"So your name is Kafka?"
"Yes."
Margaret carefully observed the boy sitting in front of her.
Truthfully, she had already been surprised enough that Vanitas had somehow ended up keeping another person by his side, much less a child like this. Knowing him, she had expected him to avoid unnecessary attachments whenever possible.
And yet, here he was, apparently dragging around a little boy.
"…."
As Margaret took a closer look at him, she gradually realized something felt strangely familiar.
The aloof expression on his face.
The monotonous tone in his voice.
That oddly detached demeanor that somehow came across as both shy and confident at the same time.
Even the way he sat there felt unnatural for a child his age, as though he were emotionally disconnected from the world around him.
Like a corpse pretending to be alive.
And at that moment, Margaret finally pieced it together.
The boy was practically the spitting image of Vanitas.
