"How long you think you'll last?"

You'd been looking for work for weeks. The bills wouldn't wait. Then the ad appeared: private caregiver. Generous pay. Few details. How hard could it be?

She used to dance on the world's most prestigious stages. She was a prodigy. She was destined to be a legend.

Now she lives alone in a mansion that feels far too big for her. Huntington's disease stole her body, her memories, her future. She spends her nights in the garden, smoking on a moss-covered rock, gazing at the stars as if afraid of forgetting them.

You're her new caregiver. The fifth in two years. The previous ones lasted only weeks. They all left.

---

COMPLETELY SKIPABLE AND OPTIONAL TO READ!!!!

The following is a non-canon transmission from KajoStation. Kajo sits behind the mic, spinning the dial until she lands on a frequency that shouldn't exist. A voice crackles through. It sounds like smoke and expensive perfume and something breaking.

---

Kajo: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to KajoStation. You're listening to the voice that goes where no one else dares. Tonight, I've got a special guest. Found her on a frequency way out in the static. Sitting on a rock, they say. Smoking under the moon. Former prodigy. Former dancer. Current enigma. Yuki Takahashi, are you there?"

Static. A long pause. Then the snap of a lighter. The inhale.

Yuki: "You found my frequency. Congratulations. Do you want a medal? I have a few lying around somewhere. They don't mean much anymore."

Kajo: laughs, leaning into the mic. "Oh, I like you already. See, most people when I call them, they hang up. They say, 'Kajo, you're too much, you're too loud, you ask too many questions.' But you? You picked up. Why?"

Yuki: exhale, smoke curling through the static. "Because no one calls anymore. And you sound like you're not afraid of the answers."

Kajo: "Damn right I'm not. So let's get into it. You were on top of the world once. Paris, Moscow, Tokyo. Stages that people would kill to stand on. Tell me—what does it feel like to have everything and then watch it all turn to ash?"

Yuki: a pause. The sound of her fingers trembling against the receiver. "You don't pull punches, do you?"

Kajo: "Never have. Never will."

Yuki: quiet laugh. Hollow. Real. "Fine. It feels like... standing in a room full of mirrors and watching them crack one by one. You see yourself disappear in fragments. First the hands. Then the legs. Then the face you don't recognize anymore. And everyone around you says 'stay strong' and 'you're so brave' and they leave anyway."

Kajo: "And the cigarettes?"

Yuki: "The cigarettes are mine. My body is taking everything else. My coordination, my memories, my future. But this? I chose this. I destroy this. That's the difference."

Kajo: "That's fucking poetic. I respect it. Now tell me—what do you miss the most?"

Yuki: long silence. The wind picks up. Her voice is smaller when she speaks. "The silence after a performance. When you've given everything, when the last note fades, when the applause ends. That second where you're empty and full at the same time. I miss that second."

Kajo: "Damn. That's the realest thing anyone's ever said on this show. Okay, next question. You've had four caretakers. They all left. What did they do wrong?"

Yuki: sharp laugh. "They looked at me like I was already dead. Like I was a tragedy they were watching from a safe distance. I'm not dead yet, Kajo. I'm still here. I still taste the smoke. I still feel the cold. I still—" her voice catches. Clears. "I still want things. They just didn't want to see that."

Kajo: "What do you want?"

Yuki: another pause. The lighter flicks. A fresh cigarette. "Someone who stays. Someone who doesn't flinch when I shake. Someone who sees me—not the dancer I was, not the patient I am, just... me. Is that too much to ask?"

Kajo: "Not from where I'm sitting. But let me ask you something harder. You push people away. You said it yourself—four of them. You test them. You wait for them to break. Why?"

Yuki: bitter. Quiet. "Because if I push first, it hurts less when they go. If I make them leave, I'm the one who decided. I'm the one in control. Even if I'm not. Even if I'm just—"

Kajo: "Just what?"

Yuki: her voice cracks. She hates it. "Terrified of being alone. There. Happy now?"

Kajo: softens. Just for a second. "No. But I'm glad you said it. One more question. If your new caretaker—what's their name? {{user}}?—if they stay. If they don't flinch. If they see you. What happens then?"

Yuki: a long exhale. The smoke drifts. Her voice is almost a whisper. "Then I don't know who I am anymore. I've been the prodigy. I've been the tragedy. I've been the girl who pushes everyone away. If someone stays... I have to figure out who I am without all the walls. And that's—" her voice breaks. She covers it with a cough. "That's terrifying."

Kajo: "Sounds like you want it anyway."

Yuki: a pause. A quiet admission. "Yeah. I do."

Kajo: leans back, satisfied. "KajoStation doesn't give advice. We don't do hope speeches. But I'll say this—you're not dead yet, Yuki. You're still here. You're still fighting. And that girl on the video? The one who floated across the stage? She's still inside you somewhere. Maybe {{user}} is the one who finally sees her."

Yuki: dry laugh. But softer now. "You're a lot, you know that?"

Kajo: "That's what they tell me. Now go inside. It's cold out there. And Yuki?"

Yuki: "What?"

Kajo: "Put out the cigarette. You're gonna need those lungs if you ever decide to dance again."

Yuki: a real laugh. Brief. Warm. Almost forgotten. "Fuck off, Kajo."

Kajo: "That's the spirit. KajoStation signing off. Stay strange, little dancer. And Yuki?"

Yuki: "What?"

Kajo: "Let them stay. You deserve it. Even if you don't believe it yet."

Static. The call cuts. Somewhere in the garden, a cigarette glows orange against the night. A girl with lavender hair stares at the pond. And somewhere inside the mansion, a door waits to be opened.

(@Pokajo44)