As you carry the doll over to the space with the hammer, you can hear mingling and overlapping voices seemingly emanating from the doll itself: You can pick out two distinct voices, Akemi’s and Jiro’s. Fragments of the same dialogue you’d heard throughout this maze fill your head in an overwhelming chorus. By rights, you shouldn’t be here. You’re nothing. This doesn’t suit you. You’re incapable. Selfish brat. Unpleasant. Make yourself useful. Childish. It doesn’t suit you. Don’t waste your time. Your father would be ashamed. You’ll tarnish your mother’s legacy. You’ll ruin our reputation. This doesn’t suit you. This doesn’t suit you. It doesn’t suit you.
Then, the voices change pitch. You hear only Akemi’s voice, repeating the same words in an escalating manner as you reach for the hammer. Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward.
You raise the hammer up and strike the doll, shattering it to an unrecognizable pile of dust. With that, the voices cease, leaving you to silently stare at what you’ve destroyed. Part of you questions if this was worth it. Lying amongst the rubble, you see a lone key.
Using the key to open the door, you are met with what you can only assume is your final path.
This path is entirely lined with hemlock. As you walk, you feel a cold certainty settle in your heart. A sense of grim determination.
You flash into a memory.
Akemi stands at the office door, balancing a tray of tea as she knocks. Then, hearing her uncle usher her in, she carries the tray inside, sets it on the desk, and takes a seat in the guest chair before speaking.
“I have been thinking about your proposals with regards to Kuro Publishing. I believe you have made your point, and I am prepared to discuss the terms of signing over greater control to you.”
The man grins and leans forward in his chair. He chuckles a bit and folds his hands on the desk in front of him, appearing beyond pleased with this development.
Her eyes remain unable to meet his. She seems…tame. Withdrawn. Tense. Afraid. So little like the Akemi you know.
“I simply knew you would come to your senses, dear. Finally through with your childish little games?” He picks up the teapot and pours a cup for himself, and then one for Akemi. “Tell me, my dear, what are your terms?”
“I would retain 20%, but will name you as the majority stakeholder. All I ask in return is my mother’s full collection of work.” Akemi raises her teacup to her lips and pretends to take a sip.
He leans back, sipping his own tea in thought. You see her eyes flicker toward his throat, watching him swallow. She quickly looks back down, keeping her own cup of tea right by her lips and feigning another sip.
“Mm…but given how much I’ve truly done for you, and for Kuro Publishing, 20% sounds so greedy, wouldn’t you agree, dear? I don’t feel you deserve that much. You’ve shown such a lack of ambition from the very beginning, surely you can get away with only keeping 3%. Greed doesn’t suit you.”
Akemi fakes another, longer sip, hoping to prompt him to continue with his own drink as she ‘considers’ this offer.
“…10%, and my mother’s collection.” She counters.
“6%, and half of her collection, of my choosing.“ He smirks, “You never did learn how to play hard ball, did you, child? You’ve made it far too clear I have something you desperately want. Hardly a suitable strategy for negotiations.”
“4%, and her entire collection.” She says, deflating slightly at how much she’s giving up. Her voice is firm, but her eyes remain unable to meet his.
The man smiles, eyes flashing greedily at the victory he had claimed. He takes another long sip of tea, leaning back in his chair as he theatrically contemplates the offer.
Then, he pulls out his phone, with a magnanimous grin, “Deal. Shall I call to make the arrangements for a signing now?”
Akemi nods, feigning yet another sip of tea before refilling the man’s cup for him. “I can speak with him, if you prefer to hear me confirm our terms aloud.”
You watch as he hands his phone to Akemi after only a brief conversation and introduction. It is clear to you that he takes great pride in being the one to call Akemi’s lawyer, and to speak for her, first. All of you watch the briefest flicker of triumph pass over her expression as she takes his phone in her hands.
She speaks with the lawyer herself, confirming their terms verbally and making an appointment to come in for the official signing at a later date.
All told, the entire exchange only lasts for a few minutes, though it feels like an eternity. Eventually, she makes an excuse of a meeting with a publisher, hangs up, and looks to her uncle, whose expression seems to have shifted from one of smug superiority to one of vague confusion.
He sways slightly as he holds out a now trembling hand to retrieve his phone. His other hand moves to his abdomen, pressing lightly as if he is in pain. Akemi remains silent, and she does not hand his phone back.
A look of realization, mixed with pain, suddenly crosses his face. He does not feel right, and he only recognizes the problem as his eyes land upon Akemi’s still-full cup of tea.
“…is something wrong, uncle?” Akemi asks, her voice cold. She no longer looks at the floor, but directly at Jiro.
“Wh- what did–…you venomous little bitch, what have you done–?!”
He stumbles out of his seat, legs giving way as he lands on the floor. He chokes and spits in vain while Akemi stands just beyond his reach. He looks wracked with agony, eyes bloodshot, mouth watering, breathing labored.
She holds his phone in her hand, stepping backward around his desk so she can watch the spectacle while remaining just out of his reach. Her eyes are dark and cold as she speaks again in a low, hateful voice.
“Hemlock is an impressive thing, isn’t it, Uncle? It often appears in paintings depicting the death of Socrates. Joan Mitchell crafted a lovely painting entitled Hemlock. Given your penchant for appearances, you should be honored to join its legacy. I believe this look suits you.”
A slight tremor in her voice betrays her cool exterior, but her expression lacks any remorse as she watches this man gracelessly slip away. He slowly loses the strength to lift his head, to move his arms, his labored breathing slows more and more while his bloodshot eyes remain locked with hers. She watches the light leave his eyes, before an abject calm seems to overtake her. She sets his phone back onto the desk, picks up the tea set, and begins to make her way out of the room.
