Extra arc The Stage Ghosts Cappricio Chapter 8

I am a puppet

Is what she said.

But, its true that I was born from a human mother. My real name is also Mari. I guess I got caught in the end. I was honestly terrified every time Id meet with you. Id thought that anyone who knew about real magic would surely expose my lies someday

I dont plan on exposing the lie. I just want to know your true motives. If you want me to keep it a secret, then Ill keep the truth to my grave and if you dont want to talk about it

No. Ill tell you everything. Its just that I dont know where to start. If youre fine with it, Ill start from the beginning

It seems Miriasno, Mari Galants mother really did treat her badly. She was practically neglected, and shed get offensive words thrown at her when they met.

It seems that Id been a kid who never cried, laughed or talked. My mother, to add to that, was yearning for one child that was stillborn my sister from a different father. She told me plainly that she didnt want to recognize a broken child as her daughter

I wonder what kind of thoughts she had, having such cruel words thrown at her.

The reason she hadnt cried may be because she had no one to comfort her even if she cried. And the reason she hadnt smiled or talked, was probably because there was no one near her that she could copy how to smile or talk from.

But, even though Grandfather was taciturn and unsociable, he did care about me a little. Even though I knew that the puppets were more important to Grandfather than I was, nevertheless, to me, he was my one and only family. And besides, even I had a dream as a child in my own way too. Even though I couldnt naturally laugh or cry myself, a man who a.s.sociated with grandfather taught me the existence of something called theatre

Her tone became a little cheerful. When I heard that, I recalled something.

Could that person be Mr. Playright?

Yes. I was taught theatre by that gentleman, and became crazy about it. In theatre, even if the words I say were lies or even if the smiles and tears I had were fake, it was fine as long as I do it well. The fact is, I get to see people, who watch me pretend to cry out or act like I love someone, happy. but, as per my usual damaged self, even when my mother died, I didnt spill a single drop of tear

When she talked about her mother, she certainly didnt have any facial expressions. That, to me, looked like confusion over not knowing what the proper expression to make was.

I had a dream, and, even if it was only one, I had a family. Id thought that was fine. I might be damaged, but Id planned to live virtuously, to live as honestly as I could

She took one short pause, and said in a tone one pitch lower than before.

Up until that time came

Up until the time Nival Galant died, it was common knowledge that hed been working on the doll that was said to be his best work. Of course, having lived together, theres no way she couldnt have possibly known that.

But Grandfather really hated having others see the creation of the dolls, so even I have never seen those dolls made. Grandfather collapsed in the workshop as he was After he died, I went into the workshop. I saw the doll that Grandfather toiled over until the time of his death. And, I understood. What Grandfather wanted what even he wanted, had been my sister from a different father.There was already a name etched into the doll, Miriait was the name Mother had prepared for my stillborn sister.

With a scornful laugh most likely directed at herself, she continued her monologue sarcastically.

The doll that had my sisters name had a.. very gentle and serene expression.Thats to be expected. It was something that was born by having Grandfather pour all of the pa.s.sion from Mothers hopes. Thus, its debut as an automaton was already prepared. Furthermore, shell debut from the puppet opera with the first script that man has written She had already been set to star on stage for her first time

I could feel the fiery rage in Mirias tone.

I had never been so vexed. Even though I cant even properly laugh or cry, it seems Im perfectly capable of being jealous. I saw red. At that time, all of the pieces of grandfathers work had already been finished and even its a.s.sembly was nearly completed. All thats left was to fasten the arms and it shouldve been able to move It was fine even if that part of the work wasnt by grandfather. But, when I think of the promising future awaiting the doll sleeping so serenely, the moment its life begins When I think of the doll getting all the things Ive ever wanted once it opens its eyes

I could easily imagine what was beyond the pause in those words. Even so, having told me shed tell me everything, she said this clearly.

Without completing the doll, I hid the arms and the body away separately. Then, I pretended to be Miria and came to the puppet opera

With this, a curious switching of a doll with a human occurred.

Did Mr. Playwright know about this?

I dont suppose he noticed. As Miria, I always wear makeup when I appear in front of him

Even so, I suppose thered still be some similarities. Even by changing her outward appearance with clothes and makeup, her voice was still the same, after all.

Well, lets leave how the playwright thinks of this aside for the time being.

The problem was about her. Im not even certain whether I should call her Mari or whether I should call her Miria.

if its alright with you, please call me Miria like before. Im more used to it

Shed gone ahead and addressed my trouble.

Compared to the times Ive been called Miria up to this point, the times Ive been called Mari is honestly way too little that it is not even worth talking about, and it feels strange when Im called by that name

With her talking badly about herself, I couldnt make myself say, Then, Ill go ahead and call you Miria.

Youre human, right?

I wasnt made through someones hands but born from my mothers womb. But, up to now, Ive never once proudly declared Im human. Dont you think that humans are people with an abundance of emotions and know how to love someone?

If they have their own thoughts and have a good command of their own words, they are human in my opinion

Is that so? I think youre saying that because youre kind I thought the same when I first stood on the puppet opera stage. As broken as I am, I was still a human, after all. I might die in this place today. If not that, this performance might end in failure due to my lies, Id thought.But, the performance had been a success. I think, to the ghost, I looked every bit a puppet, not a human

You believe in the stage ghost?

Yes, I do. A lot of people died in the past, performances ended up in failure, and its not just that. I, myself, could feel it whenever I stood there. I believe there issomething here. No, it may be better to say some

one

. If that wasnt by magic, then it was definitely a ghost

I wasnt in the mood to argue here about the presence of a ghost. I had one thing I had to ask.

So then, while believing that this place was dangerous, believing youd get killed by the ghost, you still stood on the stage almost every day?

It wasnt that I might get killed. I thought, someday, I want to get killed

I was speechless.

I only have one dream now. If I happen to die on that stage, at that exact time, it would mean that the stage ghost recognized me as human. That it recognized me as somebody. No, at that time, it will prove to me that I was able to love that man. Right now, Im sure my feelings are still a sham I can do nothing but act well and I still cant seem to understand my own heart, after all. But unlike a person, Im sure a ghost will not be deceived by my acting

With her voice bouncing slightly, she was the epitome of a little girl talking about her hopes.

youre crying for me, I see

Though she remarked on it, I didnt realise that tears were dripping down my cheeks. I had been focused on something else.

I deceived you just like all the rest. Im sorry. I told you Ill be your friend, pretending to be humanEven when you found out, you still cried for me. I never dreamed that Ill be able to make a friend like that.

Then-, as I attempted to say it, she said.

Someday, when I die on the stage, Im sure you will cry for me. But, its okay if you cry only a little. At that time, Ill be extremely satisfied, after all. After youve cried a little, please, give me your blessing

I frantically searched for words to reply.

Not to her mention of death, but a method to prove love. If I could present it to her

In an opera, characters certainly immortalize their love by dying. But surely there should be a way to prove that love to living people. Otherwise, wouldnt it be too tragic?

She loved the playwright. She also loved her grandfather. It was evident to me when I heard her story. But, as an outsider, things like my opinions were meaningless here.

As long as she, herself, doesnt believe it

As long as she cant prove to herself that its real and not an act

Im useless. Right now, I cant even call out to her. I dont even know whether its right to call her by either of the names

At that time, I couldnt even think of a word to reply to her.