Amore | [Yandere] Vento Aureo

𝟘𝟝

The little girl tripped and fell down: the gravel scratched her knees, and her palms—with the thin and delicate skin a child—were also wounded from the rocky ground.

She began to cry. Frantic, her mother squatted down next to her, checking her injured hands and knees worriedly. She rummaged through her handbag, frowning as she stared at her bawling child.

From the looks of it, she wanted to sanitise her daughter's wounds. Unfortunately, she had neither water or alcohol with her, and the nearest convenience store was a couple hundred meters away. The child was in too much pain to walk that distance with her.

Repeating in worry, she asked her daughter to stay still and wait for her, before she herself hurried away, glancing back thrice and unwillingly left her daughter alone momentarily.

The little girl stood there, no more than a few ten meters away from y/n.

She was sobbing, but ceased to cry loudly unlike how she behaved in the presence of her mother; she simply kept wiping the tears that were rolling down her cheeks silently.

Y/n sighed, and walked up to her.

Diavolo's daughter.
　　
She was very small. Even if Y/n lowered her hand at waist level, she still barely reached her fingertips.

The little girl probably noticed the shadow she casted across the ground, and she subconsciously stopped crying. She looked up at y/n; her green eyes that were filled to the brim with moisture were completely blank and innocent.
　　
Y/n wanted to pat her on the head, but, not wanting to come across as brusque, stopped herself from doing so. So she squatted down, staring at the pink-haired little girl, not knowing what to say.

It was rather an awkward situation— she had controlled her father, taking his place—her father who had also abandoned her and her mother, the same man who was now her 'lover'.
　　
She coughed into her fist lightly, and quietly plucked a flower from the grass behind them, holding it in front of her.
　　
"Please don't cry."

Finally, she spoke.

Y/n was not very experienced with children.

When the little girl stared at her blankly for a long while, there was an urge for her to leave the scene immediately.
　　
What am I doing?
　　
She thought, regretting her probably unwise decision.

The wild flower in her hand swayed fragilely with the wind, its petals bouncing as dew slipped down from their edges, as if they were mocking her.

It was just an unimpressive wild flower that could be found anywhere on the side of the road, with plain white colours and unspecial yellow stamens.