Chapter 1
Angie's eyes were like the ocean, and Junko's were like the sky.
It makes sense: Angie is like the ocean, too. She is deep, she is dark, she is fathomless: but under the sky, she sparkles. (Under Junko, under God.) Inviting, beautiful clear waters — water, that can drown or quench your thirst both just as easily. She is an island girl, through and through — she even smells like sea salt, still clinging to her skin.
Junko, on the other hand, is wide and clear — eyes bright with the sun, stormy in an instant. She is open; acceptance — a forgiveness like a God. (Maybe she is a God.) She is free; she is a natural disaster in the making.
They go together, that way. The waves that crash your body against the shore, the storm that tears you to pieces. Ocean, sky.
Here and now, the water almost burns against Angie's skin. She can taste it in her mouth, and it lingers on her. Sea salt. She swings her hands and legs through the water, it sparkling and splashing and soaking her through. At the shore line, Junko Enoshima builds a sand castle. Creation, genesis.
Angie Yonga watches with careful eyes as she knocks it down.
Her destruction is the same as a gods, too.