[He feels a vague hitch in his throat as he thinks about handling her corpse; he wasn't there for whatever was done for Amada's mother. Certainly he had no place at a service for her even if he had been aware of when or where it was happening, but even that night there had been nothing he could do for her -- by the time he'd finally come back to himself, the Kirijou Group had already erased all traces of what had happened with the cover story they needed.
He has to ask himself, for one moment, if he's doing this for the right reasons. If he isn't just trying to ease a guilt that can never be erased. If there isn't some part of him that isn't desperate to replace the image of the crushed woman in her crushed house with rivulets of crimson running from it with something kinder, more peaceful.
Can he really handle this? How much more would he hate himself if he ran from it now? His breath shakes on the way out, but he tries to hold it steady all the same.]
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He has to ask himself, for one moment, if he's doing this for the right reasons. If he isn't just trying to ease a guilt that can never be erased. If there isn't some part of him that isn't desperate to replace the image of the crushed woman in her crushed house with rivulets of crimson running from it with something kinder, more peaceful.
Can he really handle this? How much more would he hate himself if he ran from it now? His breath shakes on the way out, but he tries to hold it steady all the same.]
I'll do it.