giving away his glee at the question at last being answered and exactly how he hoped it would be, “But I have one condition.”

  And the garden agrees.

  “Let me rewrite Yuki’s story. Let me bring her into Act 3." She demanded. The knowledge that if this was agreed to, then it would be her last time acting. Yuki would be her final role before she takes up the mantle of a director, and so Yuki’s role must be memorable, it must have more than a single scene meant only to build up the leads. It must be its own role, this is her compromise, her need.

  Yet the actress begs.

  “Done.” Director Ttio quickly agreed, no trace of hesitation on his face. Just as he believed in a goddess, he also believed in his soon-to-be director: “You know the play. I trust you’ll do a good job.”

  The second step has been taken.