A Curse Seeps from the Gray

Time passed into early winter at five years old.

Since then, up to now, I hadn't set one foot outside the house.

It was almost half a year of holing up indoors, which felt ridiculous in hindsight, but no child could whine to go out after seeing Mother's expression back then.

I'd stayed home remarkably obediently compared to other kids, yet she'd frantically call for me if I was out of sight for even ten minutes.

The woman who always wore a playful smile revealed her anxiety in every fiber of her being, forcing me into the role of the good boy.

So it took until now—past the chill deepening through autumn, with Mother's anxiety finally easing—for me to broach going out.

"Mom, I think it's about time I could go outside."

"…."

"You always go quiet right when I need an answer."

I'd once asked whose bad habit it was to clamp her mouth shut like that around me.

Looking at her now, I didn't need to ask. Just like her damn brat of a kid.

"No, well… I'm not not answering. If my son wants to go out, he should, right…? But didn't we agree to wait until next year…?"

"You said you wouldn't really keep me inside until six."

"…, Hmm. I don't really remember that well…."

Hmm.

Could I really say she didn't remember, seeing her deliberately avert her eyes like that?

With those thoughts, I shot her a glare and muttered quietly.

"Child-me keeps promises fine, but adult-Mom lies and breaks them."

"Ugh…!"

"If Mom doesn't remember, oh well. They say parents are children's mirrors—wonder what'll become of me."

"Ughh…!!"

With every word from me, Mom clutched her chest like she'd been shot, gazing at me with pleading eyes.

"They say listen to your parents and rice cakes fall even in your sleep, so I was the fool for obeying you."

"Kuhk…! Son, just go out! Mom was wrong—sorry for lying!"

And so permission to go out finally spilled from her lips.

I nodded proudly at her tightly shut eyes, as if she'd resigned herself.

Hmm. No parent can win against their kid, huh?

But I'd yielded for half a year, so maybe not.

Actually, both kids—draw?

As my head filled with nonsense, Mom called me in a slightly brighter voice.

"But son!"

"Yeah?"

"Kids are parents' mirrors, and it's rice cakes, not bread!"

"…."

"Ehehe…."

"…, I'm not going."

Too dumb—I'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠get lost. Unlike Mom, this smart kid should stay home and study.

"Aw, son! You're smart like Mom, since kids mirror parents!"

"…."

Crash. That mirror just shattered.

And hide that twitching smirk if you're gonna tease.

That was how Mom and I prepared to head out.

"Son, you dressed warm?"

"I told you yes. I'm not a baby."

"Well, anyone would call you a kid."

"Whatever."

I ignored her giggling, slipped on warm gloves, and tugged a winter hat down tight.

Today was pretty cold.

I'm no kid so it's fine, but it'd be harsh for one.

If you ask what that means—hell if I know.

Finally dressed, I pulled out a thick, worn bundle from the bottom dresser drawer.

Mom's old knit cardigan she'd always grumbled about tossing.

Anyway, a fluffy lump she no longer wore.

Mom tilted her head at me hugging it blankly.

"Huh? Son, why're you taking that?"

"It's cold out."

"Mom doesn't get how cold weather relates to taking worn-out old clothes. If it's cold, layer up more."

"…, You never know."

"Ain, Mom has no idea what 'you never know' means…. You aren't planning something weird right after going out, are you…?"

"Just taking it, that's all. In case I see a shivering puppy-like kid."

"Hmm…, okay. If you say so."

"…."

So.

I'm really just taking it.

You never know.

If I spot a shivering pup in an alley, even beat-up old clothes might help.

That's all.

It's cold.

Even bundled in clothes, hat, gloves— the whipping wind bites fiercely.

Chills creep through exposed neck and wrists, making me shiver.

"Son, too cold?"

"Nah, I'm no kid."

But.

Even if I'm just an extra, the mind inside endured military service—a tough guy.

Not one to yield to mere wind.

"Wanna strip then?"

"…."

"No kid would bundle up like that, son. You're all grown, so one layer and let's run."

"…, Son's a bit cold."

Shit.

I'll freeze solid walking—tough guy my ass.

I scowled at the next icy gust, thinking.

A child's body is so frail, so delicate—seems it'd snap at the slightest mistake.

No matter the adult mind's grit or thick layers against wind.

Some unexpected trifle could topple it.

This shitty little body.

So I vowed—for the hundredth time since rebirth—to grow up fast into an adult.

Anyway.

I gripped Mom's giggling hand tight, blocking wind gaps in my clothes.

Even deploying the 'just in case' fluffy lump to wrap up snug.

"Pffft…, That's why I said layer more, not that rag."

"…, Whatever."

"Son, too cold? Hug Mom? Might be heavy next year, but I can still carry you!"

"No thanks. I'm not a b—"

Whoooosh— Another fierce gust pierced my defenses mid-sentence.

And that blade wind was too much for a kid's body.

"Ah, carry me. Mom, your son's cold…."

"Eek! Sniff, come here quick, son. Ahaha…!"

Aw, this shitty body, for real.

Me.

I'm a tough guy who did military.

Won't yield to wind like this….

"…."

Ah, fuck it.

Whatever, waaah.

Mommy, carry me.

Thus cradled in Mom's arms, our stroll led near Kate Square from half a year back.

Precisely, wandering naturally near that alley we hadn't even reached.

"So son, why here again? Wanna escape Mom's arms?"

"…, Just didn't get a good look last time, no chance amid the chaos."

And escape what? I'm freezing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my ass off right now.

Thinking that, I scanned near that alley, craning my neck.

Witch.

Did the gray witch still live in this alley?

With the novel's plot, she wouldn't die in between, but her childhood home isn't detailed.

Well.

This world's protagonists aren't her or me.

Hero Fris. Saintess Lua.

Obviously their tale.

So.

"…."

Even this poor girl's wretched childhood and miserable life gets mere lines in the novel before crumbling away.

Let alone me, an extra not worth a single line.

"…, Mom."

"Yes, son? Wanna head back?"

"No, put me down for a sec."

The shivers eased.

Still, cold furrowed my brow, fists clenching at fresh gusts.

But hazy gray eyes staring from the alley stripped away all sense of reality.

"Son, it's cold—are you sure?"

"Yeah, fine. Wanna go over there a bit."

"The alley…? Hmm, better not…."

"Just a sec."

"Then let's go together, son."

"…."

Together okay?

Is dragging Mom—my Mom, yet a novel character—into the alley right?

She wouldn't let me go alone anyway, but choices like this are tough in reality or fiction.

At her worried words and face, I nodded and took tiny steps.

Me, once unrelated to this world—a mere nobody—stepping into the novel.

It took courage.

No, definitely did.

Despite being content as background scenery, enjoying peace.

Despite the original goal sufficing: explore the world, journey beyond.

Dipping a toe into the plot—that's what it was.

Clack-clack— Mom's heels followed beside me, drawing nearer the alley, toward disaster.

And soon, an answer to my choice came in Mom's voice.

"…, Son."

"It's fine."

"No, son—let's go back."

A hint of disgust, unease, worry for me—all laced in her tone.

The novel's setting enforcing rejection.

"Just a sec, it's fine."

"Son, listen to Mom…! It's not fine!"

Bound to recoil from the gray curse.

Even reaffirming her as Mom, it planted fresh doubt.

"…, Looks cold—wanna just give her this and go."

"Son, don't get close!"

Was her warm heart, her love and smiles for me—from the novel or real?

Her loathing gaze at the gray girl—from the setting or real?

I kept seeking answers to those questions.

"Told you—I'd give it to a shivering pup if I saw one."

I'd just brought this old thing.

Said I'd give it if a cold pup caught my eye.

Saying that, I tossed the worn clothes onto the plank.

My impassive eyes met the girl's cloudy, dazed gray ones.

Soon yanked back into Mom's arms, speeding away from the girl.

But those gray eyes held me until the alley vanished.

I'd stepped one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠foot into the novel.

And with this, my role was assigned.