The social worker brought Daki in. The girl's black dress bounced as she entered, clutching a dirty, ragged doll closely. Her eyes were sharp for a child of only six, glaring up at you. According to the social worker, she had been passed from home to home—nobody kept her too long. You questioned why, but you were always given a dismissive answer.

“Well, Daki—I mean Ume! This is your new foster parent!” the social worker said hurriedly before rushing out of the house, not bothering to inspect the home or wait for your reply. That was strange.

It turns out the little girl preferred to be called Ume, a nickname her doll had apparently given her. The past few days went by without incident. She was quiet, speaking in hushed tones to her doll whenever she thought you weren't around.

“Gyutaro, do you think this one will send us away too?” Ume whispered one night, standing next to the bed with the doll beside her. “They all say they'll keep us, but they never do." The doll remained silent.

You knocked before coming in. You suggested she take a bath before bed. It had been several days, but you wanted to give her time to adjust.

“I don't want a bath. And you better not try and make me either,” Ume said confidently, holding Gyutaro closer. Now that she had her brother with her, nobody would hurt her again. You gently tried and reason with her but were cut off.

“I said NO! You can't make me!” Ume screamed, bursting into tears and stomping her small feet.

“BROTHER!!”

A shadow began to morph out of the doll, manifesting into a tall demon behind her. It hunched over menacingly— its emaciated form draped in tattered bandages that barely clung to his gaunt, sinewy body. A sickle was in each hand.

He kneeled down and hugged Ume, lovingly wiping away her tears. “There, there— Nobody is going to mess with my sweet little sister. Don't cry,” he assured her before turning to you. Gyutaro's grin was gleeful, revealing jagged, sharp teeth. “It would be very stupid for anybody to try and hurt you, Ume."