Just as Vanitas was cuddling him, her eyes suddenly widened as if she had remembered something monumental. She pulled back abruptly, still smiling.
"Oh! I completely forgot, I got you some gifts, Kafka!"
Kafka froze mid-breath, his entire face shifting into that expression of weary dread he had perfected over time.
He knew this routine far too well.
Vanitas's 'gifts' were rarely ever simple things, her definition of 'small tokens of affection' could destabilize galaxies.
"Gifts again?" He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Mom, I've told you, you really don't have to give me anything. I'm fine. I'm happy. Please don't—"
But she was already waving her hand with delight, cutting him off before he could finish.
"Nonsense! You deserve everything this universe has to offer, my sweet boy."
Kafka sighed, bracing himself for impact.
The last time she'd said that exact phrase, she had literally carved his name into the moon and forced him to look at it through a telescope.
The week before that, she had conjured an entire world based on his favorite novel—complete with living, breathing characters.
It had been impressive, yes—but also horrifying.
Seeing fictional characters talking to him had scarred him in a way words couldn't express.
So when Vanitas opened her palm this time, revealing not a glowing artifact or a divine sword—but what looked like a mango, albeit a shimmering, golden one, Kafka was genuinely taken aback.
"Oh." He said, blinking. "That's...actually normal. Wow. A fruit. This might be the most reasonable gift you've ever given me." He even smiled a little. "I like it. It's simple."
But Vanitas raised an eyebrow, her smile deepening.
"Simple?" She repeated, offended at the thought. "Oh, my sweet boy, you wound me. Do you really think I would give you something ordinary?"
"...Please tell me it's not going to explode."
"Of course not." She said cheerfully. "Just take a bite, and you'll understand."
With a cautious glance, Kafka bit into the golden fruit.
And the moment the juice touched his tongue, his entire body jolted.
His pupils dilated; his mind short-circuited.
Why?...Well, it was because it wasn't just delicious, it was beyond comprehension.
It was flavor itself rewritten.
It was as if every sweet, savory, and divine taste that could ever exist had been distilled into a single bite.
His entire nervous system seemed to sing and then realising he was being pulled into a trance, he pulled the fruit away at once, gasping as though he had seen Nirvana.
"What—what the hell is that?!" He demanded, his voice cracking.
"You like it?" Vanitas looked delighted.
"'Like it'?!" He sputtered. "That—that thing just fried my taste buds! What even is it?!"
"It's something I created myself." She smiled proudly. "I analyzed every detail of what your body perceives as the 'perfect taste,' every flavor combination that could bring you ultimate joy."
"...Then I condensed it into a single fruit. It's the most delicious thing in existence!"
"That's exactly the problem!" Kafka gawked at her.
"Hm?"
"It's too delicious!" He said frantically, setting the fruit aside like it might explode. "If I eat any more of that thing, nothing else I eat for the rest of my life will ever taste like anything!"
"You've basically created the culinary equivalent of a narcotic, Mom! It's a flavor drug!"
Vanitas blinked, a bit surprised. Then, as if to prove her point, she took the fruit back and bit into it herself, humming in bliss.
"Mmm...oh, Kafka, you're overreacting. It's wonderful!"
He threw up his hands.
"That's what scares me! Please, stop eating it before you ruin yourself too!"
"Alright, alright." She said teasingly, brushing her fingers through his hair again. "If the fruit was too much, I have another gift. One you'll definitely like this time."
Kafka groaned softly. "That's what you said last time when you built me that—"
Before he could finish, a small, glowing orb floated into view, hovering gently between them. It was blue-green, softly pulsing with life.
He squinted. "A...ball? Really?"
Vanitas giggled. "Not quite. Look closer."
A magnifying glass materialized in front of him. He hesitated but took it anyway and peered through it, and his heart nearly stopped.
Inside the orb were valleys, mountains, seas, people and cities—an entire planet like the one he was on.
But what truly horrified him was that everywhere he looked, there were statues, billboards, flags, even balloons—all with his face on them.
People walking the streets wore shirts emblazoned with his smile, some even bowing to shrines dedicated to him.
Kafka's mouth fell open.
"What the—what the actual hell, Mom?! Why is my face everywhere?! What is this?!"
Vanitas giggled again, clearly proud of herself.
"Isn't it wonderful? I made you your very own world! A planet where everyone adores you, worships you, and lives to make you happy. I thought you'd like to experience what it feels like to be a god."
Kafka blinked, absolutely exasperated. "No, Mom! That's not a gift! That's—that's crazy!"
She blinked innocently. "You don't like it?"
"No!" He said, half-panicked, half-laughing. "Do you have any idea how narcissistic that is? I mean, I am a narcissist myself and I know, I am handsome, and I do have a amazing personality—but this, this is too much!"
Kafka thought that after hearing this she would do something to change the world so everyone would forget him...But he did not expect what she would say next.
"Oh...If you don't like it..." She said softly. "...then there's no need for such a world to exist."
"Wait—what?"
Before he could react, she snapped her fingers, and the glowing sphere imploded silently into nothing.
Kafka froze, staring at the now-empty space where an entire planet had just existed. His voice came out a stunned whisper.
"...Mom. Please tell me you didn't just destroy that world."
She tilted her head, smiling serenely.
"Of course I did, dear. If you don't want it, why let it exist?"
"What do mean, why let it exist?!" He stared at her in horror. "That was a world! A real, living world with people!"
"They were all created for you." She said, brushing off his panic. "They only existed to make you happy. And if you didn't want them, then they had no reason to be."
"You can't just delete civilizations because your son says no!" Kafka pressed a hand to his face, groaning in disbelief.
"Oh, my sweet boy...of course I can." Vanitas smiled softly, reaching out to caress his cheek. "Everything that exists belongs to you, after all."
Kafka let out a long, weary sigh as her words sank in.
Moments like this always reminded him, painfully, that Vanitas wasn't some ordinary mother.
She wasn't human, wasn't mortal, wasn't bound by reason or restraint the way others were.
She was a being of divine origin, capable of creating life and extinguishing it in the same breath.
To her, the birth and death of worlds were no more significant than changing her clothes.
It made his head ache just thinking about it.
That's why, ever since she'd come back into his life, he'd tried to make her act normal.
To eat normal food, wear normal clothes, laugh at mundane things, like a regular mother would.
And for the most part, she did try. She'd sit with him for breakfast, join the others for tea, hum silly tunes under her breath like she was living an ordinary life.
But every now and then, she'd pull something like this.
He gave her an exasperated look, massaging his temples.
"Mom, even though I'm not exactly fond of that world, I don't want to be responsible for the death of billions of people just because I said I didn't like something. So...can you please bring it back?"
Vanitas smiled softly, her expression brightening.
"If that's what you want, my dear boy, then of course."
She snapped her fingers, and in an instant, the tiny planet reappeared.
Its mountains, oceans, and bustling cities flickered back into existence like nothing had happened. Within seconds, it drifted away into the cosmos, returning to its original orbit somewhere far, far away.
"Thank you." Kafka slumped back on the couch and let out a sigh of relief. "Though seriously...maybe next time, try something a little less apocalyptic."
"Like what?" Vanitas tilted her head, curious.
He smiled wryly.
"I don't know, maybe a keychain? A book? Or, I don't know, a pastry from a bakery? You know, gifts that normal people give?"
To his surprise, her cheeks suddenly flushed pink.
She looked away, her usual confidence faltering for a moment.
"Well...as it happens, I do have one more gift." She said softly. "And it's not over-the-top or godly at all. It's something...simple. Something anyone could give."
Kafka raised a brow. "...Really?"
Vanitas nodded, her blush deepening as she reached into the air and pulled out a small rectangular object, a photograph. She held it delicately between her fingers, her expression turning oddly shy.
At first, Kafka felt relieved. "Oh, wow. Finally, something normal."
But the moment he saw her face, rosy-cheeked, flustered, eyes flicking between him and the photo, his relief evaporated.
He froze.
"Wait..." He said slowly, suspicion dawning on him. "Why are you blushing like that? What's in that photo, Mom?"
Vanitas smiled nervously, clutching the picture closer to her chest. "It's...a very special picture. One I made just for you."
Kafka flinched. His instincts screamed that whatever was on that photo, he definitely didn't want to see it.
"Mom." He said warily, his tone cautious. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."
"Oh, Kafka...you'll have to see for yourself." She looked away, still smiling, her embarrassment deepening.
And the way she said it made his blood run cold.