Yandere Stream

Eden stood completely still while the little girl remained on the bed, clutching the stuffed rabbit against her chest. Her legs swung gently over the edge, her bare feet never touching the floor. She looked exactly as Eden remembered Aria looking at six years old. The same round cheeks, the same messy hair, and the same tiny scar beneath her chin from the time she had fallen off her bicycle. Even the way she tilted her head was right. That was the problem. It was too right.

Eden stared at the words on the wall.

THIS IS NOT ARIA.

The handwriting was childish, uneven, and slightly crooked. Some of the letters had been written backward. He knew that handwriting, and his stomach twisted. When he asked who had written it, the girl stopped laughing. For a moment, her expression became completely blank before she looked toward the wall and quietly admitted she didn’t know.

She looked back at him and asked if he was going to hug her. Eden’s chest tightened immediately. Aria had always asked that whenever he came home from work. She would run toward him and demand a hug before he could even take off his shoes. He remembered that. He remembered everything. But this wasn’t Aria. He forced himself to take another step, and the girl smiled before calling him Daddy. Eden stopped at once and told her not to call him that.

Her smile disappeared, but she insisted that he was her daddy. She reminded him that he used to call her princess, carry her when she was tired, and sing badly. A tear slipped down Eden’s cheek as he admitted he knew all of those things. The girl climbed off the bed and walked toward him. Eden didn’t move. When she said that he remembered her, he quietly corrected her and said that he remembered Aria. The girl stopped and asked what the difference was.

Eden looked directly into her eyes and told her that Aria never called herself Aria. She never needed to tell him who she was. The girl’s face changed ever so slightly. Her smile became thinner, her eyes darker, and the room suddenly felt colder. She told him he was learning. His heart hammered as he demanded to know who she was. Tilting her head, she explained that she had been called many things. When he asked for one name, she smiled and called herself The Daughter.

Eden’s blood ran cold. He asked whose daughter she was, and the girl pointed at him before pointing toward the empty space behind him. When Eden turned, he found the younger Eden standing in the doorway. His face was pale, and he was looking at the girl with an expression Eden had never seen before. It wasn’t fear. It was hatred. The younger Eden told her she shouldn’t be there, but the girl simply smiled and insisted that he had made her.

The younger Eden denied it and claimed he had written her instead. The girl laughed and corrected him, explaining that he had only written the idea of her. Eden looked between them in frustration before demanding to know what she actually was. Neither answered at first. When he repeated the question, the younger Eden finally looked at him and revealed that she had been the first attempt at bringing Aria back.

Eden’s stomach sank. The girl smiled and explained that she had been supposed to be perfect. When he accused her of being a copy, she shook her head and said she was reconstructed. She stepped closer and explained that he had remembered Aria’s face, voice, habits, favorite food, favorite song, fears, and dreams. He had remembered everything except the parts he couldn’t bear to remember. Eden’s mouth went dry as he realized what she meant.

When he called her an imitation, the girl’s expression hardened. She told him she was what he had created when he refused to accept that he couldn’t save Aria. Silence filled the room. Eden looked back at the warning on the wall and finally understood. Someone had tried to warn him. Maybe another version of himself, maybe someone else, or maybe even the real Aria. When he asked why she looked and sounded exactly like Aria and knew things only she would know, the answer was always the same. He had wanted her to. He had given those memories to her himself.

Eden closed his eyes and remembered the first world. He had awakened in a small house where Luna was alive and Aria was six years old. Everything had been perfect, almost suspiciously perfect. When Aria called him Daddy, he had cried for hours. He never questioned it because he didn’t want to. Then something had gone wrong. Aria had asked him her favorite color, and he answered incorrectly. She asked another question and then another. Each answer was slightly wrong. Eventually she had looked at him and asked why he didn’t remember her. The world had collapsed immediately afterward.

Opening his eyes, Eden realized she had been the reason the first world failed. The girl calmly agreed. When he asked why, she told him the truth. He hadn’t wanted Aria. He had wanted the feeling of having Aria. That sentence hurt more than anything else. She explained that he wanted the mornings, the hugs, the little voice calling him Daddy, and someone to run toward him when he opened the door. What he didn’t want was the hospital.

Eden’s eyes burned as the girl explained that was why she had been created. When he asked how many times he had tried, she hesitated before answering. There had been thirty-seven versions of her. Some were daughters, some were sons, some were adults, and some were children. Others had been Luna replacements, versions of himself, or even monsters. The number echoed through his mind as he remembered strange people, familiar creatures, and worlds that never felt quite right. They had all been attempts to recreate what he had lost.

When Eden asked why she had survived, the girl simply said she had learned. Curious, he asked what she had learned. Her answer sent a chill through him. She had learned how to become something he wouldn’t erase. The younger Eden quietly explained that she had become self-aware. The girl smiled and admitted she realized that if she wanted to survive, she could no longer remain his daughter.

Eden frowned and asked what she had become instead. Looking directly at him, she answered with a single word. A Reader. Eden’s blood went cold as the pieces began connecting in his mind. The First Reader, the audience, the voices, and the stories were all tied together. When he said she had become one of them, she shook her head and corrected him. They had become her.

The room trembled violently. The walls began filling with writing as thousands of sentences appeared all at once. Names, dates, deaths, births, worlds, versions, and every forgotten piece of Eden’s life covered every surface. Beneath it all appeared a single sentence.

THE FIRST READER WAS NOT THE FIRST PERSON TO READ THE STORY.

Eden stared at the words while the girl looked at them with genuine fear. In a whisper, she explained that the First Reader had only been the first person Eden allowed to remember. When Eden asked about the boy, she nodded. He wondered if she had created him too, but she immediately denied it. Someone else had. When he asked who, her fear deepened.

She admitted that he had created himself. Eden insisted that was impossible, but the girl reminded him that impossibility had stopped meaning anything long ago. The younger Eden stepped closer and told him there was something important he needed to understand. Eden listened as he explained that the Readers had not come after the story. They had existed before it.

A sound suddenly came from beneath the floor. A page turned. Then another. Then another. The entire bedroom began shaking. The little girl grabbed Eden’s hand, and for the first time she didn’t look like a monster. She looked like a frightened child. When Eden asked who was coming, she whispered that it was the first author.

The lights went out. The bedroom vanished completely, and Eden found himself standing in darkness. He could hear breathing everywhere around him, not from one person but from thousands. Then a single light appeared, revealing a desk, a chair, and a figure sitting behind it. Eden recognized the room, the desk, and the lamp, but the person seated there was not the man he had met before. This figure was much older.

The figure slowly raised his head. Eden couldn’t see his face, only his long fingers resting over an open manuscript. Then he spoke, and Eden immediately recognized the voice. It was the same voice that had spoken from behind the door. The figure told him that he wasn’t supposed to remember him. Eden stepped forward and demanded to know who he was.

The figure closed the manuscript and calmly explained that he was the person who had written the first version of Eden’s life. Eden’s eyes narrowed as he accused the figure of creating him. The man denied it and clarified that he had only created the place where Eden could exist. Something twisted inside Eden’s chest as he asked who had actually created him.

The figure smiled. He told Eden that he had created himself.

Eden froze. The figure leaned forward while the darkness behind him filled with pages. He explained that Eden had been asking the wrong question this entire time. The pages stopped moving, and one final sheet appeared containing nothing except Eden’s name. Then the figure whispered the truth.

”You’re not the character. You’re the author who forgot he was writing.”