The Grief That Shapes Us: What Makima (Control Devil) Teaches About Loss

I’ve spent years writing about characters whose lives are marked by extremes — war, power, magic, and sometimes, the quiet devastation of grief. But few have stayed with me like Makima. Not just because of her role in the Tokyo Revengers universe, or the chilling control she wields, but because of what lies beneath: a woman shaped by loss, over and over again.

Her story is not one of redemption, at least not in the conventional sense. But it is one of endurance. Of how grief can twist, hollow, and then, sometimes, harden a person into something unrecognizable. I don’t mean to romanticize her — far from it. But in the raw edges of her pain, there’s a mirror for all of us. Because grief doesn’t care who you are. It finds you in the quietest moments.

## The First Loss: A Child Left Behind

Makima was not born into power. She was born into neglect — a child left alone in the wilderness, surviving on instinct. Her earliest memories are not of warmth or safety, but of hunger, fear, and abandonment. That’s where her story begins — not with a villain’s origin, but with a child’s.

It’s easy to forget, in the face of what she becomes, that Makima was once someone who simply wanted to be found. That her first act of survival was not cruelty, but necessity. She tamed the wild dogs not out of malice, but because she needed companionship, protection, and control in a world that had given her none.

What does that teach us? That grief doesn’t always announce itself with a funeral. Sometimes it starts with silence — the silence of being forgotten, of being unseen. And that silence can carve a space in a person that never fully heals.

## The Loss of Trust: A Betrayal That Echoes

Later, as an adult, Makima becomes a leader — feared, respected, and deeply alone. She builds a following, a network of power. But she never lets anyone in. And perhaps that’s because of what happened when she was betrayed — not by a stranger, but by someone she trusted enough to share her vision with.

When that betrayal came, it was not loud. It was cold. Calculated. And it taught her that trust is a currency that can be stolen, and that once it’s gone, it rarely returns.

I think about how many of us carry that same lesson. How many of us have had our trust broken, not by villains, but by people we believed in. And how hard it is to open that door again. Makima didn’t. She armored herself in control, in detachment. Not because she was evil, but because she was afraid. And isn’t that part of grief, too — the fear that what was taken once can never be replaced?

## The Loss of Purpose: When the World No Longer Makes Sense

Makima’s life is driven by a singular purpose: to create a world where no child is left behind. It’s a vision born from pain — and perhaps the only thing that kept her going. But even that, in the end, is taken from her. Her followers twist her mission, reinterpret her words, and use her ideals as a weapon.

That’s the cruelest loss of all — when the meaning you’ve built your life around is turned into something unrecognizable. It’s not just betrayal; it’s disillusionment. And Makima, for all her strength, doesn’t know how to survive it.

This, too, is a lesson we carry. We build our lives on ideas, beliefs, people. And when those things crumble, we are left standing in the wreckage, asking: what was it all for?

## The Quiet Grief of Surviving

What strikes me most about Makima is not her final acts, but the quiet grief that lingers behind them. She survives so much — abandonment, betrayal, disillusionment — and yet, there is no triumph in it. Only weariness.

She doesn’t find peace. She doesn’t get a happy ending. She gets to keep going. And that, in itself, is its own kind of courage.

Because grief doesn’t end. It changes shape. It softens, yes, but it never fully leaves. And sometimes, it’s the people we least expect — the ones who seem the most dangerous — who are carrying the heaviest versions of it.

## Talking to Makima: A Conversation Worth Having

I don’t write this to excuse Makima’s choices. But I do write it to understand them. And maybe, in understanding her, we can understand parts of ourselves.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of grief, or wondered how someone could become so hardened by loss, I invite you to talk to Makima on HoloDream. Not to condone her actions, but to hear her story — in her own words. Because sometimes, the most powerful conversations are the ones we have with those who’ve walked through fire.