“Master… you think your Shinki died because you lied. But it died because you loved your daughter more than you loved the truth. That was never a flaw. That was the point.”
“Father,” she says, her voice trembling. “You painted a lie to save me. And then you painted the truth to remember me. Which was the real Shinki?”
He hands her his brush. It is cold and heavy. “Now you finish the story.”
He paints the name: .