((This portion of Kita's writing is from August 2011, when she was 17 going on 18 in November. It is scrawled neatly in Japanese Katakana, with ink and clean parchment paper, safely folded and kept among her belongings.))
August 25th, 2011
The estate is far too alive at night. I have never been able to sleep soundly in it, the flicker of lantern lights and the sounds of womens' voices erupting into an echo that threatens to pierce my eardrums. How Mother can sleep so soundly in the deluge has always been a mystery to me. When I ask her, her response is always the same, and I am none too keen to repeat those words here. I am not allowed to write anything personal down, so I believe this may be the "teenage rebellion" state she warns me so heavily of, but she says the same for slacking on my posture or enunciating my words with more emotion than necessary. This is not meant as a slight against her; she does her best with the child she has been given, and I do my best with what my mind and body are capable of. I am guilty of slacking, though. I would not bear the marks of a switch if that was untrue. I would not be sitting in this closet if it was untrue, waiting the hours as they stretch on, unable to sleep in cramped and noisy quarters. One would think that the confinement of a closet would muffle the sounds from outside and from all around the house, but they do not. It brings you closer to the walls. They are deathly thin.
Mother has been disappearing for days at a time, lately, to meet with Eto. Another move of product in the works. More womens' voices in the estate. Our house is empty, save for myself and my duties - though she'd arrived home last night she found me slacking, reading while dishes sat unwashed in the sink. As for reasons to confine me, it's as good as any. I would have liked to dissent over her punishment for playing a made-up song on the piano, though. Creativity is more useful than she thinks it is.
She is preparing me for the importance of her job. I am grateful to carry on what is being so gracefully handed to me. Her worship of her brother may be a mystery to me, but I have yet to serve him personally, so I cannot judge from my place on the outside. I am to do the same in a few months' time. I can not see myself idolizing someone I have never met before, but people change with time, and I am willing to make adjustments. My path has been given to me and I am not stupid enough to wish for another, worse, life. I've seen how the others live and I am never going to subject myself to that.
I bear Mother no ill will, if not just for the fact that I have no one else to talk to. I owe her my life. She does not owe me anything. In time, I wish to be able to repay her. I will buy her an entirely new estate, just for her. Quiet, large, empty of screams and late-night lights, flowers lining the streets and food growing freely. No more of her fears of kappa in her wells. No more nightmares. The one thing I would not allow her: closets.
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