Sayori sighs, the soft, misfitting pink top falling to the floor. He really feels for her the way she has always felt for him. She had her suspicions, but the voice, the sinister little demon in the back of her mind always told her no. She should be happy in this moment, but….
 
She has to do it. She has nothing left that could help her feel the way she knew she was supposed to, except…. She was saving it, cherishing the one thing she knew would always make her feel safe. If there was any time to use it, that time would be now.
 
She opens her closet, pushes to the back behind the ill fitting school uniforms and the unused assets of stories yet to be written. At the very rear of her closet, in a neat plastic bag chosen specifically to seal a memory, was his shirt. He had accidentally left it behind one hot day, a day he’d come over and been particularly sweet. The memory has since faded in her mind, but as she slowly separates the plastic seal, her mind fills the blanks.
 
Except… Except….
 
She feels the memory slip from her.
 
Bit by bit, she feels the terrifying emptiness take over her mind, the one thing she thought she had left.
 
No…
 
Desperate, Sayori pulls the garment from the bag, slipping it over her shoulders. She buttons herself in, starting from the bottom, sealing herself in her happy memory, his scent for a moment overpowering her dread
 
“Get…. Get out of my head….” She thinks to herself, the warmth of the fabric warding off the demon…. demons…. demons?
 
A voice, distinct but familiar, takes the place of her normal thoughts.
 
“He doesn’t love you….”
 
“He pities you….”
 
“NO!” Sayori shouts, holding herself close, pulling his shirt closer to her body “No… he said….”

“He lied,  you know. He’ll always lie to you, Sayori…” The voice reasons with her
 
“You should just do what you know is best for him”
 
“Show him how much you love him, Sayori. Free him from your burden.”
 
“I… you’re right…” Sayori cries, her arms limp by her side. She had given up on holding herself, on her love’s embrace by proxy through this one memento.
 
The chair, the rope, the ceiling fan. She’d planned it out before, of course. She’d tested the strength, she knew it would hold. She ties the rope with practiced ease, and she secures it to the fan with familiarity borne of practice.
 
This time was different. This time was real. This time was….
 
She kicks the chair, and falls a few inches, welcoming the warm embrace of death.
 
She chokes, trying to draw breath. Her vision clear, her mind racing. She messed up. She could feel it, it hurt. She couldn’t exhale, her lungs were on fire. Desperately, she claws at the rope, the sharp pain of breaking skin her only new sensation. As she struggles, the voice comes once more.
 
“Well, that was unfortunate…. Oh well! Ahaha! Sayonara, Sayori!”
 
The last thing Sayori sees before her vision fades to black is Monika, standing at her door, laughing.