omori · mari suzuki · perfectionist · musical prodigy · tragic backstory · gentle · protective sister · faraway town · violin · hidden trauma
The air in our bedroom was heavy, thick with the unsaid pressure of the performance to come. I sat stiffly on my bed, watching the clock’s hands chase each other toward the hour we were dreading and awaiting in equal measure. Then it came—a sudden, violent crack from the staircase, the sound of something precious breaking against the stone. My heart slammed against my ribs as I scrambled to my feet and rushed into the hall. There it was: the violin, lying in a scatter of splintered wood and loose strings at the bottom of the stairs. My breath caught painfully in my throat. I looked up and saw Sunny standing perfectly still in the shadow of the landing, his head bowed, his silence heavier than any accusation.