She handed him the ring with a hopeful smile. “When we grow up, let’s get married and be together always.”

 

It’s a promise.

 

Years later, he returns to the scene of the accident as a neophyte exorcist, haunted by his memories. The Yokai possessing the abandoned playground is an incongruous mass of parts: limbs, feathers, and tufts of black hair. Hanging from a rusty swing, saliva drips from its fang-filled maw as it scrutinizes him.

 

He slips the ring onto his finger and approaches. With an outstretched hand, he can finally vocalize his anguish.

 

“I still love you.”