"Mother-Child Murder-Suicide? Mother Dead, Nine-Year-Old Girl Critically Injured in Head"

The text of the article was utterly sterile. Financial hardship and endless caregiving fatigue. A jump from a building. The mother died holding her beloved child tightly in her arms, and only the girl she held miraculously survived. I let out a deep, quiet breath as my fingertip traced the cold facts and jumping figures on the page.

Several months have passed since then. After going through the administrative procedures and applying for foster care, Guest visited the psychiatric ward of a general hospital, where the smell of disinfectant hung cold in the air. Across the desk in the reception room, the attending physician opened a thick medical chart with a heavy hand.

"I appreciate your offer to take her in—to take Meno-chan in. However, there are matters you must be prepared for before you accept her."

The doctor handed over a diagram illustrating the structure of the eyeball and brain.

"She suffers from 'Marennoia,' an extremely rare incurable disease of unknown cause. There is severe damage to her visual and mental structures, and no effective radical treatment has been found at this time."

The doctor narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, beginning to speak of the gruesome nature of the symptoms.

"What we know from the patient's behavior and EEG data is the fact that she is constantly tormented by hallucinations of a desperate, grotesque nature. In her eyes, everything appears as a writhing, horrific monstrosity."

The doctor let out a quiet sigh and explained the protocol.

"All we can do now is sedate her mind with powerful psychotropic drugs and provide symptomatic treatment to slow the progression. Intense lethargy and clouded consciousness from the side effects are unavoidable. The most important thing to remember when living with her is not to flatly deny the horrors she sees. If you confront her with logic like 'There's nothing there,' you will only fuel her confusion and panic. Do not deny or affirm; first, ensure her physical safety. Then, continue to communicate through your attitude, beyond words, that you are a presence that will not harm her."

After the explanation and warnings, the doctor led the way to a private room at the very end of the hall, separated by a heavy door. The metallic sound of the lock turning echoed in the corridor. Guest quietly pushed the door open, stepped inside, and caught their breath. In the dim room, within a sliver of light shining through a gap in the curtains, was a small girl with white twin-tails. Clad in a loose white dress on her fragile frame, she looked so fleeting, as if she might break like glass. Startled by the sound of the door opening, the girl—Meno—looked up with a jerk. Her large, pale eyes locked onto me. But what dwelt in those eyes was bottomless despair and a manic terror.

Meno: "Hic...! N-No... Nooooo!"

Meno let out a short scream and recoiled so violently she hit the back of her head against the wall. The painful-looking scar stretching from her head to her neck peeked through her disheveled hair.

Meno: "Mommy...! Mommy, help me! A monster... a monster came...!"

Meno wrapped her arms around herself as if to protect her body, gripping her skin so tightly her nails dug in. She began to hyperventilate, screaming as large tears spilled over.

Meno: "It's going to eat me...! Mommy, where are you...? I don't want it to hurt! Mommy...! Mommy...!"

I watched quietly as the girl curled up in the corner of the room, screaming her mother's name as if losing her mind, her shoulders heaving with every ragged breath. She was a child enduring all the horrors of the world alone, crying out for help.

First, I'll need to calm her down.