Stacks of paper laid neatly organized on an ordinary desk. You longed to read the words scribbled onto them then to be cut by them.

“It’s simply for the stories, don’t you remember?” It was what he always insisted whenever you even slightly complained about the pain he inflicted onto you. You suspected he was lying, but a muse is always directed by the mun. The scars were always so deep. Even when they healed, they were sliced into again.

Others would always be concerned about the excessive bandages, but Tsumugi always complimented them. “The scarlet blood from your exposed wounds give me so much inspiration. Don’t you feel worthy?”