#Connan's fanfics

[connan-l]

Colorful

Fandom: Natsume's Book of Friends Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Morinaga Souko/Natsume Reiko Summary: So many colors suited the forest girl that Souko couldn't assign a single one to her. Words: 7,123 Link: AO3 | Fanfiction.net

Notes: Believe it or not, I actually started writing this in 2018, and for some reason was never able to complete it lol. But I got so excited with the announcement of season 7 that I decided it was a good time to finish this, before we get to see those chapters get adapted.

Find out Reiko and Souko’s story still makes me cry even 5 years later, and I can’t wait to bawl about them once they’re animated!

* * *

People were always surprised when Souko told them she didn’t like the color blue.

It wasn’t like she hated it, but she just wasn’t very fond of it.

She liked green, yellow, purple, red — vivacious pigments that felt alive, cheery; hues that a child would love to use to paint one of his drawings.

Blue was just sad.

The watery tint of the deep sea, the cold tint of winter.

Souko loved assigning colors to people. She saw her father as a vibrant red, and her mother — from the little she remembered of her — as a soft purple. Her uncle was golden, her aunt orange, her grandmother green.

So although she didn’t hate it, a part of her always felt disappointed ‘blue’ was the color people associated with her the most — simply because it was what she’d been named after.

Sometimes, Souko thought it was a funny twist of fate, for her to bear the name of a color she only connected to sadness; a warped prediction of what her life would look like after she fell ill.

No one who met her after she got sick would believe it, but she actually used to be a very energetic child. Back then, she could spend the entire day running around and climbing to trees and playing all sorts of games outside with other kids, giving her father a hundred of panic attacks.

All of that crumbled away when her heart started to malfunction two years ago, and suddenly her whole body began to fall apart without her control.

It had been gradual. Slow and excruciating.

She barely noticed the first signs; the shaking in her hands, her frequent headaches, her legs incapable of walking or running for very long. One day on her way to school, she passed out — and just like that, she spent the following year practically unable to get out of bed.

Her life then withered away.

She couldn’t do any of the things she liked anymore, couldn’t go to school anymore, couldn’t see anyone but her family.

She stopped running and playing outside, and she stopped gardening, and she stopped cooking.

She didn’t really had any friends, as the shy girl she’d always been, but she’d still managed to have some decent relationships with some kids at school, at least.

Now she didn’t even had that anymore.

She withered, drowning away in a bottomless cerulean sea, and for a long, long time, nothing seemed to really matter anymore.

During those endless days, there was only two things she could do: read, which she took the habit of doing since then, and stare at her window. Her bedroom was in front of their garden, so she had a direct sight on the many colorful flowers her mother had planted there long ago, and that Souko had continued to take care of since then. But most of the times, it wasn’t the rainbow of flowers she would stare at, but the blue of the sky — getting lost in its infinity, her heart heavy with anguish and anger at her own life.

Dad had told her, once, that the reason why they named her ‘Souko’ was because she’d been born during a day with a completely clear blue sky. No clouds, no shade of gray, no sun; only blue and blue and blue, as far as the eye could see.

But as Souko kept staring at that same sky, the only thing she could think about was how profoundly empty that blue looked.

* * *

With the help of medications and reeducation, she slowly started to get better — but the doctors were unequivocal on the fact that she would never be able to move like she used to.

She had to limit her gestures, her outings, her breathing; she couldn’t run anymore, or barely so. She was getting better, but she still felt like she was imprisoned within her own body; a bird unable to get out of a cage of its own making.

But the worst wasn’t really any of this. It all weighted heavily on her, of course; but she could bear that. She didn’t really have a choice. The burden her illness had taken on her family, however, was another thing entirely.

The Morinaga household was constituted of only Souko and her father since her mother’s death when she was little, but her uncle and aunt lived nearby and were practically part of their home since as long as she could remember. Dad was very close to his brother, and so her uncle was almost like a third parent to Souko, always having been deeply involved in her life.

Thus her illness had repercussions not only on her father, but on her uncle, her aunt and the whole family. Everyone was always so tense whenever they came to see her, obvious tight smiles and stiff shoulders as they looked at her; and through the months she’d heard hundreds of arguments between her father and grandmother, between the two brothers, between most of her relatives, all about the same topics. What to do with her condition, with her treatment’s cost, with everything else.

Even Dad stopped looking at her like he used to, and instead a pained expression spread across his face every time his eyes met hers. She felt more like a poor little wounded animal he pitied than like his daughter.

That was the hardest part. The idea that not only her body was getting torn apart, but her family did as well — and that it was all her fault.

She couldn’t stand it. It made her want to run away.

Find a place far away; cut from all of her problems, where she wouldn’t have to worry about anything, and where she wouldn’t worry anyone.

A place to be all alone.

And then one night after dinner, Dad approached her with an awkward smile and addressed her in a gentle, careful voice:

"The other day the doctor made me an offer... I thought about it and it could be a good opportunity. He said that… to help with your convalescence, we could move to the countryside.”

At first, Souko wasn’t sure what to think of it.

Truthfully, she didn’t want to move.

She knew nothing at all about the small town where her dad wanted to go, and going there would mean losing all of the landmarks she’d known her whole life. It meant leaving their house where she grew up. Uncle and Auntie. Mom’s grave from a few meters away in the cemetery. Her school.

Souko might not have had any friends here, she still didn’t want to lose the relationships she had with the people of her hometown — and she didn’t want to have to make the effort to form new bonds with strangers.

The very idea made her stomach twist with anxiety. But she couldn’t turn Dad down; not when she knew he also probably didn’t want to move either, and that he only proposed that for her sake.

So against all of her better instincts, Souko agreed.

* * *

She couldn’t manage to assign any color to the forest girl.

No matter how hard she tried to, none of the choices — none of the different tints and shades and hues — seemed to fit her.

Or, rather, all of them fitted her.

The girl — her match companion, the teenager she’d met hidden within the deepest parts of the woods, like a rare, delicate diamond — was the most beautiful and fascinating person Souko had ever seen; ephemeral like a ghost, flippant like a cat and fluttering like a butterfly.

Her long silver hair seemed to change color with the sunlight; turning white or golden or purple contingent on the sky’s whims.

Souko blurted that out, once, without thinking much about it beforehand; and then regretted it right away, because of how childish it sounded.

The girl just laughed.

“Purple?” She repeated, and Souko felt herself blush. “Really?”

“B-Because, look… Your hair is so light, so it take on the dusk’s color. And when dusk turns orange, or pink, then your hair also…”

“Is that so.”

The girl looked over at the horizon, which was indeed starting to take on a mauve tint. For a moment, her companion seemed contemplative; then finally, she turned towards her again and grinned.

“Well, what do you think? Is purple my color?”

Souko felt the scarlet of her cheeks deepens even more, but she was able to muster the courage to actually reply truthfully: “I think every color is your color. You look pretty in everything.”

And that was true, too.

Souko could imagine her in red, pink, purple, orange, black and white — and that girl, her mysterious nameless acquaintance of the forest, would be just as wonderful and breathtaking as ever.

She would look beautiful and full of life even in blue.

Souko had never seen a person like that before, so radiant and mesmerizing that her eyes couldn’t stop staring at her, that her mind couldn’t help but think of her almost all the time.

For a very brief moment, the girl looked slightly taken aback; but she quickly seemed to get over it and simply smiled back at her.

The girl was always smiling.

It was a little disconcerting, sometimes — and it wasn’t that Souko didn’t like seeing her smile, but she just wished that smile looked actually genuine.

Once I’ll win, she swore to herself.

Once I’ll win, I’ll make her give me her name. I’ll make her become my friend — and then I’ll be able to make her smile for real.

* * *

“Oh, the candy’s blue.”

“Isn’t it pretty?”

“Yeah. Like the blue of Souko.”

Her voice resounded in her mind even long after the two of them parted way.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the manner she’d said her name. Softly, fleetingly, lost in the wind, like no one but the girl herself had been supposed to hear it.

The blue of Souko.

Souko had never been fond of her name. She’d never really liked the color blue.

And now, after all she’d been through, the only thing it managed to evoke to her was the emptiness of the sky as she looked through her room’s window stuck in her bed.

That was all the blue of Souko was to her.

But when the girl spoke it… When she said her name so softly, so longingly, Souko couldn’t help but love it.

The girl was a little like a fairy, Souko thought; an otherworldly being who seemed to be able to transform every bad aspects of her life into something magical.

Her name sounded beautiful when she said it. That town in the countryside seemed so fun now that she started spending time with her. Her new home, her tense family, her unfamiliar school and classmates — everything seemed bearable now that she had that girl by her side.

Even the color blue would surely feel warm and vivacious, if her secret companion started wearing some of it.

Before meeting the forest girl, Souko had simply not been able to feel at home anywhere in that town.

It wasn’t like people here weren’t welcoming — at the contrary, everyone was quite nice to her, but Souko still hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling that she simply didn’t belong. She’d always been a timid girl, but suddenly moving here while cutting all ties to her old life, added to the months she’d spent completely isolated from the world because of her illness, made her feel like she’d lost all of her social skills. She could barely handle normal conversations with the other kids, or with the townsfolk — always feeling like people were staring at her, judging her, monitoring her every moves. And even when she was alone, she couldn’t stand to be at her house either, in that unfamiliar place.

That was why coming in the middle of that forest, away from any form of life, away from her family and other people, was the only time that had finally made her feel a little comfortable — and that despite the fact this place had a strange ominous aura and sometimes gave her headaches.

And then she met the girl. The time she spent by her side, chatting idly and having silly matches and laughing together about nothing made her the happiest and most free she’d felt in months. Not since she fell ill.

The girl wasn’t always nice; she could be quite prickly and cold, and it wasn’t like Souko didn’t think that girl was... strange. Truthfully, she could be a little unsettling, or even scary sometimes. Occasionnally, she would just say weird things out of nowhere, or stared past Souko’s shoulder as if she was seeing someone behind her, or dragged her away from a place as if she was trying to run from something.

Something Souko couldn’t see.

(And, sometimes, Souko almost had the impression there really was something else with them, and that it wasn’t just the two of them in the middle of these woods.)

But even so, despite all of this, Souko still didn’t think she could, or wanted to, stop seeing the girl.

At least, she treated Souko like a normal person. She never walked on eggshells around her, even after she’d learned she was sick. And even with all her prickliness, Souko could tell that she had a kind heart, buried behind her sharp gaze and barbed comments. She wouldn’t have let Souko stay by her side otherwise.

The girl and those meetings were so odd, so detached from everything in her life — that sometimes Souko almost felt like she was hallucinating them. Like she was doing some forbidden rituals with a witch, and not just playing childish games.

There was only ever the two of them in that forest, after all — no one else here to confirm the real from the surreal.

Her rendez-vous with the forest girl was the most exciting part of her day, and she spent the whole time thinking about what new games they would play next.

Wishing that today would finally be the day she win — would be the day she finally earn her name.

Earn the right to be her friend.

“Are you going out again?”

Her father stopped her just as she was about to leave the house, and Souko startled. “Ah, yes…”

A worried look crossed his face. “Souko… I’m glad you seem to be so happy, lately — really, but… You need to be more careful. Your body is still…”

“I know,” Souko said, maybe a little more forcefully than she intended. Of course she knew her body was still frail. It was her body, after all — she understood the consequences of its weakened state better than anyone. “I’m careful, Dad, I promise. You don’t need to worry.”

But of course, that was probably a meaningless thing to say. Her father would always worry regardless of what she said.

“…Is that a friend that you see like that every day?” He asked. “I know you said you’ve been getting along better with your classmates lately…”

Souko opened her mouth, then hesitated a little.

She still hadn’t said anything to her father about the forest girl. She hadn’t said anything about her to anyone, period.

She wasn’t really sure why.

She’d told Dad about the classmates she’d started to talk to — they weren’t really friends yet, but they were nice, and Souko would like to become closer.

That, too, was thanks to the forest girl, in a way. It wasn’t like she had encouraged to talk to others or anything, but being able to have normal conversations with someone her age after having been isolated for so long had managed to cheer Souko up and make her feel braver.

The girl always looked so strong and confident, after all; solid as a rock, standing tall among the trees. Souko always felt like nothing could ever hurt or reach her.

So she’d thought that if she wanted to be worthy of befriending the forest girl, then she should try to befriend the more approachable kids at her school first.

But her classmates were different from the girl, and so Souko felt that she couldn’t simply tell Dad about her like she would with a normal classmate. Maybe she wanted to become friends with her for real before telling him — or maybe… maybe she just wanted to keep her as a secret. For now.

Something only Souko knew about.

Her father had still noticed the changes, though, and he looked simultaneously happy and worried about them. He’d already been very concerned from the start, when Souko went back to school, and then about the fact he could tell his daughter had clearly struggled to fit in at their new place. And now he clearly wasn’t happy about her escapades after school; didn’t like her going outside to play around in the forest. Souko sympathized with his feelings, knew that he was only worried for her; but it had been the best she’d felt in such a long time, and she wasn’t about to let that go.

Dad said nothing for a moment, then narrowed his eyes at Souko — and only when she noticed his suspicious look did she realizes that she was blushing.

“…Is that person you’re seeing a boy?”

“Wha— N-No! I-It’s not like that… we’re just…”

Her father laughed a little, and waved his hand. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. But you don’t need to be embarrassed about it, you know. It’s normal, at your age.”

“I-It’s really not like that…”

And it’s not a boy.

But Dad didn’t seem he would believe her no matter what she could say, so Souko felt it would be pointless to argue further. Instead, she went to her rendez-vous spot with the forest girl, and as usual they played together, Souko lost, and then they talked for a while. At some point, the girl took her hand and dragged her somewhere else. Her hand was rugged, and her skin sturdy — but it felt warm.

Souko wished she could keep holding her hand forever.

Maybe Dad isn’t entirely wrong, she thought then, looking at the girl’s pretty long hair flowing in the wind, her heart skipping a beat at the sight.

If she were a boy, maybe I would fall in love with her.

It would be so easy to fall for her. She was so beautiful and strong and fun. Souko was certain most boys at her school must be crushing on her.

(She’d inadvertently said this, one day, and to her utter surprise the girl bursts out laughing ; so hard she had to hold her stomach, and Souko had never seen her laugh so loudly and for so long before.

“No way!” She’d exclaimed after calming down. “Boys don’t like me, at all.”

“H-Huh?” Souko let out. She didn’t think she would lie about this, but she heavily doubted that was true. Maybe no one ever confessed to her, but there was just no way not a single person had at least some feelings for someone as charming as her.

The girl grinned, her green eyes boring straight into Souko’s. “I scare them. Well, to be honest, I don’t really like boys either.”

Souko didn’t know why, but at these words her cheeks flushed and she felt a small warmth of hope bloom in her chest.)

Late in the evening, when Souko came home, the first thing she did was going out in the garden, just as twilight was starting to set.

The place was still barren. Back at their old home, they used to have a garden with a lot of colorful flowers — hibiscus, daisies, orchids, tulips, marigolds… Her mother’s flowers, that Souko loved to take care of; the first thing she would see upon waking up, a rainbow of delicate, shiny petals. In their new house, a lot of things were different, but Dad had made a point to get her a bedroom where she could see the garden too, just because he knew how much Souko had liked it before.

She finally wanted to start feeling at home here, too. So maybe she could start by planting some flowers. Dad would probably like that as well — he’d loved their flowers too.

One day — after she’ll finally be able to learn the forest girl’s name and become her friend, Souko will invite her to her home and introduce her father to her.

Show her her flower garden.

But in the meantime, the forest girl would stay her little secret — something that was hers and hers only.

* * *

One of Souko’s new favorite things was when she was able to surprise the girl.

She always thought a lot about the types of games she could propose to her — even asked her uncle and dad to give her some new ideas. And every day, it felt like the girl was surprised to still find her here in the forest with a new challenge. Almost like she expected her to suddenly stop coming any time now.

How silly, Souko thought. There’s no way I’ll ever stop coming to see you, even if I wanted to.

But even so, she’d never seen the girl as shocked as when she decided to show up one day with lunch boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She asked in a bewildered tone, her pale green eyes pinned on Souko like a cat’s.

“Lunch.”

“I can see that,” the girl snapped back sharply, but by now Souko was used to her curtness. She could be a little mean sometimes in her way of speaking, but Souko had come to learn it wasn’t necessarily because she was annoyed. “I was asking why you brought this here— and why you brought two of these.”

Souko flushed a little, but still didn’t let go of the girl’s eyes.

“Well, I… I was just thinking, that you often seems hungry when we meet, and also, how you’re very thin, and so— I just thought that maybe you should just eat a little more. There’s meat in there, and…”

The girl narrowed her eyes at her. “Who do you think you are? My mom?”

Souko blushed even further, and looked away. That did seems a little silly and pretentious to bring that girl a lunch out of the blue, when she put it into words like that. But she couldn’t help it, and— truthfully, Souko had started to get quite worried about her.

It was often that the girl’s belly would suddenly start gurgling in the middle of one their matches, and Souko had noticed how she seemed much lighter than a girl her age should be (absolutely not because Souko was staring her at a little too much, of course; that had nothing to do with this). She’d once asked her if she was eating enough — and then the girl had snorted, rolling her eyes. But she hadn’t replied. So Souko thought, that she could…

But maybe it had been rude of her to do. Just as she was about to apologize though, the girl suddenly grabbed her lunch box and chopsticks, and Souko barely had the time to turns her head towards her that she saw her open the box and starts digging in.

“What?” The girl shot back, catching her staring. “You did say it was for me, right?”

Souko smiled, and nodded enthusiastically. “Y-Yes, of course!”

And so she quietly watched her eat away the whole meal with a smile she couldn’t quite manage to hide. She didn’t even left a single crumb — which on the one hand, Souko was happy about, but on the other it definitely had her more concerned, because that seemed to confirm the fact she truly didn’t get enough to eat at her house.

Souko could never brings herself to ask, but she has the distinct feeling that things were… not great at home, for the girl.

To start with, it was strange for a teenager to hang out in a forest so far away like this. The girl always seemed to be all alone, too; and she was spending so much time here… it didn’t seem like she had any other friends. Much like Souko. But much more worrisome was the fact that she was often hurt. Souko frequently caught glimpse of scratches, bandages, and bruises covering her body. Some of them might be because of her playing around in the woods — and Souko had absolutely seen her doing a lot of reckless things that would get her injured — but…

Others must have been made by someone, Souko was pretty sure.

She tried to ask her a couple of times about her family, but the girl always brushed her asides and changed the topic when she did. Even Souko talked to her sometimes about her father and her uncle and her family, but the girl would never say anything back about herself. She clearly didn’t want to talk about her life at home. So Souko respected that — even if she didn’t like it.

She didn’t want to jump to conclusion about things she couldn’t possibly know either, but… she still worried.

“H-How was it?” Souko decided to ask, trying to stop thinking about such morose things.

“Hm? Oh, good. It was really good.”

Souko beamed. “Really?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Hehe, that’s true. Thank you! I’m so glad you like it.”

The girl actually stared at her and lifted an eyebrow at her words. “‘Thank you”?”

“Ah… I’m the one who made that.”

She had woken up earlier this morning specifically to prepare it, following her mother’s old recipe. Dad had been so surprised to see her in the kitchen — it had been the first time she cooked anything since she got sick. Until now, he’d been the one taking care of most of the cooking — or sometimes it was her aunt, when she was home.

Souko had forgotten how much fun cooking actually was.

She used to do it quite frequently back then, but then stopped after she got sick, just like most of her hobbies — and even now that she was recovering, she hadn't gone back to them. Even though now she could easily try them again without endangering her health. Gardening was the same, too. She wondered if she’d have as much fun gardening, if she did it again now.

It’d be nice if I could do those things with her, too, she had thought this morning while cutting off vegetables. The only things she did with the girl was playing games and talking, but she was sure they’d have fun doing other type of activities together as well. I wonder if she loves cooking and gardening…

The idea made her so happy that she had decided to creates the prettiest lunch box for the girl — as colorful as her old flower garden used to be — putting shades of red and green and pink all over, carving orange carrots in little flowers, putting the yellow egg yolk in the form of a sunflower.

Each color so vivid and lovely, each of them suiting the forest girl.

The memories of this morning made Souko smile, and she was only brought back to the present moment thanks to a strong wind blowing through her short dark hair. She turned her head towards the girl, about to apologize for her absentmindedness, but then stopped.

To her surprise, the girl actually seemed really taken aback, eyes wide and mouth agape. Was she truly that shocked by the fact Souko could cook?

(Or was it because she’d cooked for her, specifically?)

“O-Oh,” the girl stuttered — and for a bewildering, fascinating moment, Souko saw her cheeks reddens slightly.

Is she… blushing?

The moment disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and Souko almost thought she’d made it up, a conjured illusion of her mind. But the scarlet on her otherwise white cheeks, and her embarrassed expression, was engraved inside Souko's heart, and she couldn’t help the wide grin that then spreads on her lips.

Of course, scarlet was just as pretty as any other colors on the girl’s face.

She looked just like a flower herself, in all her silver and green and white and red.

Souko wished she was brave enough to kiss her just then.

Instead, she quietly promised to do everything in her power to see that expression on her face once again.

* * *

She couldn’t even remember how she managed to get home, that evening.

Her head wouldn’t stop pounding, so much that she was unable to think. Her body was so heavy that every step felt like torture. Her heart seemed like a dead weight inside her chest; a burden pulling her down and down.

She felt just like that day she’d collapsed for the first time, two years ago; the day that marked the start of the end of her normal life. The only lucid thing she could register was her voice, echoing inside her skull again and again and again.

“Reiko. My name is Reiko Natsume.”

“Go away.”

“You look pale. It’s starting to rain, so you should go home.”

“You should go home.”

Souko knew she should never have gone home the moment she turned around. She knew she should have stayed; that she should have kept talking to her — her forest girl, her ghost of an acquaintance; the lovely, strange, colorful person she fell in love with.

But her voice had been so cold, when she told her to go away.

Her eyes were blank and sharp at the same time, so different from the way she usually looked at her, and Souko couldn’t stand to see that.

And she just hadn’t… she had never even expected that she could be…

It made sense, if she really thought about it; what other teenage girl would spend all her time alone in the forest, but the rumored weird delinquent from the neighboring town?

But Souko had never thought of her like that until now; both seemed so unrelated in her mind, and she felt so shocked she hadn’t been able to properly process it.

And now her duel partner had already vanished, like a mirage of the woods, like she’d never existed at all.

Souko had taken her name, and then nothing of the girl was left.

Now she was all alone in the rain, and the blue of the sky had faded away, replaced with nothing but a foggy, looming gray.

Souko’s steps vacillated, and her head still hammering, she fell on the ground.

She’d finally won, after training for so long — she finally knew her name — and yet she still wasn’t… still couldn’t be her friend.

She needed to go back, she needed to apologize, she needed to talk to her—

But the sound of the rain and the coldness of Reiko Natsume’s voice were the only thing she could hear before her consciousness slipped away.

* * *

The following days were spent in a blur.

Souko barely even registered her father’s voice or her uncle’s hands or the doctor’s visits. She felt like she was in another dimension, far away from this house, this town, this country.

She felt like she was still stuck in that forest, alone with Reiko, the rest of the world non-existent.

In her dreams, Reiko was here, by her side; pretty in all colors of the rainbow, and she smiled, and laughed, and talked. They played games together, they cooked, they gardened.

In her dreams, Souko apologized. She told her she hadn’t meant to leave, she told her she didn’t care about the rumors about her. She told her that to Souko, she wasn’t a violent scary girl, but a fun, and beautiful, and kind person.

She told her she loved her.

In her dreams, Souko was brave enough to finally kiss her.

But then she opened her eyes, and she was all alone in her bed, and there was only the blue of the sky from her bedroom’s window.

One night, she had a different dream, though.

She felt like she heard someone crying, and then Reiko was there, blue petals falling over her hair and uniform.

As she woke up, Souko couldn’t remember what the dream had been about.

* * *

It took her three whole days before she was able to stand again.

Dad and Uncle were relieved, but Souko couldn’t share any of their enthusiasm. She still felt sick, but insisted nevertheless to go back to school. She couldn’t really bring herself to talk to anyone there though, even as her classmates fussed about her health; her mind focused on only one single person — and as soon as the day ended, she ran towards the forest, towards their usual rendez-vous spot.

(She knew she shouldn’t run, she was still coughing, she still felt so weak — but she couldn’t help it.

She had to see Reiko again, as quickly as possible.)

“Reiko?” She exclaimed upon arriving, but there was no one else.

There's no one yet, Souko reminded herself, trying to stay positive. I’m still early. She could come later.

“Reiko!”

She repeated her name for a while — and couldn’t help but think that if only the circumstances were different, she would feel so proud over it.

To have finally been able to learn her name, to be able to call it out like that.

But that didn’t matter much if no one was there to respond to it. To call Souko back.

I don’t even know how it’s written, she thought.

She tried to think of all the combinations of characters to write ‘Reiko’ that could fit her the most, but just like with colors, she couldn’t decide upon a single one. All of them could suit her.

She would have to ask her about it, next time she saw her.

At least she felt pretty certain on how to spell ‘Natsume.’

All-seeing eyes of the summer, the season of ghosts and spirits.

Souko sat at their usual place.

She waited.

She kept staring left and right, attentive to every sound; trying to catch the slightest glimpse of a silver thread.

But by the time dusk came, there was still no one.

She was still all alone.

* * *

Souko stopped talking to her classmates.

A few days after her last encounter with Reiko, she’d asked the girl from her class who’d first told her about the violent high schooler from next town if she knew anything else — but she’d ended up getting into an argument with her. Her classmates had always been very nice up until now, but as soon as she started asking about Reiko Natsume, they completely changed tune and started spewing all those terrible things about her — that she was a violent delinquent, that she was crazy, that she hurt people.

Souko couldn’t help but defend her. Her classmates had never even met Reiko — what did they know about her? But everyone refused to listen to her. They almost all had a specific creepy or terrible anecdote about Reiko Natsume; she hit my cousin, she talked to trees, she burned down a shop — I tell you, that Natsume girl is bad news! C’mon, Morinaga, why do you even want to associate with someone like that? — and so Souko stopped talking to them.

She didn’t mind. She had no intention to keep hanging around such judgmental people who spoke badly of someone purely because of some rumors they’d heard.

She herself felt so ashamed, to have simply believed those hearsay and repeated them thoughtlessly. She had believed she was doing the right thing by warning Reiko about a potentially dangerous person, because she cared about her and didn’t want anything to happen to her — but she couldn’t even imagine how Reiko must have felt hearing this. How badly Souko must have hurt her. And then, when she’d learned her name, Souko had just run away…

She wouldn’t be surprised if Reiko never wanted to see her again.

But even so, she couldn’t just leave things like that. She had to apologize, at least — she had to tell her that she… she didn’t think any of that, about her.

So she tried to ask around about Reiko, tried to find out if anyone knew where she could live, what school she went to — but whenever she did, she only received vague, uncertain answers. Reiko Natsume was a weird orphan who kept being passed around among families like an unwanted stray, so it was hard to keep track of where she was.

Nobody wanted her, and nobody tried to know anything about her.

She's just a poor crazy girl, was the kindest thing one could hear on her behalf.

The more Souko learned about Reiko Natsume, the less it made sense.

This weird, insane, violent girl was nothing at all like the girl she’d gotten to know. Her Reiko could be a little cold, and a little too blunt, but she was nice, and fun, and amazing. It was like two entirely different people sharing the same name. Souko couldn’t even begin to comprehend how anyone would say such awful things about her.

In the end, she wasn’t able to find anything more about her, and so she had no other choice but to go back to the forest, and wait. Which she did, day after day, even against her family’s protests, even when it rained, even when her health kept deteriorating.

She continued waiting alone.

But sometimes, just sometimes, she felt like she could feel another presence.

Like a ghost sitting by her side, waiting with her, sharing in her lost love and her sadness.

Souko thought back to the legends she’d heard about the forest from her classmates; the strange things Reiko would do sometimes — the stares behind her shoulder, dragging her away forcefully just because a branch had snapped, the way she’d gotten startled during their last match, as if she had been distracted by something…

Maybe Souko wasn’t so alone, after all.

Maybe there truly was someone else by her side, someone she couldn’t see.

Maybe if Reiko had seemed so radiant and vibrant, that was because she actually was able to see another world: a world full of new colors, invisible to others.

Souko found comfort at the idea; that she truly had a companion to share her feelings — her pain — with, even if only a little.

* * *

It was during a day with a completely clear blue sky when she had that dream again.

Souko had stopped being able to go to school a while ago, and thus at the same time she stopped being able to go to the forest as well — the first one she didn’t care about anymore, but the second was more troubling.

She didn’t really think Reiko would come back by now — but she still kept coming there, just in case, like a last prayer.

She wondered if her companion she couldn’t see would feel lonely now that she wouldn’t be there anymore. She wondered if they would miss her.

Where could Reiko be now? Was she still sleeping in a forest, talking to creatures only she could sees?

Was she still all alone?

Souko wished wherever she was, it was far, far away from all those people who spoke and treated her so badly. She wished she was able to find a friend, someone who would love her for the person she truly was and would stand by her side no matter what — even if that person couldn’t be Souko.

Her father was in the living room now, sleeping. He had spent the whole night crying, no matter how much Souko had tried to comfort him.

She wished she could find the right words for him — tell him that she was fine, that her life had still been full of wonders and happiness despite all the suffering, that he’d been a wonderful father — but they both knew there was nothing she could do that would soothe his pain. She wished she could apologize to him, for leaving him all alone just like Mom did, but she didn’t even have the energy to do so anymore. The rest of the family — her uncle and aunt and grandmother — should arrive tonight, and Souko hoped they’ll be able to do a better job than her at comforting him.

She looked up from her bed, at the window in front of her.

The large sky spread wide before her, and it was so deep and blue, and Souko wondered if this was how it looked the day she was born — the day her parents decided to name her after the saddest of all colors.

Although Souko had stopped finding blue as sad as she used to. Now when she thought of blue, she thought of the way Reiko used to say her name so gently, of the blue candy in her palm, of the blue flowers she saw in a dream that she couldn’t remember.

The blue of Souko.

From here, she could also see the barren garden — in the end, she hadn’t been able to plant anything there. She closed her eyes, slowly, and tried to picture the colorful flowers she would’ve liked to put there, the ones she wished she could’ve shown to Reiko.

As her mind drifted away, she heard someone crying.

A gentle voice, from a gentle presence.

Souko smiled, because she knew that presence; it was the same person — the same creature — that had kept her company all this time, while she was waiting for a girl she loved that would never come.

Like with her father, she wished she could comfort them, but nothing came to her mind.

However, as she kept straying farther and farther away from reality, a sight suddenly opened up to her eyes.

She’s in a meadow.

A flower field with blue, blue, blue petals everywhere — fluttering, dancing, as far as the eye can see.

And here, in the middle of the blue flowers, all alone, is her forest girl.

Tears wells up in Souko’s eyes, but she smiles, big and wide — and do the one thing she wishes she could’ve done months ago: she calls out her name.

“Reiko.”

The girl she loves turns around, and as her green eyes melt upon recognition, she has the most beautiful and genuine smile Souko has ever seen.

All the colors of the sky, of the forest and of the meadow gets reflected in her long silver hair, and blue has never looked so joyful.

* * *

Note: The first time I read those chapters, I didn’t even realize that Soranome implied Souko died at the end until someone pointed it out, and I can’t stop thinking about how terribly sad it is. I suppose one could argue maybe Souko just moved at the end and that’s why she stopped coming, but it doesn’t seem likely with the way Soranome phrased it. At least with Reiko, there’s a chance she was loved and happy for a while with the grandfather and then with her daughter afterwards, even if she still ended up losing them at the end. But Souko never got that chance. I only take comfort with the idea she had a loving family who took care of her. (And yes, if anyone’s wondering, I decided she was raised by a single father as a parallel to Tanuma.) But it’s also terrible there seems to be some implications that if Reiko had stayed then Souko wouldn’t have died, given it seemed to be the youkai of the forest that amplified her illness (much like how Tanuma has gotten healthier since meeting Natsume).

I went back and forth about the idea of Souko cutting ties with her classmates in the aftermath of her losing Reiko, because that also felt a little mean to her, but I honestly think she wouldn’t have tolerated anyone speaking badly of Reiko and would feel guilty for listening to the rumors.

I want to try writing something else less sad about them, but truthfully I really love the tragedy of their story haha. Still, maybe I’ll give them a silly little happy ending one day.

#Natsume Yuujinchou #Natsume's Book of Friends #Natsume Reiko #Morinaga Souko #Natsume's Grandmas #Soranome #NatsuYuu #Natsume #Reiko Natsume #Souko Morinaga #ReiSou #ReiSouko #Connan's Fanfics #Fanfiction #Soranome (Natsume's Book of Friends) #Connan's Posts #Soranome NatsuYuu #SouReiko #Soranome Natsume Yuujinchou #NatsuYuu Fanfic #Souko #Reiko #Reiko x Souko #Natsuchou #Souko x Reiko

[probablyjustamagpie]

Evidence that my life is a romcom:

well, with my first boyfriend, we were this awful, contrived, friends to lovers disaster. like, actually the plot of the song Heather by Connan Gray, and then we were slowly coming around to the idea that we liked each other (after mutually pining for months) we accidentally kissed, and I had to get off the bus right after to get to class on time so we couldnt talk about it for a while. a mess. Straight up, I've read fanfics with this exact kind of plot.

*now* ive been asking for dating advice from my best friend, whos also the aforementioned ex. his ex girlfriend (who moved to alaska) used to be in a band with the guy im crushing on. *that* sounds like the set up for a romcom. Then, on Friday, in a moment of stupidity I forgot to give him my number when he was asking how to talk to me outside of school

#magpie chirps

[sebthesnipe]

The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagin an Analysis? (Part 1 cuz it was a lot longer than expected)

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Okay so first off… I get asked a lot what I can do with a forty-thousand-dollar degree in Literature when the job economy is so crap… Answer: Lay awake at 2AM analyzing your favorite fanfic authors. So, here we are. Before I begin however, I wanted to make a few things clear: First, if you have not read any of @whatwashernameagain’s work I highly recommend you do so. She is very talented. You can find her on archiveofourown here; and The Dreamer Chapter 1 here. Secondly, I realize that most authors don’t look into their work as deeply as the reader does when writing an analysis and that a red door may simply be a red door… but where is the fun in that? And Lastly, there will be spoilers… So… Beware! (Also it is a Sanders Sides fanfic so check out Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders on youtube as well if you haven’t already)

WARNING: Spoilers under cut!!

I’m not sure how many of you are familiar with the literary theory of Reader Response (its pretty much exactly what it sounds like) but I’ll probably be addressing it throughout this post. In fact here and here great introductions to the literary theory; which can be defined in its most broad sense, as a criticism that “considers readers’ reaction to literature as vital to interpreting the meaning of the text” (Purdue Writing Lab). Not very clear is it? Basically, Reader Response is the concept that readers have just as much say in what the work means as the author does. In other words, “readers do not passively consume the meaning present to them by an objective literary text; rather they actively make the meaning they find in literature” (Purdue Writing Lab). Without the author there is no reader and without the reader there is no author.

           That’s probably a lot of mumbo jumbo to take in but I’ve studied so many literary approaches that it is merely a glimpse into the stuff rattling around in my brain when I read any type of work. I don’t tell you any of this to flex or show how smart I am… …. Well… not really anyways lol. I am explaining this now because it will be important later in the post. Now! Onto the really fun stuff!

CHAPTER 1 (Again spoilers!)

Okay, going into the work I knew the premise: Superhero vs. Villain eventually becoming friends and even lovers. I’m totes down! However, Eva (the author (Whatwashernameagain) never ceases to pull in the reader from the first line!

“He’d chosen to call himself the Utilitarianist, the etymology of which was clearly derived from the Latin word ‘utilis’, meaning ‘useful’” (Whatwashernameagain).

First off! The italics are beautiful! They pull attention to the fact that whoever it is that is naming himself (*cough* Logan *cough*) has already shunned the outer world. He doesn’t care what others have to say. He is deciding this for himself. The sheer amount of strength in a single word because she used italics is stunning and I’m certain she doesn’t even realize what she has done.

Moving on to the actual name is another thing entirely. I know that ‘Utilitarianism’ is defined as “the ethical doctrine that virtue is based on utility, and that conduct should be directed toward promoting the greatest happiness of the greatest number of persons” (“Utilitarianism”). So first, this screams Logan, secondly there is a lot to be said for the name choice. While, the hero/villain’s goal is obvious by the name (doing acts that are for the ‘greater good’) there is a lot to be said for personality here. Obviously, it can be taken that whoever chose this name is insecure in a way; only taking value of themselves by how useful they are. The man no doubts feels as if he is only as valuable as the contributions he makes, which is certainly relatable. So, within the first sentence we learn quite a lot about a single individual and are already drawn in… then again, that’s Eva for you.

Within the next paragraph we learn that the he is in fact a ‘villain’ though I like to think of him more as a… misguided vigilante… but Logan is my bea… so… yeah. Once again, we see italics: “They called him a villain” (Whatwashernameagain). It pulls the reader’s attention to the separation the Utilitarianist is making between himself and the outside world. The feeling of loneliness just from the two italicized words is almost suffocating, at least to me (hence Reader-Response theory). Eva always has such a way with capturing emotions so subtly its breath taking. It certainly is one of her biggest strengths. I mean, here we are not even two sentences in and I’m already moved by the isolation of the villain.

Moving on down the line, we see that the Utilitarianist feels he is doing good for the world… sees himself as a hero rather than the villain the world sees him as. Eva also begins to apply descriptors to the not-villain. “Cold and infallible logic” is used to describe his work. Knowing Sanders Sides as I do its obvious that at this point, I have an assumption as to which character the Utilitarian is (and I’ve already read the work once or twice) but this practically cements it. The reason I bring these four little words to your attention however is the simplicity of them and the giant impact they have. Just as the italics spoke volumes so does this small excerpt. The loneliness I mentioned before only grows with these words, becoming an image of shivering, icy fingers reaching out for someone who isn’t there, the only thing keeping him warm is his own logical calculations…. Its… so heartbreaking… Damn it Eva!!! T.T

Within the next paragraph however we’re moving on to a more light-hearted tone as the Utilitarianist calls the world small minded and unable to understand his ‘superior logic’ (Whatwashername). That, in and of itself, gives way to more personality, breathing more life into the previously abstract character and making him more human… though far less humble lol.  

I feel as if I really need to move a bit more quickly through this work to keep this post from getting to long but… Eva’s work with emotional subtext is so stunning I can’t help myself. We’ve moved from the first sentence drawing attention to the separation of the Utilitarianist from the public’s view of him, to the lonely cool logic behind his actions and now within the next few sentences were pulled into a whirlwind of frustration and all of it is so seamless. It may seem like something small and inconsequential but there are published best-selling authors that struggle with it regularly and she manages it so flawlessly (and if I had to guess, without even really thinking about it.

The frustration I mention above is visible through the way the Utilitarianist uses descriptors pulling attention to names like ‘whistleblower’, ‘eco-terrorist’, ‘extremist’, and the way he points out more than one, obviously frustrated. He also insults the world once again pointing out their ‘small minds’ and ‘hypocrisy’; the media calling him ‘cruel’. Again, it’s the subtle things that really make a work shine and as usual Eva’s work is almost blinding.

“His enemies were clear to him, chosen not by his own selfish passions or greed, but by pure, beautiful logic” (Whatwashernameagain).

This line…. Oh, this line…. -sighs dreamily at the words-

So, Reader-Response theory can be interpreted in a number of ways but basically what you need to know is that everyone reads things in different ways due to their own life-experiences, interests, backgrounds, opinions, etc. So, this tiny line that most wouldn’t think twice of is one of my absolute favorites. Why? Well… Lets just say that I have four copies of every Sherlock Homes book (Sir Arthur Connan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes) (Leather bound, hard cover, soft cover, and children’s versions). Which means I’m a bit of fan. Why is that important here? Well, Logan’s (the Utilitarian’s) thought here, pulls me straight back to Doyle’s work. It is so Holmes-esc that it makes me all warm inside and brings a smile to my face. Not to mention it is another shift in the emotional tone of the work, pulling the reader from frustration to an almost affection as Logan addresses his work. This provides the character with even more complexity making him more tangible than ever. There is already so much depth to this character in the first half of this chapter than it astounds me… I am never disappointed in the woman’s writing.

As I read about some of Logan’s target, I have to pause because of just how real some of these issues are. “Fast food chains that ate away the natural resources with their disgusting wastefulness, earning money on the back of animals starved of space and clean air. Government funded projects poisoning the water of people dependent on it. Radioactive plants secured so badly the surrounding hospitals were filled to the brim with cancer patients. Presidents who criminalized people for their skin, their sex, their religion or orientation” (Whatwashernameagain). It makes we want to bring attention to New Culturism and New Historicism but that’s a whole different can of worms. For now, I’ll just say that in today political and environmental climate these are some real issues and she knows that. She knows her audience, for sure! I feel as if this could be a real power play, not in any bad way but in the sense that she can pull at the concerns of so many readers at once with Logan addressing these issues, submerging them in support of his unconventional solutions. How else do you make a reader fall in love with a villain but with sympathy and support? Brilliant… just bloody brilliant.

“Public acts of violence threatened to cause a brutalization of the human mind and thus cause more violence due to normalizing it by prolonged exposure” (Whatwashernameagain).

I won’t spend too much time on this but… Holmes-esc… just saying… I love it so much!

“Despite any attempts to paint him as a ruthless monster, the people were his ultimate ally… Ultimately, he believed the world would come to understand his superior philosophy” (Whatwashernameagain).

Okay, lets pause for a moment. We get some conflicting information here (not in a bad way). Up until now Logan has isolated himself from the world but now, we find out that the people work with him. This is conflicting not because it goes against what has been said but simply what the reader has assumed (reader-response theory). When we really consider it, of course there would be support for his tactics. Trump has supporters… I don’t see why but he does… It’s only logical that someone who is actually making change for the better (even if his methods are extreme) would have them too…. Wait… Did I just compare Logan to Trump?! I’m going to go cry in a corner now… T.T No, but seriously Eva is making her readers think and ask questions that they have to fill in the blanks for, themselves. Its fantastic! The truth of the matter is, the best works have the readers read between the lines, fill in the blanks, help mold the story to their own liking, and she does this so Wonderfully I am jealous and awed by it all. As for bringing the world around to his philosophy we as a reader know that’s probably not going to happen but that might not be the point of the sentence. Perhaps, its to bring a small sense of eccentric tendencies in a far less subtle manner to Logan or just determination. I feel that it does both whether intended or not and does it beautifully. It makes it obvious that Logan is still lonely and determined to bring others in on his work while deluding himself that they will. I think most of us have been lonely enough that we went just a little crazy at one point or another… Which makes Logan more relatable.

Unfortunately, I have to go to work; but I will be back with a Part 2 of this. I have a lot more to say so be warned! And yes, I realize there’s going to be a lot of TLDR’s but it’s a good thing I’m writing this more for myself than anyone XP so… until next time…

 Purdue Writing Lab. “Reader-Response Criticism // Purdue Writing Lab.” Purdue Writing Lab, https://owl.purdue.edu/owl/subject_specific_writing/writing_in_literature/literary_theory_and_schools_of_criticism/reader_response_criticism.html.

“Utilitarianism.” Dictionary.com, Dictionary.com, https://www.dictionary.com/browse/utilitarianism.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 1.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/187581477262/the-dreamer-chapter-1.

#The dreamer #villain!logan #hero!roman #Sanders Sides #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #logan/roman #analysis #readerresponse #reaction #whatwashernameagain

[connan-l]

Made of lace

Fandom: Natsume’s Book of Friends Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hinoe/Benio, one-sided Hinoe/Reiko Natsume Summary: Hinoe gets a gift from a human. Benio doesn't get it, until she does. [Femslash February 2024 Day 12: Dress] Words: 7,253 Link: AO3 | Fanfiction.net

Notes: When are you going to bring back Benio Miss Midorikawa!!

Hinoe/Benio as a ship is funny to me — I mostly like them cause I think they’re very aesthetically pleasing, but concretely I’m not sure how well they’d actually work. In the tiny glimpses we get of their relationship it doesn’t seem like Hinoe likes Benio at all lol, and we don’t know what Benio’s feelings about her could be. But hey, that’s what fics are for. (Also, I guess technically they don’t entirely fit for Femfeb given yokai aren’t supposed to care much about gender — or at least Benio likely doesn’t. But well.)

Reiko gets mentioned a lot in this too and it was completely against my will… I didn’t intend to make her such a big part of the story but in the end that’s how it went. Sorry I guess I just love Reiko too much so I can’t help it haha.

Like I said in the tag, the Hinoe/Reiko is one-sided much like in canon; but although I don’t think she returned her feelings I do like the idea that Reiko was still fond of Hinoe in some way. It’s hard to tell what Reiko’s feelings on Hinoe were in canon given we only ever get Hinoe’s perspective, but I feel that’s something that might be implied too in the series.

* * *

The thing is, Benio don’t really understand the concept of caring.

Not for other yokai, and certainly, especially not for humans. She does understand it for herself, though; she certainly care about staying alive and feeling content and being entertained. But other people or beings or whatever they might be — that’s something she’s never managed to muster the slightest care for.

Benio lives for herself first and foremost, and truthfully, most ayakashi do as well.

She does understand the concept of respect, though. There are some yokai, usually the powerful ones, that she respects and whom she doesn’t like seeing disrespected. This is the case, for instance, of Lord Riou.

Benio has known Lord Riou for as long as she could remember — she has no idea who between the two of them is the oldest, but through their centuries of mutual coexistence, they probably share a similar lifespan. Ayakashi never pay much attention to time, after all; such a silly, superficial thing best left to the humans.

But Lord Riou does pay attention to time. He pays attention to respect, too — but where he deviates from Benio and most other inhabitants of the forest, is that he also respect, weirdly enough, the humans. That’s the odd particuliarity about Lord Riou — he cares, too much, about too many things. Useless things, like the humans. He cares about making the yokai of the forest, who venerate him like a king, respect humans too. “They’re living creatures just like us,” he said once. “So if you want to keep living on my territory, then you have to let them live in peace as well. I will not tolerate anything else.”

This is utterly ridiculous to Benio, and she knows most yokai think that way as well — after all, what good humans are really for? Poor frail little things, most of them not even capable of just sensing their presence, making a mess of everything that cross their path. They’re only good to torment and to eat for dinner — and even then not all of them are tasty. Most of the forest inhabitants think like this, but they still respect Riou too much to dare challenge him. Lord Riou is powerful, after all — and although he might be about the same age as Benio, he is definitely much, much stronger. And strength is law in their world.

But even with all this strength, Lord Riou never touch humans — because, for some stupid, unfathomable reason, Lord Riou loves them. He often disguises himself as one of their kin, spend time in their villages, play around, talk, laugh with them. And whenever he comes back, there’s a brightness in his eyes, an awed look on his face; and the wonder radiating from his being sometimes even makes it hard to just look at him. Because it makes Benio ponders what on earth he might’ve found in the human village that gave him this expression — what on earth might’ve gotten him to care so much.

“He got his heart stolen,” Lady Hinoe says during a party before laughing loudly. “What a pitiful thing.”

Benio doesn’t know Lady Hinoe very much. She’d seen her and talked to her a few times here and there, and she had heard of her even before that. Hinoe is quite famous around here, after all; the bearer of curses who loves stealing the hearts of innocent, pretty humans girls only to torment them later on — and who does much worse to human men. She’s among the only ayakashi allowed to speak poorly of Lord Riou in these parts, because she is also very strong and anyone daring to criticizes her would get themselves cursed.

They say she is actually a real romantic despite her habit of breaking human girls’ hearts — and that she goes around looking for female yokai lovers in desperate search of her one true love. Benio thinks this particular part is ridiculous — romance means caring, and caring is something that would never makes any sense to her. Yokai who so desperately tries to replicate humans’ stupid relationships and customs are the most abject of beings to her. Nevertheless, she has to admit that a part of her cannot help but be interested by Lady Hinoe. She is quite powerful and elegant and gorgeous, after all, and Benio loves beauty. She’ll always be a butterfly at heart, unable to resist the attraction of shiny pretty things. However, she does find Lady Hinoe too boisterous for her tastes, often lacking in delicacy, and so that actively discourages her to get any closer to her.

She thinks, however, that Lady Hinoe must be right about Lord Riou this time. He must have gotten a part of him stolen by the humans; and in turns, he often come back with things he took from them, too.

“I haven’t stolen anything from them, Benio,” he replies to her once, after pulling out an ugly fake puppy made of cotton he’d gotten from that human hunter he mentions regularly. Riou always takes the appearance of a child when he goes to the village, so that might be why the hunter thought he’d like a stuffed animal. “He gave it to me. As my friend.”

Benio snorts, and manage to not roll her eyes. “Friend. And what are you going to even do with this, Lord Riou?”

“Cherish it, of course. This is what gifts from people you love are for, don’t you agree?”

Benio huffs, and thinks, I don’t love people, even less so if these people are humans. And while she doesn’t say it out loud, Riou seems to read it on her face, because then he gives her a strange, fond look, and gently smile at her.

Benio thinks she hates that smile. Such a soft thing is unbefitting of being on the face of one of the strongest yokai she knows, one who rule over the forest.

“That’s a sad thing to not agree on. I hope you do, one day.”

And then Benio actually let herself laugh.

What a ridiculous king. She wishes she didn’t respect him as much.

* * *

Reiko Natsume. Lady Natsume. Natsume of the Book of Friends. Or, sometimes, just ‘Reiko’ or just ‘Natsume.’

Benio doesn’t really remember when that human’s name started spreading like wildfire among yokai, but the moment it did it seemed to be all they could talk about. She seemed like a disease, almost; poisoning and destroying everything on her way. She mercilessly took the names of any who dared to oppose her, weaponizing such terrifying powers, and she quickly became a legend among the forest and mountains; a girl as powerful as a god and as scary as an oni.

Among all these rumors, Benio can’t really tell the truth from the lie, but no one is spared. Even Lord Riou gets challenged by her and, stunningly, actually loses — which the whole forest still hasn’t gotten over. And, maybe unsurprisingly, even Lord Madara and Lady Hinoe seems taken by the strange phenomenon.

“Lord Madara, what’s going on with Lady Hinoe?” Benio asks the large wolfish creature one night.

Benio has known Madara for quite some time; although much like Riou, she wouldn’t be able to tell how many. He is older than her, though, she is pretty sure; older than most ayakashi around, really. Much like Benio, he doesn’t like people, yokai or humans — so that’s a rarity to see him at a party. The only thing the grumpy Lord Madara seems to enjoy is his sake, but he generally prefer to enjoy it alone; that’s why Benio was so surprised to see him here tonight.

Although he does seem more social lately, for some reason. Coincidentally since Natsume has started hanging around here. Madara is hard to get along with, but Benio finds him amusing. He is always complaining and trying to keep his distance with everyone, but at the end of the day, he is not that different from Lord Riou — both have a heart way too soft for all the power they possesses; but the difference is that Lord Riou wear that heart in his sleeve, while Lord Madara tries to hide it has much as possible.

The beast slurps at his large cup of sake, then snorts as his gaze poise on the blue-haired yokai slumped against a tree. She’s alone, frowning, and clearly not having a great time. In fact, it doesn’t even seem like she wants to be here at all.

“She’s gotten rejected by Natsume,” he explains, and Benio arches an eyebrow.

“Natsume? Did she stole her name?”

“Worse. She stole her heart.”

Benio blinks. Doesn’t really understand the meaning of that until long, long seconds later.

“What?”

“Natsume didn’t even want her name. Hinoe got smitten, but the girl doesn’t want to have anything to do with her.”

“S— Smitten? Lady Hinoe? With a human?”

That sounds so ridiculous Benio can’t even wrap her mind around it. Lady Hinoe fooled around with human girls a lot, but only to torment them. She certainly never had any real feelings for them. Even a yokai falling for another yokai in itself was ludicrous, so for a human?

How shameful. Disgusting. Benio can’t even bear the idea.

“The girl turned her trick on her,” Lord Madara continues. “How pathetic.”

“You say this as if you don’t spend all your time hanging out around that Natsume human as well,” another ayakashi throws at Lord Madara, and then a couple others chuckles. The moment the old wolf glares at them, however, they cut it off instantly.

It is true, though. Benio has heard about Lord Madara’s strange habit to spend time with the girl as well. Which is even more mesmerizing than Lady Hinoe’s newfound love to her, given how much he hates people. Not that she’d actually say that to his face, of course — she values her life too much.

Benio sighs, then, after a moment of consideration, she leaves Lord Madara’s side and approaches Lady Hinoe. She sit down next to her, but Hinoe barely acknowledges her presence.

“Good evening, Lady Hinoe. Don’t you look lovely tonight,” she says, and Hinoe huffs.

“Go away, Benio. I don’t want to entertain you.”

“So that is true, then? You got infatuated with some human? How disgraceful.”

“Reiko isn’t ‘some human.’ Watch your tongue.”

Benio scoffs. “What is so special about that girl, anyway? Is she the big one true love you’ve been looking for?”

Finally, Lady Hinoe turns her head towards her, red eyes glaring and red lips tight with anger. Benio don’t look away. Lady Hinoe is stronger than her, but that doesn’t mean Benio fear her, either.

“Someone like you could never understand.”

And Hinoe’s probably right, too. Benio never cared for caring about anyone but her, after all.

Even so, she doesn’t leave Lady Hinoe. She stays there, next to her, for the rest of the party — and it’s not to comfort her, certainly not, but even Benio wouldn’t be able to tell a reason if anyone asked.

* * *

Benio finds out what the big deal about Reiko Natsume is not long after that.

It all happens very quickly; one moment she was simply leisurely walking down the river as usual, and the next she found herself spectator of a conflict between a young girl and a dozen of tsuchigumo wanting to skin her alive. The human has no problem taking them down all at once thanks to a weird long, polished stick covered in talismans, and Benio watches the whole thing take place without a sound, a little bemused. She wasn’t going to feel bad for the tsuchigumo — as a butterfly yokai herself she very much was not their biggest fan — but she did feel quite baffled a little human girl was able to demonstrate such a show of strength.

It doesn't take long for Benio to realize that this girl was none other than the infamous Reiko Natsume, owner of the Book of Friends — after all, who else could it be? There certainly were no other human around that would fit the description. When she noticed Benio’s presence after her showdown with the tsuchigumo, Natsume grinned and challenged her to a match — but Benio liked her name and independence too much to accept it. She changed into a butterfly and flew off before the girl could say anything more, and she seemed quite shocked to have been rebutted that way. Benio supposes that didn’t happen very often to her, after all — and she would learn later the only other ayakashi who had ever refused one of her games was Lord Madara himself.

Benio kept catching glimpses of Reiko Natsume here and there after that. Sometimes with Madara, sometimes with Hinoe, sometimes alone. And… well — for as much as Benio had been pretty annoyed by the obsession the yokai of the forest had for that child, right now, she had to admit that she did start to feel intrigued. At least a little. There was definitely something… special, emanating from this girl. She was just so different from other humans, so mesmerizing; a little scary, a little endearing, a little sad; and it was hard not to be captivated. She was also quite pretty, with her long silver hair and sharp green eyes — and on that sense, Benio supposed Lady Hinoe didn’t have bad tastes. Benio was not, would never be, enthralled by such a creature — Benio did not care. But the more she caught sight of the little human girl, the more the ambient fascination made sense.

But at the very least she felt relieved that she would never behave as ridiculously as Lady Hinoe when it came to Reiko Natsume. The poor thing seemed to have completely thrown her pride away; whenever the girl was around or even just mentioned, she would become so utterly joyful, ecstatic, euphoric. Desperate to get her attention or please her in anyway. Benio had never seen her like that before, ever.

And despite how beautiful Lady Hinoe usually was, Benio could barely stand to stare at her in that state.

It is during one sunny summer morning that Benio comes across Lady Hinoe in the strangest form of all. She is, as often lately, in a particular good mood; humming to herself, spinning around like a little child with a big smile; but her expression isn’t the only strange thing. What she’s wearing is.

This is a dress. A human dress, Benio presumes — and more than presumes, actually, she realizes while scrunching her nose because that thing stinks of humans. How is Lady Hinoe able to wear this without throwing up is baffling.

It is of a delicate, deep scarlet color, all in lace and fluff, tightening Lady Hinoe’s silhouette from the shoulders to the knee and leaving her arms completely bare. Maybe Benio would find it pretty if it wasn’t for the fact this is something clearly made for humans by humans, and humans are the ugliest thing in the world.

(Well, except Reiko Natsume, but she does not count. Benio sometimes even doubt that this girl is human at all.)

Lady Hinoe finally notices her presence as she stops being busy contemplating her silhouette in the surface of the river. She turns around, her strawberry lips matching her eyes and dress smiling brightly at her — and if Benio’s heart twitches a little at the sight, well, she simply ignores it, like she does most things she doesn’t like. Lady Hinoe must be in an especially good mood today for her to smile like this at Benio of all people, instead of her face crumpling in distaste like she usually does upon seeing her.

“Oh ho! Look who’s here, if that isn’t Benio.” She spins around once again, then take a pan of her dress in order to show off the outfit. “How do I look?”

Benio arches an eyebrow at her cheerfulness. “Human.”

She can’t help it. She certainly would never gave a compliment to anyone when they’re wearing something man-made, and even less so to Lady Hinoe.

The bearer of curses groan, then roll her eyes. “Well, yes, it is.”

“And you’re still wearing it.”

“I do. I don’t like human things, but this one is different.”

“Different how so?”

Hinoe grins, almost smugly, as if she knows a secret nobody else knows. “Reiko gave it to me.”

Somehow, that might explains the blasphemous sight of a yokai wearing humans’ clothes she has in front of her, but that only manage to make Benio feel even more confused.

“Why would she do that?”

Finally, Lady Hinoe’s smile falter a little at this, and a slight frown take its place instead. “That, I’m not really sure. She just told me she ended up getting this dress, but she doesn’t like it, so she gave it to me instead.”

“How nice of her.”

“Isn’t it? To think I’m the first woman she thinks of when she needs to give a dress to someone!”

And she is sincere, too. Her red eyes are shining, her cheeks are tainted of a slight blush and her smile is so big it might threaten to swallow her whole face. She looks so happy, and so in love, and Benio’s mouth turns to ashes.

She cannot believe how delusional Lady Hinoe is when it comes to Reiko Natsume. She doesn’t even have the heart to point out the poor lonely girl probably doesn’t even know any other woman besides Hinoe — as much as a yokai can be called a ‘woman,’ anyway — and that she literally said she did not like that dress. It isn’t a sweet, thoughtful gift, more like something Natsume didn’t know what to do with and threw at Lady Hinoe at random because she wanted to get rid of it.

(Although truthfully, why didn’t she just threw it in the trash then is a bit of a mystery.)

But Lady Hinoe doesn’t even seem to care about any of that. To her, it is a nice gesture from Natsume towards her, specifically — and so she accepts it like birds throwing themselves at bread crumbs.

“She even called me beautiful, you know? She said it’d fit me. So I’ve decided I was just going to wear it all the time now. Maybe then she’ll keep calling me beautiful!”

“I think she’d rather you stop following her around like that all the time. Doesn’t humans have a word for that? And they threw people in cages for it as well?”

Lady Hinoe rolls her eyes. “I don’t ‘follow her around all the time.’ And anyway, that’s not the topic now. You still haven’t answered my question. Do I look good? I think I’ll try a new haircut too, so I need to know.”

Benio feels like she’s facing a strange dilemma. There can only be one response to this question, because truthfully Lady Hinoe is beautiful and, objectively speaking, so is this dress despite its… humanness, so there’s no way she cannot say yes. But the whole perspective of Lady Hinoe, the cruel, powerful bearer of curses, dressing up in a human dress just to pleases a human girl and having the slight, slight chance of gaining a little bit of her care, is so nauseating to Benio.

She may understand the fascination for Natsume, but she just cannot, no matter what, wrap her mind around why Lady Hinoe let herself degrade herself like this that badly.

“You know she’s going to die one day, right?” She says instead of replying. “Quicker than you’ll realize, too. One day you’ll blink and she’ll be all wrinkled and gray-haired and she’ll be a rotting corpse before you even notice it. You know that, right?”

And Benio doesn’t think she’s being particularly cruel here — this is something only normal, logical, to know about. This is one of the reasons why caring for humans — for anyone, really, but especially for humans — is so utterly ridiculous.

This is why Benio refuses to be as stupid as Lady Hinoe and Lord Madara and all those other dull-witted yokai who got their names and hearts stolen and yearn endlessly for the affection of a girl who doesn’t even know how to love.

Benio may enjoy Reiko Natsume, may have fun watching her dominates the forest — but she’ll never, ever allows herself to love her.

But then at her words Hinoe’s face crumple. It feels as if Benio told her the most evil thing she’s ever heard, and she first briefly looks afflicted before quickly switching to anger — and Benio instinctively flinch, then, because an angry Lady Hinoe is never something good to witness.

“Right,” she says with so much spite Benio feel a chill going down her spine. “I don’t know why I even bothered to ask you. I don’t care what you think. Go be a miserable, bitter insect and die all alone in a corner without anyone caring for you.”

And then Lady Hinoe simply turns around and leaves, and Benio thinks she would’ve preferred she put a curse on her instead. Although she feels a little like she was forced to suddenly swallows a thousands of needles, so maybe she did curse her after all, Benio just hasn’t noticed it.

Once the shock fade away, however, it is Benio’s turn to feel angry. Because who is being the fool here, really? Benio is the one who’s going to die alone and miserable, when Hinoe’s the idiot pinning for a mortal girl she’ll never have?

Benio may die alone, one day, in a few thousands of centuries, but she will most certainly not die miserable.

Because unlike Hinoe, and Madara, and Riou and all those other mindless dunces, she knows perfectly what to expects from life and doesn’t try to yearn for anything more.

On that sense, she is pretty sure that she and Reiko Natsume are exactly the same.

* * *

The day the owner of the Book of Friends disappears plunge the forest into deep, deep mourning.

So many of the forest inhabitants looks for her, begs for her presence, calls her name — but as usual, Reiko Natsume is cold and unfeeling and she never, ever calls anyone back.

Benio has no idea what happened to her, but one day she just stopped coming — and that shouldn’t be surprising, really, with that whimsical girl, but it doesn’t change the feeling of something being suddenly missing. Benio doesn’t really think she’s dead — because truthfully, no matter how much she made fun of Lady Hinoe for seemingly thinking Reiko Natsume would always be here, there’s something a little… everlasting, about that girl. She is a human, a mortal, but she doesn’t really seems like one — so the idea of anyone getting the best of her sounds ludicrous.

But she stops coming. Regardless of what actually happened to her, that still means she’s not here anymore; and so she might as well be dead. Most yokai around seems to understand that and starts mourning her as such. Even Lord Misuzu of the swamp has become much more quieter than usual.

This is also followed by the disappearance of Lord Riou — and then of Lord Madara. It almost feels like the girl took those two down with her, even if she feels that can’t be right. Although it might be for Lord Madara. He was, after all, spending most of his time with her, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he was somehow involved in her sudden vanishment.

Benio doesn’t mourn. She never cared for Reiko Natsume, she keeps repeating to herself — so whether she comes or not to the forest anymore, it is none of business.

Benio doesn’t mourn, and doesn’t care — but sometimes, ever so slightly, she feels like she can catch the sight of a silver thread behind a tree, of a fluttering skirt at the detour of a bushes, the swing of a stick covered in talismans whenever she sees a tsuchigumo; and every time she’s proven to be wrong, she feels her heart deflates in disappointment, in a strange sadness that she doesn’t quite understand. Doesn’t really let herself understand.

That’s an ache in her chest that an uncaring person like her doesn’t need — that she swore to herself she would never feel, and she just… doesn’t know what to do with it.

She tries to bear it; doesn’t have any other choice. Hopes it’ll fade away with time.

(It doesn’t.

And then she feels like the biggest fool of them all — because for as much as she looked down on all those other yokai who let themselves gets attached, she’s really not that different.

She preserved her name, but her heart was snatched away regardless.)

That aches that Benio feels, however, is clearly nothing in comparison to what Lady Hinoe must feel.

Truthfully, she doesn’t really sees her in the days and weeks and months that follows Natsume’s disappearance. Mostly because Hinoe spend all this time looking for her, and the few times Benio catch sight of her is when she’s coming back to the forest, alone and empty handed and with eyes darker than hell itself. Benio vaguely heard rumors of Natsume and Hinoe having had a falling out of sorts before she left, so she wonders if maybe, on top of missing her, Hinoe simply feels guilty. Maybe she thinks Natsume is deliberately ignoring her; which, for all she knows, might actually be true. She looks like a ghost, wandering around looking for the girl, doing favors for random yokai so that they might maybe give her the slightest bit of information about her lost beloved.

None of it works, of course, because Benio has no doubt that if Reiko Natsume doesn’t want to be found, no one will be able to do it. So the months and years goes by, and Lady Hinoe looks more and more wretched; just a shadow of her former glorious self. She has no interest in tricking and tormenting young girls anymore, no interest in the parties and sake, no interest in throwing curse around just because she can. The yokai still speak about Natsume of the Book of Friends, in discreet whispers and awed voices, but the more time flow by with no sight of the girl, and the more she feels like an actual legend, sometimes posing doubt as to whether she even really existed in the first place.

One day, Benio come across Lady Hinoe in the dim light of a clearing. She’s all alone, her long blue hair cascading her shoulders, wearing her usual kimono. She’s staring down at something, on the ground, with vacant eyes.

Benio wishes she could say meeting Lady Hinoe here is a coincidence, like it is most times, but… it isn’t. She’s actually been keeping an eye on her for some time now, even tracking her around. If Hinoe noticed that, she did not make any mentions of it.

Benio doesn’t do it because she cares. She doesn’t. This is just… out of curiosity. To sees what Lady Hinoe intends to do next.

And that pitiful sight in front of her — a disheveled woman, shadow of the mighty, feared yokai she used to be, also does nothing to her heart. No ache at all. Benio doesn’t feel angry in the slightest about seeing someone as powerful and beautiful as Lady Hinoe in such a state, when she should know better — when she should’ve known better from the start.

“You knew she was going to leave at some point, right?” Benio asks. Lady Hinoe doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. “If not leave, she would have died one day. Or what? Did you think you could convince her to stay here her whole life? That you would’ve been able to — turn her into one of us, somehow?”

Not that it would’ve been impossible. Humans turning into yokai are not uncommon, after all; although Benio herself has met very few of them. And for someone as unhappy, lonely and powerful as Reiko Natsume, who had already been shunned by her own kin and sometimes even barely felt human at all — well, honestly, it probably wouldn’t have have been that hard or surprising. Though the idea very much repulse Benio.

In some way, humans are much like butterflies; they live only for an instant and disappear just as soon — but there's still a major difference between them, and it's their ways of life. Benio was blessed to become a yokai, but humans should just stay humans. They do not possesses the aptitude to becomes eternal creatures defying their fates. Is that any wonder that every human-turned-yokai she’s heard of are miserable beings that are only talked about as tragedies, unable to truly fit in and accept their newfound condition? Benio never missed her past before turning into a yokai, but that’s because she used to only be a mindless insect with no dreams or wishes of her own. A human, on the other hand, would always mourn the former life they got robbed of.

But this is also the only thing that Benio have over Reiko Natsume. She’ll never be as strong or as fascinating as her or win over Lady Hinoe’s heart as thoroughly as she did, but at least Benio would get to share that eternal life with Hinoe.

“I knew,” Lady Hinoe suddenly says without looking up from the ground, almost surprising Benio. “I knew… that she was going to be gone one day.” She chuckles, but it sounds empty, even to Benio’s ears. “Truthfully, I also knew she didn’t care much for me. I’m not like Madara; I was only one of many yokai to her — and she probably has already forgotten all about me. She didn’t even judge me interesting enough to have in her Book.”

Benio doesn’t point out Lord Madara wasn’t in the Book of Friends either. She isn’t sure what it means, if it means anything at all; but she doesn’t think her name being in the Book or not is any indication of Natsume’s feelings for Lady Hinoe either way.

But it’s not like it matter much anymore.

Reiko Natsume is gone, so no one will ever be able to tell.

“Why are you still here?” Lady Hinoe asks, and suddenly she lifts her head towards Benio.

Her ruby eyes are very dark, very empty; and Benio… Benio, as it has often been the case in the last few years, can’t stand to look at them. Can’t stand to see her eyes so dull and dead.

That is not a look that the great Lady Hinoe, bearer of the curses, should have.

She might have found her disgusting, but she would take back the lively, cheerful Lady Hinoe in love any day over this one.

So for once, Benio decides to be honest.

“I thought you would need the company.”

Lady Hinoe stares at her in silence. It is like she is trying to gauge the veracity of those words, and Benio actually wishes she can tell that she is being honest.

But then the moment is gone, and Hinoe just laughs.

“I don’t want company.”

Lady Hinoe turns around, and it is only now that Benio realizes what the other ayakashi has been staring at all this time on the ground: the scarlet human dress. It looks dirty and teared apart at the seams, and Benio looks down at it curiously, as if not comprehending what she’s seeing.

Hinoe cared so much for that dress. Treasured it so much, like a precious diamond; like it was Reiko Natsume herself. And now she just decided to leave it on the ground carelessly, letting it get dirtied and muddied by the forest like that?

“That dress…”

“I don’t need it anymore. I doubt Reiko cared that much about it anyway.”

Lady Hinoe leaves, long hair sweeping in her back, not even sparing a single glance at the dress or Benio.

And Benio, miserably, shamefully, pathetically, aches.

She aches at Reiko Natsume’s departure, she aches at Hinoe’s pitiful state, she aches at the pretty human dress, the cherished gift, now drowning in mud all by itself.

Benio never know how to handle that ache — so in an attempt to soothe it, she bends down and get back the piece of cloth.

* * *

Reiko Natsume’s grandson is just like her and just not like her in all the parts that matters.

Their physical resemblance is striking; so much it is a little disturbing to see. He has her face and her eyes and her hair and her frightening powers, but his smile is genuine and kind, his voice is soft, his words friendly. Whereas Reiko only communicated through fighting and stealing, Takashi talks and gives back. Benio cannot stop thinking about his statement, when she first met him, about him wanting to be “a bridge between humans and yokai.”

How ridiculous, she’d thought then. But the more she watches him — the more good he’s able to do throughout the forest and the more yokai he’s able to help — the more a part of her feel this wish might not just be some stupid throwaway words.

He cares too much, just like Riou and Madara and Hinoe, and as Benio keeps on watching him, she wonders when that caring is inevitably going to cost him.

Just like what happened to Lord Riou. Although he might be back now, that caring took so much out of him that he decided to swear off seeing humans ever again. And Benio is glad for him, too. She certainly doesn’t understand how anyone would to keep doing this after getting hurt this badly.

She thought Lady Hinoe and Lord Madara would have come to the same conclusion as Lord Riou after what happened with Reiko Natsume too — but, bewilderingly, they don’t. It seems the both of them still ended up falling head over heels over her grandson regardless.

So Benio watches.

She watches the boy and his merry group of monsters from afar —and feel some longing, some aches over seeing this human child who looks so much like Reiko Natsume but isn’t her; and then she suddenly realizes that she’s starting to grow the same fascination and attachment for him that she had for his grandmother. So much for not wanting to stay with humans, like she said to Lord Madara.

She inadvertently end up joining Takashi Natsume’s silly yokai followers half against her will — friends, he calls them, just like what Lord Riou called his humans — and party with them, while her brain keeps screaming at her that she would do better to cut ties and run away from here before she gets contaminated by the strange illness that has taken over Lady Hinoe and Lord Madara years and years before. She knows how the story ends. She’s seen it, experienced it before with Reiko Natsume — and it is not a happy story.

But she doesn’t run away.

She stays, while doing her best to keep on not caring.

(It doesn’t really work.)

It is one night, to her utter surprise, that Lady Hinoe comes to see her out of the blue. That has never happened before; usually, they only each other by coincidence, at parties, or Benio is the one seeking her out. Although she stopped doing this since the last time they saw each other after Reiko Natsume’s disappearance.

But this time, Lady Hinoe visits her on her own at Benio’s cozy little clearer hidden next to a large summer lilac. Benio doesn’t have a home the way humans does — unless the whole of the forest count as one — but this is the place she enjoys coming back to when she needs rest and silence. This isn’t a secret, either, so Lady Hinoe knowing about it shouldn’t be odd — yet Benio can’t hide her surprise, staring at her in stunned silence. Hinoe chuckles.

“What’s the long face for? Can’t I go visit an old friend when I want to?”

“I had no idea we were friends,” Benio replies, actually genuine. She could give a lot of names to her relationship with Lady Hinoe, but friends isn’t one of them.

“Natsume calls you his friend, and I’m Natsume’s friend.”

“Even if I were to agree that I am indeed young Natsume’s friend, that still would not make us friends.”

“Heh. Well, I suppose not. Then again, believe it or not, you’re not the worst ayakashi to hang around with. Plus, I like your female appearance.”

Benio snorts. Although she is also someone who’s always put a lot of importance into the appearances of others — she would never give the time of day to anyone even remotely ugly to her tastes — she never understood Lady Hinoe’s obsession for those human gender things either.

“I just wanted to see you, I guess,” Lady Hinoe says. “I was surprised to see you started hanging out with Natsume too. I mean, he’s not really the type you take an interest in usually — and you always says humans disgusts you. Well, you don’t really take interest in anyone in general.”

“That is true. But that child did save Lord Riou. Lord Madara seems fond of him. And,” she says with some hesitance, proceeding carefully with her next words. “He is still Reiko Natsume’s grandson. That alone make him worthy of interest.”

Lady Hinoe chuckles again, but doesn’t add anything else.

“…You seem to be doing fine,” Benio declares after some seconds of silence.

“Hmm? Do I?”

“After Reiko Natsume left, you were a mess. I was wondering if you’d ever go back to normal.”

Lady Hinoe appears to contemplates the words for a moment. “I don’t think I’ll ever go back to how I was before Reiko,” she says, a quiet sadness in her voice. “She changed me too much. But… that’s true. I am better. I still can’t fathom the fact she is actually dead, though. Even after she disappeared, I kept hoping that maybe one day she’ll…” She shake her head. “Well, it was stupid. I’ve come to terms with it now. And I’m glad I got to meet her grandson, he’s a funny child. Very disappointing he’s a boy, though.”

Lady Hinoe’s apparent fondness for the Natsume boy is more surprising than Benio hanging out with him, truthfully. After all, not only is he a man, but he’s also the type of person Lady Hinoe usually dislikes — too frail, too gentle, too self-sacrificing. And yet she seems almost as attached to him as she was to his grandmother. Maybe the boy does have some strange magical powers.

“…I’m curious to see that you’re not jealous.”

“Jealous?” Hinoe repeats.

“Of Reiko Natsume’s supposed lover. I would think you would hate it. That she found someone else, especially a man.”

“Oh.” Lady Hinoe seems to ponder over this, then shake her head. “Maybe I would have, years ago. I can’t say I’m happy about it either, but… After she left, I kept wondering what her life might be like. I wondered if she was still lonely. If she found someone who truly loved her, then that is not something I can possibly be angry about, right? …Even if it was a man.”

Maybe that makes sense. In a way, she’d already mourned Reiko Natsume’s death throughout all those decades. Maybe she’d actually accepted long ago the fact there was no way a human like Reiko, no matter how exceptional, would ever build a life with a yokai and that it was only natural she’d settle down with another one of her kind one day.

Lady Hinoe’s gaze suddenly leaves Benio’s eyes to fixates on something behind her. A rock, that stands right under the summer lilac, and Benio almost feel her heart skip a beat as she realizes what the other ayakashi is staring at.

There is a piece of cloth, on the rock. An old lace dress, of a deep scarlet color.

At first, neither of them speak a single word; until Lady Hinoe finally opens her mouth, and murmurs, in a barely audible voice: “You kept it.”

“…I did.”

“Why?”

Lady Hinoe’s slender, manicured fingers grabs the dress, slowly caressing the tissue. Although it is now quite old, it’s still been kept very clean and polished; Benio has made sure of it. She took care of it carefully for all those years, hidden away from prying eyes, as if it was still waiting for someone to put it on.

Benio can’t answer her question. There is no logical reason that would’ve pushed her to do such a thing; no explanation that would makes sense for her character, with her way of life.

The only reason that could be given is a sentimental one; that it was a present once given to a yokai by a human, a gift like that plush Lord Riou kept so preciously. Something that has no meaning, but once made that yokai so very happy.

The only reason Benio would’ve done something like this is if she were to care for Lady Hinoe — and there is no way she would allow herself that.

“I don’t know,” is thus the only thing she can say; and then Hinoe looks at her and, bewilderingly, actually smile. If she didn’t know any better, Benio would almost feel embarrassed because it almost feel like Lady Hinoe saw right through her lie.

“Well… You did a good job at keeping it intact. It almost looks exactly like the day Reiko gave it to me.”

“…Maybe we could give it to her grandson.”

Lady Hinoe laughs. “And what would he do with it? He’s a boy, remember?”

“Does human boys not wear dresses? I’ll never understand human customs.”

Lady Hinoe shake her head, though Benio doesn’t know if it’s because she thinks she’s being stupid or because she agrees with her statement.

“Reiko didn’t even like that dress anyway. That’s why she gave it to me.”

Sadness permeates her words once more, before being swept away as she looks at Benio again.

“Thanks for keeping it,” she says. “I was a fool to throw it away, and I actually regretted it afterwards. It does mean a lot to me… especially now that she’s not here anymore.” She hesitates a little, and a bit more bashfully, she adds: “You won’t ever hear that from me again, but I wanted to say I was sorry for how I treated you before. You were right, too. Obviously, caring so much for Reiko was stupid, but… But I still don’t regret it. Despite everything.”

Benio doesn’t answer, and tries not to look away, tries not to let the warmth that blossoms through her chest not show too much on her face. She wonders if Lady Hinoe can tell anyway, because she grins back at her.

“You never did tell me how you thought I looked in it. Was I beautiful?”

Lady Hinoe doesn’t regret caring for Reiko Natsume, for her grandson, but Benio does. She knows caring only leads to bad things. Only leads to regret and suffering.

Yokai don’t need caring. But then, she thinks about the look in Lord Riou’s eyes as he spoke of his human friends, of the way Lord Madara’s face lit up when he is at the Natsume boy’s sides, at Lady Hinoe’s shining figure when she was in love with the Natsume girl.

Benio doesn’t let herself caring — but just this once, instead of answering, she let herself step forward towards Hinoe and press her lips against hers.

#Natsume Yuujinchou #NatsuYuu #Natsume's Book of Friends #Hinoe #FemslashFeb2024 #Benio #HinoBeni #BeniHino #Femslash February #Femslash Feb #FemFeb #Natsuchou #Connan's Fanfics #Hinoe NatsuYuu #Benio NatsuYuu #Hinoe x Benio

[connan-l]

bittersweet

Fandom: Ciconia: When They Cry Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Mariana/Noor Summary: While Cairo Squad is on a trip to Lubango, Mariana invites Noor to eat cakes with her. [Femslash February 2024 Day 3: Cake] Words: 3,118 Link: AO3 | Fanfiction.net

Notes: Late annual Ciconia FemFeb fic delivery. It’s meant to be for Day 3: Cake, from those prompts.

I feel like the Cairo Squad girls could be a fun OT3 in and of itself, but admittedly Gannet is like Naima to me in which she feels too… young and childish compared to the others to really ship her with them? I know we don’t have canon ages for the Ciconia kids, but in my head Gannet and Naima are more 12-13 years old, whereas the others are 15-17 years old. (Though I admit I’m a bit of a hypocrite here as I do enjoy Naima/Rukhi as a pairing, if only for the pink/black aesthetic.) So that’s why I actually settled for Noor/Mariana as a ship, even though admittedly Mariana really don’t seem to appreciate Noor whatsoever so that was a bit tricky to do. As a result the fic feel more like an unrequited crush-fic than an actual pairing-fic, but I hope that’s still satisfying.

In Mariana’s profile, it is mentioned that she went to the “Lubango Toddler Brainpower Research Center” as a child, so that’s why I decided that Lubango was her hometown — though obviously I don’t know if it’s actually the case in canon. Noor’s profile also mentions her “ancestors,” so although it could mean anything I interpreted it has her having an actual biological family instead of being born through a factory.

Also I never went to Lubango or even Angola before and I know very little about the culture/country, so I hope I was able to be mostly-accurate from the tidbits about it I put in there. If I wasn’t you’re free to yell at me about it!

On the other hand, I still haven’t replayed Ciconia since. Well, 2019 now. And truthfully we don’t know much about Cairo Squad girls, so, not sure how… accurate to their game-self they feel. But it was still fun to try writing them.

No spoilers here except for the start of Phase 1, or content warnings except for the inevitable vague mentions of war/child soldiers.

* * *

The trip to Angola hadn’t been planned.

They were still in Cairo this morning when suddenly their superior let them know that because of some political complications their squad was needed in Lubango. Nothing serious, he’d assured them — and truthfully they were only needed to make act of presence more than anything — but they couldn’t just ignore it, either. So here they were, a few hours later, in Lubango. They’d taken part to the needed boring reunion, during which they hadn’t even been allowed to say a single thing. They should be used to it by now; as soldiers, the only thing expected of them was to listen to orders, but it was still frustrating to be treated that way sometimes. And once that had been over, their superior gave them permission to have a break and to do whatever they wanted. They’ll go back to Egypt tonight, but for now they had the whole afternoon entirely free.

Noor didn’t know Lubango. Since she’d become a Gauntlet Knight, she’d visited a lot of cities throughout the whole continent and even outside of the continent. She might not be as familiar with ACR’s countries as Princess Rethabile, but she still went multiples times to Lagos, Abidjan, Alger, Lubumbashi, Douala or Gqeberha. However, it was the first time she’d ever set foot in Angola; she’d never even been to Luanda before. The only thing she knew about it besides some surface-level history was the fact it was where the famous Lubango Toddler Brainpower Research Center was, and that it was Mariana’s hometown.

Which, despite how interesting the city might be otherwise, was actually what interested Noor the most. She tried to appears as her usual, composed self, but inside she actually felt herself fidgeting as soon as they landed to Lubango Mukanka Airport. As they strolled through the streets, she couldn’t help but look around left and right, trying to imagine a little Mariana running around here and how cute she must have been all while her ears kept catching bits of Portuguese and occasionally Umbundu conversations. Noor had decided to not use her Kizuna translator here, as she thought it would be good practice for her — she’d decided last year to start learning Portuguese and Umbundu not only because it could be useful even in their era, but also because she hoped Mariana would be more open to her if she were to communicate in her native languages; but so far, as usual with Mariana, her efforts had been in vain.

Even though they’ve been teammates for a while, Noor didn’t know much about Mariana. She’d heard about her being born in Lubango; about how she was the only one of the children who received mental training at the Lubango Toddler Brainpower Research Center to achieve the highest P3 levels of her country, and that the ACR Royal Brainpower Research Center has set up a research team just to raise her Aerial Augmented Infantry aptitude. But all of these were information anyone could know about her. When it came to more personal things, like how she grew up, whether she had a family or was born through a factory, if she had any friends or siblings… There was nothing. And whenever she tried to make conversation to know more, Mariana always shot her down right away. Gannet had no idea how lucky she was, to be able to gain her affection like that with no effort whatsoever — and yet she always rejected it. That was how their squad’s relationship had been since the beginning, but it was not any less so frustrating.

“Wow…! That looks so cute! Hey, hey, big sis Noor, have you seen this? Do you think it’d look cute on me?”

The smallest girl of their trio excitedly tugged at Noor’s skirt with a wide smile spread on her face and her blue eyes sparkling, but Noor only groaned. At the start of their break, Mariana had been kind enough to accept to take them on a tour to show them around — although it had only been at Gannet’s insistence that she’d accepted — and yet that damn puppy had not stopped being overexcited for one second, stopping and pointing at every little thing; and, of course, specifically soliciting Noor’s attention. It was always like that, so Noor should be used to it by now. She wasn’t.

“I told you to not pull on my clothes. And no, I don’t think it would.”

“How shameful to say something like that. You truly have no heart,” Mariana suddenly argued back with her usual blank face, although Noor could tell she was annoyed at her comment. “Don’t worry, Gannet. Of course this looks cute on you. You look adorable in everything. Come here.”

Mariana tried to pet Gannet, but the girl avoided her with a pout. “Stop petting me! You know I hate that. I only want to be petted by big sis Noor!”

And then she yet again tugged on her skirt, and Noor sighed, making it clear that no, she would not pet her, stop asking. She would never ever understand what Mariana found so endearing about that idiotic child. She was so immature and noisy and irresponsible; just the sight of her managed to give Noor headache.

And yet, Mariana spent all of her time fawning over her. Noor knew that it was silly of her, to be jealous of Gannet like that — but she couldn’t help it. No matter what she could try or not try, Mariana always favored Gannet over everything, and she always refused any attempt from Noor’s part to get closer to her.

That was, until today. Allah may have finally answered her prayers then, because right after that Gannet actually got lost.

Or, well, it would be more accurate to say she vanished on them. It wasn’t something unusual exactly, as Gannet was never able to stay in a same place for too long and always ended up wandering about — but that didn’t mean it was any less annoying when it happened. Still, in general Gannet would use her Kizuna to contact them right away, asking for help — but this time, there was nothing but silence from her. Mariana got worried of course, and admittedly, so did Noor; she might not be fond of Gannet even at the best of time, but she was still her teammate and she certainly never wished any real harm upon her. Thankfully, they finally managed to reach out to Gannet half an hour later, after they’d run around Lubango’s streets while screaming her name.

“Sorry,” the girl said, having at least the modesty to sound a little ashamed. “I needed to go to the bathroom and then I got lost. So I asked to find my way and realized we were close to the military base, so I went back there.”

“Why did you not contact us then? Couldn’t you hear us calling you?”

“I just forgot! Sorry!”

Noor tried not to get too mad at her in Mariana’s presence, but it was hard when Gannet had made them run around the city for no reason — and she suddenly felt angry she’d ever let herself get even slightly worried for her sake. Mariana was only relieved to know Gannet was fine, and they promised her they’ll find her back to the base once their tour was over.

And then, just like that, it was just the two of them; just Noor and Mariana. An embarrassing silence spread between them, and suddenly Noor — the top scorer of the ACR Egypt Aerial Knight Corps, one of the most talented teenagers in the world who received perfect training — simply didn’t know what to do with herself anymore. She kept steeling glances at the pretty girl next to her, wondering what she should say or do; and weirdly enough, she now actually thought that she missed Gannet. At least when she was here, there never was such awkwardness between them.

Mariana, as always, appeared completely unperturbed. She let out a small sigh, looked to her right and left — and then said the last thing Noor would ever expect to hear from her:

“Do you want to go eat cake with me?”

* * *

Of course Noor loved cakes.

She loved sweets in general — like most Gauntlet Knights. She didn’t think there was a single one of them who didn’t. Noor’s father was a big sweets lover himself, and when she was little he would bake her the best basbousa and qatayef that she’d ever eaten.

So, Noor loved cakes, absolutely. She’d just never thought she ever would have the opportunity to eat some alone with Mariana in a shop in Angola. It wasn’t even the first time she’d eaten cakes with Mariana, exactly, as their squad ate together most of the time; but it was the first time she’d ever ate with her alone — especially when it was something Mariana herself had initiated — so the situation was so strange and unusual to Noor that she honestly didn’t know how to handle it.

“Have you chosen yet?”

Mariana asked her in her perfectly controlled, monotonous voice, but Noor knew her well enough that she could detect the slight movement of her eyebrow, signaling her annoyance at her indecision. That hint of a scowl was a shame, as she otherwise looked quite cute sitting here in the middle of the shop. The place Mariana brought her to was a cozy, colorful little place decorated with curtains and garlands and traditional trinkets Noor couldn’t identify, with joyful Ovimbundu music resonating around them. It was small, with very few people, but it felt nice and familiar. Mariana told her she found this shop by coincidence once when she was a child, and she’d loved it ever since — it had become a bit like a secret base of hers. And Noor would’ve felt honored that Mariana opened up enough to her to show her such a place from her childhood if it wasn’t for her adding afterwards that she wished she could’ve shown it to Gannet as well.

“I-I’m still… trying to decide. I just don’t know any of these cakes, so…”

Mariana sighed, then looked the menu. “… Bolo de ginguba is very popular around here.”

“I can’t. I’m allergic to peanuts.”

“…Well, their bolo de fubá is quite good.”

“I… don’t like corn…”

“…I guess you can try their cocada amarela then.”

“…That’s not a cake, though, is it?”

Mariana stared straight into Noor’s eyes, and then, bewilderingly, threw at her an actual, expressive exasperated look, before putting down the menu. “See,” she declared. “That’s why I can never stand you. You never make any effort to be likable whatsoever.”

Noor felt herself flushing. “I-It’s not that I’m not making any efforts, it’s just… I haven’t decided on anything yet, that’s all.”

Mariana, of course, didn’t seem convinced by her excuse at all; she just sighed, then looked away at the street by the window.

And Noor… Noor just didn’t know what to do. Mariana was never satisfied with her, no matter what she did. She could try anything, and Mariana’s image of her never seemed to budge in the slightest. Noor never let this kind of things get to her usually, but today, she just couldn’t ignore the weight in her stomach.

“Did you bring me here just to be cruel?”

Her voice was soft, a murmur, a drop of water falling in a sea of strangers’ conversations and background music — and Noor hated how fragile she sounded right now. That wasn’t like her at all. Noor was a confident person, proud of who she was, of her heritage and ancestors and accomplishments, and she never spoke so shamefully. But somehow Mariana did always have that ability to makes her feel that way.

The other girl looked at her, and for once, there actually seemed to be a slight… surprise, in her pretty amber eyes.

“I know you don’t like me,” Noor continued, unable to look at her teammate and instead staring down at the table. “I’m not an idiot. Of course I’m aware — you don’t like me as much as I don’t like Gannet. But you know— I’m still trying, most of the time. And I just thought…”

She trailed, and couldn’t even finish her sentence. Honestly, she didn’t even really know what she was saying. The air between them felt so thick now, and Noor might hate herself a little bit. It was such a rare opportunity, to have just the two of them without Gannet around and for Mariana to propose on her own that they do something together… and here she’d messed everything up, again, somehow.

Why couldn’t she do anything right when it came to Mariana?

“…I don’t dislike you.”

Noor felt her breath get caught up in her throat. She swallowed, and with an insurmountable effort, stared at Mariana. Her teammate was staring straight ahead, her shoulders steady, her chin up; almost as if she was trying to challenge her.

“—What?” Noor blurted out, because surely she must have not heard that correctly; in what world had Mariana ever showed anything other than contempt towards her? Had ever extended any kindness to her?

And that was fine; Noor was used to that. She could wait and continue to make efforts for as long as it was needed, until Mariana finally realized Noor was someone worth investing in. It might be frustrating and hurt a little sometimes, but Noor was strong, and patient, and Mariana honestly just meant that much to her. But that was the thing — for now she still hadn’t showed any signs of progress, so what was she—

“I don’t really like you either,” Mariana continued. “But… I don’t dislike you.”

“But you… I mean, you always shot me down. No matter what I do or say.”

“Yes, because you annoys me. If you tried to be less coldhearted, or to actually be nice to Gannet, then…”

Noor almost snorted at this, because of course everything came back to Gannet in the end — but the way Mariana slightly vacillated at the end of her sentence here caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat, and she stared at Mariana expectantly.

“…Wait. Are you saying that… that if I was nicer to Gannet, then… then what?”

“…Nothing. Just, it would be better.”

“Do you mean that you’d give me a chance then?”

“I have not said that.”

She pretty much had, but Noor knew now wasn’t the time to push her on the issue. Mariana sighed, then looked down, as if she’d suddenly noticed a very interesting thing on the ground.

“I wouldn’t have invited you here if I disliked you,” she added, her voice a lot softer than usual. “You’re still my teammate. You just could be cuter sometimes, that’s all. …Sorry about being mean about the cakes earlier, though.”

Noor should probably feel a little embarrassed about it, but she couldn’t hide the wide smile spreading on her face even if she tried. And she knew Mariana noticed it, too, as she could almost sees her rolling her eyes.

“…So. Have you chosen yet?” She repeated, and Noor could tell she was trying to not be as curt as before.

“Hmm, well…” She looked up at Mariana, then smiled. “What about you?”

“Me?” Mariana briefly glanced at the menu, as if hesitating. “My favorite is the bolo de cenoura.”

“Cenoura… Carrots?!” Noor exclaimed after a moment of doubt, unsure of the word’s meaning at first; without Kizuna, the translation didn’t instantly came to her mind as she almost never used that word. “Carrots in a cake?”

“Yes. You’ve never eaten one?”

“No…”

Somehow, the idea seemed a little ludicrous to her. Carrots weren’t common in Arab cooking in general, but as a dessert?

But Mariana had said it was her favorite.

“…In that case, I’ll take one too.”

Mariana blinked at her. “What?”

“You said it was your favorite, right? Of course I need to know all of your favorite things too. Maybe I could try cooking one for you, too. I’m a pretty good cook, as my father taught me when I was young.”

Mariana stared at her for a moment in silence. Her face was just as blank as usual, but there seemed to be something, in her eyes. Something more , that Noor couldn’t entirely figure out. It disappeared just as quickly as it appeared — but Noor wondered, then, if it would be possible to get her to have that something in her eyes while looking at her once again. To get her to smile, just because of Noor.

The thought made her feel dizzy, and she couldn’t wipe out her smile even after they left the shop. After tasting it, Noor decided that she didn’t like bolo de cenoura in the end — but that didn’t really matter much. She still would do her best to cook it for Mariana once they’ll be back.

“In Cairo,” Noor said as they walked slowly in the street, a bit shyly. “There’s, um. A cake shop I like quite a bit. They make great basbousa there. Not as good as my father’s, but… still good.” She took a quick glance at Mariana next to her, who seemed fairly determined to stare at the road and not at Noor. “I’ll… take you there, when we have time.” And then because it sounded a bit too commanding, she added: “I-If you want to. Of course.”

Mariana stopped walking for a moment, a slight frown on her face, as if thoughtful. Then she finally glanced up at Noor, very slowly.

“Is that a date?”

“…Wh-What? No! Just, erm…”

“All right.”

And then she started walking straight ahead again.

Damn. Maybe I should’ve said it is a date, after all.

She caught up with her teammate, and then suddenly felt a hand slip into hers, pulling her in the right direction. Mariana claimed it was because the streets were starting to get quite crowded, so she didn’t want to lose Noor and have to run after her like they did for Gannet earlier — but her grip still tightened firmly on her hand, their fingers intertwining, and Noor made no comment on it, simply enjoying the moment for as long as it could last.

When they finally got back to the military base, Gannet got jealous about their hand-holding; but Mariana reassured her it was nothing and only petted her, much to the girl’s dismay. Even so, to Noor’s surprise, she didn’t say a word about what they had done during the afternoon.

A brief, quiet encounter in a cake shop that would stay only between the two of them.

#Ciconia no Naku Koro ni #FemslashFeb2024 #Ciconia When They Cry #Nooriana #Marianoor #Noor Ciconia #Ciconia #When They Cry #Femslash February #07th Expansion #Ciconia: When They Cry #Mariana Ciconia #FemslashFebruary #Femslash February 2024 #FemFeb #Connan's Fanfics #Mariana (Ciconia: When They Cry) #Noor (Ciconia: When They Cry) #Fanfiction #Noor (Ciconia) #Mariana (Ciconia) #Noor x Mariana #Fanfics #Ciconia Noor #Ciconia Mariana

[connan-l]

a hundred year’s worth of happiness

Fandom: Higurashi: When They Cry

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Furude Rika & Club Game Members, Furude Rika & Houjou Satoko, Furude Rika & Maebara Keiichi, Furude Rika & Akasaka Miyuki, Furude Rika & Takano Miyo

Summary: Rika comes back home, a hundred and twenty years weighting on her shoulders.

Content Warnings: So there’s nothing much to warn for really, but there are still some mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, depression and trauma, as well as a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference to past self-harm/cutting.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

______________________________________________________________

Notes: Happy 20th year anniversary, Higurashi!

So that future fic was meant to be published this summer to celebrate the anniversary, but I obviously got very late so you only get it now, but I think it’s still valid if I’m able to publish this before the end of 2022 :) (What do you mean it’s not 2022 anymore nope I’m not listening hahaha—)

So, a few clarifications: I originally didn’t want to confirm or mention any ships here because I wanted it to be primarily focused on the platonic relationships. However, I then decided I wanted to include child characters — that’d only makes sense given they’re all in their thirties by now, and that becoming a parent is one of the most obvious biggest change of adulthood — so as a result, well, there are still some pretty big hints about who’s dating who here, even if I tried to stay as vague and gen as possible, so you can still make your own assumptions. Those child characters are also kind of based on the ones from the Higurashi Reiwa manga, but as you’ll notice quickly the two who are present are still very different from the ones depicted in canon, because they’re more interesting that way to me.

Also, Natsumi makes a cameo in this, even if I absolutely admit that she serves zero purpose in that fic lol. She’s just here cause I think she’s really the representative of the Higurashi side-arcs and because she’s cute so yeah.

Anyway, this takes place post-Matsuribayashi (and… post-Saikoroshi too, I suppose). I didn’t really take Gou/Sotsu/Meguri into consideration while writing this so it’s not referenced at all, but you’re welcome to interpret it happened as well if you want to!

______________________________________________________________

  That's because

  I’m going to become much, much more happy from now on.

  I’m not going to compromise with just this.

  We are going to take back all of our happiness that we lost.

  For me, that is about a hundred year’s worth.

  For you, a thousand year’s worth.

  -Frederica Bernkastel

______________________________________________________________

Early summer of the 15th year of the Heisei era

______________________________________________________________

She felt like someone was apologizing continuously.

A repeating, pitiful noise resonating in her ears — an ominous familiarity making her heart ache with nostalgia.

This was like an obtuse, unwelcome breeze from the past, a repeated sorry she should’ve stopped hearing years and years ago.

It still pop up in her head, however, from time to time; when she is not careful enough, when her mind drift away in her dreams or thoughts.

A feeling of overwhelming sadness and loneliness crushed her, then; as it always did whenever she heard that same soft, sweet voice that had accompanied her since birth and even before then.

Her name was on the tip of her lips, and she would’ve spoken it if it had not been for a sudden shake that brusquely brought her back to reality.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing that welcomed her was the coldness of the window her head was leaned against.

“—five minutes. We will be arriving at Okinomiya Station. Please, makes sure to not forget any—”

She blinked a few times — chasing away the wetness that had pooled and clung to her eyelashes — then heard the faint sound of something rolling and falling on the ground. Looking down, she realized it was a pen; the one she’d been holding before she fell asleep, using it to write down in what was a small notebook. Her travel poem book, the one she brought along everywhere.

She gracefully put back some blue locks behind her ear — now short, barely sweeping her nape and shoulders, since that day she decided to cut it off twenty years ago — and scooped the pen back. When she straightened up, the white page of the notebook in front of her seemed to be burying straight into her eyes. She’d been trying to find the inspiration for what to note in there for a long time, but nothing seemed to come up. Her mind was completely dry.

She sighed, then closed off the book before putting it back into her handbag.

She didn’t have the time to write anymore, anyway.

Soon, she’d be back home — back to Hinamizawa.

By the time the train came to a stop, the nostalgic, apologetic voice in her head had entirely disappeared.

______________________________________________________________

As she stepped outside the train on the platform, she instantly put down her big luggage next to her, readjusted her pretty, big hat on her head, and stretched her arms. She felt like her whole body was cramped, as if she’d just run a marathon. Well, she did spent five hours in a train, but even so, that was something she should be used to by now. Another sigh escaped her, which was then met by a giggle from her left.

“Wow, that was a pretty big sigh. Rough trip, big sis Rika?”

Rika turned her head in surprise, and a few meters away was standing a young woman in casual slacks and blouse; short brown hair, mid-twenties, round face. The same charming smile as her father, and the same gentle amethyst eyes as her mother. When she caught her gaze, the woman waved at her, and Rika returned her smile.

“Hello, Miyuki.”

“Hi! Is that all of your luggages?”

“It is,” Rika confirmed, then stepped forward and hugged Miyuki tightly.

It had been more than a year now since she’d last seen her in person; almost two, even. Of course, they called each other from time to time, and Rika made sure to send her postal cards from wherever she was at the time, but it certainly wasn’t the same thing. She’d considered Miyuki like a little sister since that infamous Watanagashi twenty years ago and they used to meet pretty regularly until Rika went to high school, so sometimes the distance was hard to bear.

Once she let the younger woman go, her gaze wandered around, searching for further silhouettes besides Miyuki. “Um…”

“Oh, I’m sorry to tell you but I’m alone. Big sis Satoko and the others wanted to come, but they’re pretty busy with the festival preps, and Dad suddenly got a call from work which he couldn’t ignore, so…”

Rika could see Miyuki roll her eyes at that, which communicated perfectly what she thought about her father’s attitude when it came to prioritizing his work over anything else. Something she’d inherited from Yukie, no doubt. Rika smiled wryly.

“It’s okay. I’m glad to see Akasaka is still up there saving the world.”

“Oh, that he is! Mom can’t wait for him to retire. Which, unfortunately for her, he probably never will. I’m sure even beyond the grave he’ll find a way to get his job done, somehow.”

Rika laughed, and Miyuki quickly joined her as she took her luggage and they started to leave the train station. It had been quite a few years now since Akasaka had left his job as a policeman and instead started a career as a politician in Tokyo, where he thought he could do the most good. It seemed that this job was taking even more of his time than the former one, however, so Rika could not tell if it was much of an improvement for his family.

Miyuki’s car was still the same as Rika remembered; a small blue Jeep that had been a combined present from her father, Ooishi and a few others friends for when she graduated college four years ago. Truthfully, Rika thought it was kind of an ugly one and genuinely thought they could’ve done better, but Miyuki was really attached to it and she didn’t think she’d be willing to change it unless she had no other choice.

They climbed in and started chatting contentedly, quickly catching up with each other; Rika told her all about her last travel in the Netherlands, while Miyuki told her the last news at her job — and because they were both working in the same sector as journalists, they always had a lot to share (though Miyuki kept complaining about how annoying one of the guys there was— what was his name again? Ryuunosuke Arakawa or something?), before Miyuki finally kept on about how life was going with her boyfriend back in Tokyo. They’d been dating for two years now and it seemed quite serious as they’d just moved in together a few months ago, although Rika had only met him twice so she didn’t have much opinion on him. He’d gotten Akasaka’s approval though, so she supposed he must be decent guy at least.

When the conversation deviated towards the village and the festival preparations, Rika could already see the familiar landscape change as well as hear the gravel noise under the car’s wheels that marked the end of Okinomiya’s vicinity and the start of the mountains’ road.

“—and god, I also got to see little Kihiro for the first time!” Miyuki exclaimed. “Can’t believe how adorable she is.”

Rika grinned at her. “Right. You hadn’t met her yet, huh?”

“You know I haven’t been able to come last winter… But big sis Rena let me babysit her for a whole day and night last week when we first came! I’d never seen a baby so calm until now.”

Rika chuckled, but she nodded in agreement nonetheless. Of course, according to the parents, it wasn’t always the case, but when she’d come back to Hinamizawa last year for the birth, she’d definitely thought there was not a single soul who would argue on the point that Kihiro was an extremely quiet and well-behaved newborn. Rika hated babies and small children — not even Shion and Satoshi’s daughter had been an exception — but this one she actually could tolerate. Mostly.

Rena’s daughter was now already six months old. Baby Kihiro actually ended up being born later than the due date, almost two weeks later (which had worried everyone, especially Rika who hadn’t meant to stay so long), and Rika had never seen Keiichi in such a stressful state before, but in the end the child had come into this world without any complications. The poor man had probably cried a lot more than he had in his entire life the moment he held the tiny, blotchy girl in his arms.

Rika was surprised to find herself in a hurry to see that baby again, curious to how much she must’ve changed since then. Of course Rena would send pictures pretty frequently, but it wasn’t the same thing.

She was in a hurry to see everyone again.

“That’s right, how long do you intend to stay this time?” Miyuki asked, glancing at her from the corner of her eyes while holding the wheel tightly. She knew the road almost by heart by now, but she’d always been a very diligent driver, as you might expect from the daughter of an ex-policeman.

“Not long,” Rika admitted with some sadness. “Just long enough to be able to do the traditional dance, as usual. Oh and I’ll stay for Satoko’s birthday as well, of course.”

Miyuki hummed pensively, nodding briefly without leaving her gaze from the path ahead.

“You never stay long around Watanagashi’s period, huh. Sometimes it almost feel like you’re running away.”

She’d said it in a joking manner, but Rika’s shoulders tensed up instinctively, as if it was an accusation.

It was true. There was some periods where she would stay one or two months at the village, more rarely maybe even three or four, but never in June.

During the summer, she’d just assured herself to not miss Watanagashi, but stayed for only a week or two at most before quickly taking off again.

She wasn’t running away. It was just a habit she’d taken. There was no deeper meaning to this, really.

As she tried to pry those thoughts away from her mind, the scenery caught her gaze again, and she looked through the window.

Her childhood village was starting to draw itself far away, slowly coming into shapes in front of her eyes.

Her beloved hometown, the one that had been her prison for a hundred years.

They were still not there yet. They’ll have to be riding the car in the mountains for a while again.

And as they went through the deep forest…

She’d finally arrived here at their home, Hinamizawa.

______________________________________________________________

To Rika’s surprise, Miyuki parked her car right in front of the school’s grounds.

This was unusual. Ever since the past two decades, the Akasaka family had always housed in the Furude main residence, the one Rika had left ever since her parents died. This had been at Rika’s insistence, of course, disliking the idea of them sleeping at a hotel; and ever since it had basically became like the Akasakas’ secondary home. They didn’t live in the village, but Akasaka himself loved Hinamizawa and visited as often as he could with his family, even when Rika wasn’t here.

Rika loved this. She hadn’t been able to set foot inside her old house ever since her parents’ passing, but now it felt like the Akasakas had given it a new life, and she’d even taken pleasure in visiting it again whenever they were here.

So, usually, Miyuki would’ve parked her car around the house or the temple, certainly not at the school.

The young woman probably guessed her question, as she smirked at her while her eyes sparkled mischievously, and Rika frowned. Whenever Miyuki would do that ever since she was a child, it usually meant she was about to prank her. Thankfully it didn’t seem it was the case right now.

“Apparently Watanagashi is going to be particularly crowded this year,” Miyuki explained instead, her voice sounding amused. “So we decided to park our cars away from the temple to not hinder the place. Also… there are some people who wanted to see you here.”

Rika arched an eyebrow, but she didn’t get to ask anything as Miyuki then quickly unplugged her belt and jumped out of the car. Rika shook her head, sighed briefly and then imitated her.

Outside, she set her two heels on the ground, herbs gently brushing the naked skin not covered by her sandals, as if Hinamizawa’s earth was welcoming her back — but she didn’t get the time to feel nostalgic about the familiar scenery of her former school that suddenly she heard a gasp from behind her, and felt something grabbing her.

A pair of sturdy but soft arms had wrapped around her, hugging her tightly with so much love and strength that it felt almost suffocating.

“Rika! Rika, it’s you, you’re back! Hauu, you’re even cuter than last time! Even cuter! I wanna take you home!”

Her attacker was talking very quickly and excitedly, so much that anyone less familiar with her would’ve struggled to make out her words, but Rika knew her so well that she’d guessed what she would say before the sounds even left her lips.

She mildly fought to get out of the grasp, knowing prefectly that of course no one could ever get out of Rena Ryuuguu’s embrace unless she wanted it.

“Big sis Rena, I think you’re going to kill her if you keep doing this,” Miyuki, her saviour, finally intervened, and this seemed to snap Rena back to reality, as her grip ultimately released.

Rika let out a sigh, before trying to rearrange her hair, hat and dress back as it used to be.

“I’m sorry, Rika! But you’re just so kyute, I can’t help it…”

There was something a little offensive at being called ‘cute’ at the age of thirty-one years old — Rika could accept ‘beautiful’ and ‘pretty’ and ‘elegant,’ but ‘cute’ just seemed to bring her back to her eleven-years-old self, and she’d spent way too many years stuck as a child for that already, thank you very much — so she couldn’t help but puff her cheeks in a pout at this (which, she was sure, didn’t help her case on not wanting to not be called that, but that was stronger than her). However, she was just too happy to be able to see Rena again that she certainly didn’t feel like pointing any of that out.

“I’m glad to see you again, Rena,” she said, beaming at her. “You look good.”

At this, Rena’s eyes shined, and she giggled. “I do? I feel pretty tired, personally. Can’t be helped with a baby at home, I suppose.”

Upon looking closer, she did look tired. Her skin looked a little pale, her orange hair, that now fell on her shoulder, were slightly dishevelled, and some brief dark circles could be seen under her big blue eyes. But her entire being seemed to shine so much that it seemed very minimal compared to this.

“You do,” Rika said. “You look beautiful.”

And because it had been six whole months since she’d last seen her friend, she reached for her again, putting her chin on her shoulder, letting the citrus scent of her hair tickles her nostrils and wrapping her hands around her back.

Rena’s warmth was always a constant; it had been then, it was now, and Rika had no doubt that it would be in the future as well.

“Hey, hey, hey— what’d I just say, huh?! No running! No running when you’re still on school grounds!”

A shrill, masculine voice pierced the school yard; and instantly after children’s screams and laughters resonated throughout the place. Kids ranging from six to twelve years old in appearances rushed out from the building and started peppering the surrounding; some Rika recognized, like Mrs. Harada’s granddaugther or Tomita’s son or Takashima’s nephews; other were some new faces, that she guessed probably belonged to residents who recently moved in that she hadn’t gotten to meet yet.

A while ago, Hinamizawa had faced some depopulation issues, but thanks to the combined effort of the three families, Keiichi’s connections, and of course of all the villagers, they’d managed to bring in new residents even as younger generations were generally more interested in the city. It didn’t mean they were still not facing some problems about it, but at least as of now the population was stable, and with every Watanagashi seemed to grow even bigger and bigger.

“Hey! What did I just say?! You brats really only listen what you want!” The voice started again, and then the silhouette of a man surfaced out the school building, trying to calm down the group of excited children around.

Some of them stopped and looked at him apologetically, but most were perfectly fine completely ignoring him and the poor guy couldn’t rein them in as he wanted because his arms were actually full — tucked against his neck and resting on his right arm was the tiny body of a months-old baby, whose only distinguishing feature from afar was a tuft of auburn hair.

“S-Sorry, Mr. Maebara…”

“It’s not me! Suzu’s the one who screamed!”

“I didn’t, I didn’t! It was—”

“Ah! Look over there! It’s Lady Rika!”

One little girl that Rika recognized as the daughter of the village’s main grocery shopkeeper pointed a finger in her direction, and as soon as she did everyone’s looks turned towards her. By reflex, Rika smiled back, feeling instantly in her element; years of being Hinamizawa’s little queen had used her to this, and some of the kids squealed in response. Each started gasping at her presence and whispering excitedly — ‘You’re right! It’s Lady Rika!’ ‘Mom said she’d come back only in a few days!’ ‘Do you think she’d gave me a blessing if I asked her?’ — however, their enthusiasm at her presence was nothing when it came to Keiichi’s, whose face instantly beamed like the sun as soon as he saw her.

As if the children around him had completely vanished, he rushed towards Rika as fast as he could. She barely had the time to register what was happening that she heard Rena gasp and Miyuki let out a ‘oh boy’ before Keiichi’s face was right here, clearly ready to jump on her while the baby in his arms was throwing panicked and confused looks left and right.

“Keiichi!” Rena hissed like an angry cat, her voice vacillating between concerned and offended. “Kihiro! Be careful with Kihiro!”

“Wha— ahh, ah, right!”

As soon as he realized what he had done, Keiichi adjusted his grip on the child while the poor thing looked to be about to burst in tears. Rena grumbled something frustratedly, and Rika could see she was trying her best to not actively strangle him right here and now.

“C’mon— it’s fine, Rena! I wasn’t gonna let her fall, I’m not that irresponsible!”

“Then maybe don’t make it look like that next time!”

“I just wasn’t expecting to— y’know,” he turned his gaze to Rika, “—I thought you’d come later?”

Rika smiled again. “Guess my train was early, and so was Miyuki.”

“Ooh. Cool.” For a moment Keiichi appeared pensive, and then his usual, smug homey grin split his face. “Hug?”

He opened his free left arm, still making sure to tightly hold Kihiro with the other under Rena’s threatening gaze, and then Rika chuckled and instantly fell into his arms, letting herself melt in his embrace. He hugged her a little too roughly, like he always did, but it was in a manner that felt safe and warm and she would never have it any other way, trying to return it with almost as much strength.

When she stepped away, she noticed two wide, big purple eyes blinked back at hers from Keiichi’s arms. The child’s round face was looking at her questionably, as if asking who was this stranger trying to take her father away from her.

“C’mon, Kihiro,” Rena said gently. “It’s big sis Rika. You’ve met her six months ago, remember?”

“‘Course she wouldn’t remember, her lil’ head’s still too small for that,” Keiichi replied playfully while tapping the top of the baby’s skull, as if making a point.

And he wasn’t wrong, Rika supposed. She hadn’t even spent a lot of time with the newborn back in December, and left four days after the birth, so that only made sense. She took a step forward and leaned towards the little girl.

“Hello. I’m big sis Rika. Nice to meet you again, Kihiro.”

The small thing seemed to analyse her words slowly, and then let out some little chirping noise. Keiichi grinned again, then extended his arms with the child in them towards Rika. Her smile dropped from her face immediately and she frowned.

“No,” she said, firmly.

“C’mon, look at her,” the man argued, pressing the little baby almost to her face. “Isn’t she absolutely so kyute? She’s your niece too, Aunt Rika, so you get to hold her once in a while!”

“You know that I hate— Ah, Keiichi!”

Her friend didn’t let her finish her sentence that he pushed his daughter into her arms, and Rika struggled to quickly grab the girl awkwardly — she hated holding babies, but she wasn’t an absolutely monster who’d let her fall on the ground either. (Even if it was tempting and that Keiichi would totally deserve it if she did.)

“Damn it, I swear—” She started, but then she caught Rena’s disapproving gaze at her use of language and quickly bit her tongue, giving up and trying to hold the tiny child as best as she could. They hadn’t done this to her since Shion’s daughter had been a baby years ago.

“You need to be more careful with the head, Rika,” Rena then said gently as she fixed Rika’s hold on her daughter. “See, just like that! Haauu, you two are so kyute like that! Miyuki, Miyuki, do you have your phone? Take a photo!”

“Oh… right, right, just a minute!”

“Wh— No, don’t! Hey! Ugh…”

Rika sighed as Miyuki whipped out her phone and Keiichi and Rena laughed with their whole chests. Kihiro, meanwhile, appeared a little upset at leaving her dad’s side, but ultimately quickly made herself comfortable on Rika’s chest. Damn all of them.

She’d always found babies and young children annoying. They were too noisy, too energetic, didn’t make sense; Rika never knew how to interact properly with them and honestly preferred avoiding them as much as possible. She could make exceptions for her nieces, sure , but it generally extended to smiling at them and giving them presents  sometimes ; she’d never be caught alive willingly playing with them or hugging them. Unfortunately, it seemed the rest of the club members had not taken the memo and instead were having a lot of fun at her expense by often putting her into situations where she got stuck with the kids.

“That’s cool you got here early, but sadly I still have some stuff I need to wrap up at the school,” Keiichi said after his laughters calmed down. “Ms. Chie’s really counting on me for this. And afterwards I still have work to do at the temple for the festival preps.”

“I only came here with Kihiro to bring him some stuff,” Rena explained. “I was going to go at the temple afterwards to help out. Mii and Shii are still there talking about this year’s Watanagashi’s organization.”

“I bet they are. I’m surprised you were able to not go, Keiichi. Trying to skip some of your mayor duties, hmm?”

Rika smirked at him teasingly, and Keiichi winced.

“C’mon, gimme a break! Mion was already mad at me for not coming, but I’m a teacher too, so I can’t be everywhere at all times!”

She laughed, while Keiichi grumpily murmured under his breath about how hard it was to be so popular.

“What about you, Rika? Wanna come with me? Wanna come?” Rena then questioned.

Rika readjusted the baby in her arms, then shook her head.

“I need to drop off my luggages at home first… Is anyone there currently?”

“I know Big sis Satoko had to go there at some point, so she should be here by now already,” Miyuki replied.

Satoko’s name instinctively put a smile on Rika’s face. It was close to noon, so she imagined she must be cooking by now.

It had been a long time since she’d last tasted Satoko’s cooking.

“Then I’ll go home now. I’ll probably come at the temple to see Mii and Shii after that.”

“It’d be great!” Rena exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh, right! Rika, we’d planned to all go eat dinner at the Maebaras’ place tonight! To celebrate being all together again.”

“…That sounds nice. But won’t it bother Aiko and Ichirou?”

“Nope! Mom told me they’ll go out to eat at a restaurant in Okinomiya, so we have the house all to ourselves,” Keiichi added, then grinned at everyone as if to confirm all of them were in, at which he was greeted by an enthusiastic nod.

“Maebara! Are you there?” A woman’s voice resonated from inside the school. “I need you right now!”

“Ah… Coming right away, Ms. Chie!” Keiichi yelled back. “Sorry guys, duty’s callin’. See ya later, yeah?”

Rika acquiesced, and she was she was about to add something when a woman suddenly got out of the school’s building. She seemed to stop in surprise at seeing their little group, before quickly snapping back to reality and rejoining them.

“My, Miss Furude! That’s nice to see you.”

“Her train got here earlier than planned!” Rena explained helpfully.

“Oh, I see…”

Chie then smiled with fondness at Rika; that kind of expression that she only reserved to her old students. Rumiko Chie had practically not changed at all; she barely had a wrinkle, her short blue hair was still the exact same, and even her clothes kept being very similar to what she’d always worn. It was like she was frozen in time, and the only big difference in her status was that since Kaieda had retired she’d became the new director of the school, although unlike him she still teaches some classes here and there. And, according to Keiichi who now worked under her, she was a surprisingly strict boss.

Although Rika was never able to get used to it. To her, Ms. Chie would always be Ms. Chie, Hinamizawa’s primary school teacher.

“I’m very sorry to bother you when you’re with your friends, Maebara, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Ms. Chie. Work’s work.” Keiichi leaned towards Rika, ruffled her hair and then kissed his daughter on the head, before finally starting to leave along with Chie all while waving at them. “Bye, bye, guys! Be good!”

“…We should go too,” Rika then added once the two of them disappeared inside the school. “Miyuki?”

“Ah… well, actually, I have to go with big sis Rena. I promised that I’d help for the preparations too, so…”

“…I see. How dutiful for someone who’s not even a villager,” Rika said teasingly, but trustfully by this point the Akasakas had pretty much became secondary Hinamizawans. Then she looked down at the baby girl who was still resting on her shoulder. “Looks like I have to give you back to your mother. I’ll see you later as well.”

“If she doesn’t fall asleep before then,” Rena added as she reached out to gather her daughter back in her arms.

Rika chuckled, then booped Kihiro’s little nose.

The child scrunched her face, and  fine  , maybe, just  maybe  she could agree she was cute. Just a little bit.

______________________________________________________________

It felt almost like the herbs were getting thicker and longer.

That was her first sensation as she was getting closer to her house; the little shack right next to the Furude family’s main residence.

That seemed odd even to her ears, because surely there was no reason for the herbs to get thicker over time — longer was a possibility though, but she knew usually the Kimiyoshis made a point to take care of it and cut them off so that it never get too out of control.

Although, to be honest, none of them truly adventured too far away from the main residence like over here — that place had always been her and Satoko’s sanctuary, and probably always would be.

Nostalgia overwhelmed her as she kept walking, her big luggage trailing behind her, and for a moment, if she closed her eyes, she could even feel like a little girl again; wearing her dark suspender and pleated skirt uniform, long blue hair flying behind her back and her best friend’s hand grasped tightly in hers on their way to school.

The road had never changed since then, but it still felt incredibly different at the same time, which gave the place some sort of extreme uncanny feeling that started to eat away at her.

She shook away the thought as she finally reached the shack’s entrance, and reached out to the door — which was open.

“Satoko? Are you there?”

As soon as she set foot inside, a sweet flavour tickled her nose; something simple, like a mix of salmon and rice and soy sauce, but that was delicate and warm and cosy; a flavour that would always feel like home and like Satoko, and Rika smiled, because that was it.

She was finally home; her real home.

“Satoko! I’m back!” She exclaimed as she dropped off her luggage in a corner of the room and headed towards the kitchen.

As she’d expected, a soft humming greeted her before any person; and there, amidst the frizzing of the pan and the smell of the food, she saw a woman’s silhouette, blond hair, and a back wearing a green blouse and jeans.

Manifestly, she hadn’t heard her.

A mischievous grin stretched Rika’s lips; and all while being as quiet as a cat, she slowly stepped towards her friend. She stopped right behind Satoko, the other woman continuing to hum without a care in the world, and with a precise hit that spoke of years of experience, Rika reached out and pinched each of her childhood friend’s flanks.

A high-pitched shriek resonated throughout their small kitchen, followed by a spoon clattering on the ground with a thud, and then glaring, angry magenta eyes pierced her, full of anger.

“R-Rika!” Satoko hissed, her voice still trapped between fury and shock.

Rika simply smiled back at her innocently.

“Mii! Hello, Satoko. Nice to see you! It smells absolutely de-li-cious!”

She leaned towards the frizzing pan to check out and smell its content as Satoko appeared to do everything in her power to try not to murder her with her own two hands right on the spot.

“Do you realize I could’ve burned myself?! Or completely fail my dish?!”

“Sheesh, of course you wouldn’t have! You’re too skilled of a cook for that now.”

“Being skilled doesn’t matter when someone mess with you on purpos— Hey! Stop! Don’t put your fingers in there, and don’t eat this before it’s time!”

Rika laughed heartily, then swiftly avoided Satoko’s hand trying to grab her as she started to lick the cream she’d just scooped up from the bowl on the table off of her finger. Before her friend got to scold her for her childish and bad manners, she jumped at her, wrapping her arms around her neck tightly.

Citrus, salmon, oil swept her nostrils, and a small, strong heart beat against her own; all of them grounding and all of them belonging to Satoko only.

“C’mon, don’t be mad,” she whispered warmly in her ear. “You know I just cannot resist your charms, you’re simply way too cute!”

And then she kissed her cheek, and jumped away before the other woman got the time to say anything. She didn’t need to see her face to know how red it must be, as it always was whenever Rika did something like that, and satisfied with herself, she simply hopped away towards the living room. She heard Satoko grumbles something like ‘you’re unbelievable’ behind her back, but the fondness in her voice was unmistakable and it made Rika’s smile widen. She stopped curiously when she reached the table however, noticing that it was already all set up; three porcelain plates, chopsticks and glasses resting properly aligned on the wooden surface.

“Oh? Were you expecting guests?”

“Nii-nii and Saki should come eat here any minutes now,” came Satoko’s explanation as she entered the room, her hands full of side dishes. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to eat with us.”

“My train was early,” Rika replied as she sat a the table. “But it’s okay, don’t worry. Although…”

She lifted her head as Satoko took place in front of her and threw her a confusing gaze.

“I am a little sad to not have Satoko aaall to myself when we haven’t seen each other for so long, mii!”

As expected, Satoko instantly flushed red and threw a towel in retaliation, which only managed to makes Rika laughs loudly. “D-Don’t be ridiculous, Rika!”

I’m not, Rika almost argued. She’d been joking, sure, but there was in fact a genuine part of her who was a little disappointed to not get a moment with Satoko alone. She couldn’t exactly admit it out loud without ending up being the one being teased about it, though.

Satoko sighed, shook her head exasperatedly, then finally let a real, adorable smile brighten her face.

She was so pretty, looking at her that way. Rika had truly missed her.

“Well, I am glad to see you again despite this. How are you? How was your trip?”

“Boring. You know I can’t manage to focus on anything during travels by train, not even reading. I did try to write a little, but…”

Her voice trailed, and she looked away. She could feel more than see Satoko’s eyes narrow at her, filling with suspicion.

“But?”

“Nothing. It’s not important,” Rika waved away, and before Satoko could argue or press her any further, she added: “What about you, then? Everything’s okay at work?”

Satoko clearly seemed to hesitate, but finally decided to go Rika’s way and nodded. “Like usual. Things have been a bit busy since I’ve started helping that transport engineering project with Keiichi and Mion, though. You know? The one I’ve told you about?”

Rika hummed in agreement, but admittedly she still didn’t know much about this ‘project’ of them. She’d only heard the vague outline; something about wanting to improve the transportation in the region, specifically around the more isolated villages, and thanks to Keiichi with his newfound work in the community’s politics and Satoko’s mechanical engineering degree, both of them had enthusiastically started to help out. Satoko’s specialization was mechatronics, but she was surprisingly very skilled and knowledgeable in vehicle and structural engineering (and had even just starting studying computer engineering as well), so it felt only natural that she’d be the most competent person around to take part in this plan even alongside her main freelance job.

Maybe Rika stayed quiet for a little too long, because then Satoko started to give her that look again; the one she had whenever she got worried about her and suspected she was hiding something and tried to extirpate it from her head — which was stupid, because Rika was not hiding anything from her currently.

It’d been two decades now since Rika had made actual efforts not to hide important things or any problems from Satoko and the rest of the club, and, most of the time, she was pretty successful at it.

Most of the time.

“Rika—”

“Sooo, what have you cooked for lunch? I haven’t eaten your cooking for a while, so I’m really looking forward to it!”

“I haven’t cooked anything for you!” Satoko replied curtly, and the glint in her gaze told Rika she hadn’t missed the way she’d abruptly changed the topic. “As I said, I wasn’t expecting you this early. Be grateful if there’s even enough to fill your plate at all.”

“How mean,” Rika whimpered in a false-hurt voice. “Ah, by the way, I’ve learnt a new recipe that I absolutely need to teach you.”

“Oh?”

“Something from my new Dutch friend I told you about — you know, Annika?”

“The boat girl,” Satoko recognized before nodding.

“The very one. Well, she showed me this dish with potatoes and salmon and cream — it’s absolutely delicious! I’m sure you’ll love it, I have to—”

“Aunt Rika?!”

Rika startled in surprise, and turning her head she finally caught sight of a little girl with blonde pigtails, of a lighter colour than Satoko’s, staring at her with shocked, clear green eyes. The shock faded away quickly, though, and then morphed into a glare as she crossed her arms in a way that probably was meant to come across as annoyed, but because of how small she was it only looked cute. Rena would be disappointed to know she missed this.

“Why’s Aunt Rika here?” The child whined in an irritated tone, and Rika had to repeat to herself She’s barely six, don’t get mad, you’re the adult here in her mind before replying.

“Just as cute as her ever, Saki. And don’t call me ‘aunt,’ it’s ‘big sis’ or nothing.”

“I thought Aunt Rika wouldn’t come until later!”

“Sakiko,” Satoko said firmly. “That’s enough. You don’t talk to adults with that tone and you know it. That’s rude.”

Rika sighed, looking at her friend getting into Mom Mode and scolding her niece as if she was her own; which instantly worked, as the girl was never able to argue back when Satoko was the one reprimanding her.

Sakiko was a good kid, but she could have a bit of a bad character at times and for some reason tended to be a bit prickly towards Rika. Maybe because she loved Satoko like a second mother and didn’t like when she didn’t have her full attention. Which was also probably the reason behind her acerb mood at the moment.

Well, Satoko was mine first, so I won’t apologize to borrow her now, Rika almost said pettily before reminding herself that picking a fight with a kid who hadn’t even started 1rst grade was, in fact, a bit ridiculous.

“Saki!” A gentle but firm masculine voice suddenly came from behind her. “Come on, Saki. What did I told you about running away ahead of me like that without warning?”

“You were too slow, Daddy!” The girl immediately argued as her father finally came into view, dishevelled blond hair falling into his face and tired eyes of the same colour as his sister’s scanning the room.

He didn’t look as exhausted as Rena, but it still seemed close. Though Rika couldn’t tell if it was because of his energetic daughter or because it had been a busy morning at the café that he and Shion owned in Okinomiya.

“Ah… Hello, Rika,” the man said when he realized her presence, which took him way too much time, and he smiled at her. “It’s nice to see you. You’re early, aren’t you?”

Rika nodded, smiling back but too lazy to have to explain yet again why she was here at least too hours before what had been planned. “I would have missed Satoko’s cooking for nothing in the world! Nipah!”

“You keep missing it ‘cause you’re always away,” Sakiko replied, and Satoko seemed to be about to scold her again when Rika simply grinned and crossed her arms.

“Harsh words for a kid who don’t seem to have grown up at all in six months.”

Sakiko flushed red. “I’ve grown up! I’m five… uhh… six…”

“34.5’’,” her Satoshi helped, patting Rika’s head as a sign of greeting just like he did so often since they were kids while sitting at the table next to his sister.

“Well in any case, that’s what I said; you haven’t grown up in the slightest. Actually, haven’t you shrunk?”

Sakiko’s face crumpled at her remark. Ever since she’d learned she was smaller than most kids her age it had became a sour spot for her, and Rika couldn’t help but laugh (and, alright, maybe she wasn’t very good at being the mature one, but who would blame her?). Until she felt a small fist colliding with her stomach.

“Hey, Saki!” Satoshi instantly exclaimed, distraught. “You can’t hit people!”

“Aunt Rika was being mean!”

“It’s fine, it was barely a hit at all,” Rika intervened. “You should hit harder, kid, or you’ll go nowhere in life.”

“Right, let her be, Nii-nii. Rika deserved that one.”

“See?” Sakiko exclaimed proudly. “Mama Satoko agrees with me!”

“You two, please don’t encourage her…”

Sakiko pulled her tongue out at Rika, then immediately ran off towards Satoko, sitting on her lap and hiding her head into her chest like a small animal, which only made Rika grin. Satoko smiled in turn and kissed the top of Sakiko’s head while rubbing circles into her back tenderly.

Somehow, it reminded Rika of how Satoko used to run off and hide behind her big brother’s back whenever she felt upset as a child — or behind her, for that matter, after Satoshi disappeared. Satoko and Sakiko had very different personalities, and the latter generally tended to take after Shion’s fierce character, but they suddenly felt very similar, looking at it this way. Except for the fact Satoko would have cried her eyes out like the crybaby she used to be, while Sakiko was only glaring at Rika like she was about to jump on her and claw her eyes out. It was cute.

“So where is your mommy, Saki?” Rika ended up asking, without being able to prevent her voice taking on a teasing edge.

“Not tellin’!” The child mumbled, her face still pressed into her aunt’s chest, and Satoshi rolled his eyes.

“She was still arguing with Mion and Akane, last I checked,” he replied instead, which only made Rika laugh again.

“Guess some things never change,” she let out before thinking her words, but then it made her pause.

Because that wasn’t really true.

Even the things that seemed like they hadn’t ‘changed’ were still widely disparate from how they used to be.

Everything was different now; every day trickled forward mercilessly, bearing no similarity the to the precedent — and with them, bringing a new wrinkle to each inch of Rika’s skin.

Everything kept on evolving ever since that day twenty years ago where Rika broke free of her endless cursed summer of death, and with it came along a desperately hopeful and dreadful feeling that overwhelmed her each time the sun rose up.

______________________________________________________________

It was pretty incredible how much the festival preparations were already bustling so early on.

Back when Rika was a child, or even only ten years ago, they would just only be starting to prepare for it at this time; but now most of the booths were already set up and people were running left and right, arguing back and forth. Watanagashi had come to be a huge deal nowadays, especially with the village beginning to become such an attractive tourist place, and it made her feel a bit dizzy.

Sometimes, she missed when Hinamizawa wasn’t as busy and popular. When it was just her and her handful of friends playing around amidst the paddy fields and the forest’s trees without bumping into anyone, even less so into strangers who only came here to appreciate the landscape.

“Ooh, Lady Rika! You’re back!”

As she entered the temple’s grounds, she was stopped in her walk by at least the tenth person since she’d came here, and this time it was by a man she hadn’t seen since almost a year. Satoko, Satoshi and Sakiko all stopped as well, nodding as a sign of greeting to the man — Kiichirou Kimiyoshi’s first son, Hiromune.

It would be nine years now since the old Kimiyoshi had unfortunately passed away, and although Keiichi had been the new mayor for quite some years, the Kimiyoshis still held a lot of influence in the region so he had preserved a pretty important place within the village’s hierarchy.

Although, truthfully, most people considered that the village’s old hierarchy had completely died along with Hinamizawa’s empress, Oryou, who despite her bad health had clung to life until six years ago. Irie had said it had practically been a miracle she stayed with them so long all while being mostly lucid.

Rika could still remember the funerals pretty vividly, as it had been the first she’d been to one where she actually felt like crying.

She had complicated feelings for the old woman because of all the harm she’d done to the Houjous, but she still had been a part of her life since her birth and had been like a grandmother to her.

She still hadn’t cried, though.

“It’s so nice to have you back! You’re as beautiful as ever,” the man continued, and Rika smiled back at him gratefully.

“Thank you. That’s good to see you too, Hiromune. Are the rest of the family well?”

“Of course!” He laughed. “Kisaku’s just starting his own business, and my niece Kazuho just graduated college. Things are looking pretty well for them.”

“Are Shion and Mion here?” Satoshi asked, smiled softly as the rest of the Houjous stood behind him, Sakiko’s arms firmly wrapped around Satoko’s neck while she held her.

Hiromune nodded, then pointed at the temple as he explained “they were still arguing in there,” and Satoshi thanked him.

Sometimes, an old form of wariness wormed its way into Rika’s guts when she watched the older villagers like Hiromune interact with the Houjous. The discrimination their family had suffered were non-existent at present, especially since their generation were now well into adulthood, but Rika had never let go of her grudges easily and it was hard to forget how those people had treated children like Satoko and Satoshi.

She didn’t think she was the only one either, because for as much as the Houjou siblings had good relationships with most everyone in the village now, she could still sometimes discern Satoko’s shoulders tense in expectation or see Satoshi’s features stretch with anxiety by instinct.

She’d caught little Sakiko glares at the elders for no reason from times to times, too. No one had ever said a word at the little girl about what had happened or about Oyashiro’s curse, but it seemed she could just feel there was an ugly history hidden behind.

A hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, and when she looked up Satoko smiled at her, as if she’d just read her thoughts and tried to reassures her. Which was silly, because there was nothing to reassure Rika from — and usually, it was her job to do so.

Her feelings eased up as soon as Hiromune turned away, and the four of them finally headed towards the temple. A dozen of people were inside, for what had probably been a meeting at first but now looked to be more of an intense verbal fight between the two most iconic twins of the entire region.

“I told you this would not work! See — you never listen to me, Sis, and now look what happened!”

“You can’t know without trying! And we still don’t have all the results—”

“What more do you need?! For the festival to be a complete failure with all of our stocks being insufficient?!”

As the two sisters were hurling insults at each other, both standing on each side of the long table, Rika noticed Akane sat in the background with the most exhausted expression she’d ever seen, while she heard a ‘oh dear’ escape Satoko from behind her.

The only one completely unbothered by the situation seemed to be Sakiko, who sneaked away from her aunt’s arms and ran right into the middle of the fight.

“Mommy!” She exclaimed, and instantly, almost in a comical way, both Shion and Mion snapped out of the argument and looked down towards the tiny child who trotted over and jumped into her mother’s arms without any warnings, almost making her fall over.

“Whoa! Hey there, Saki— Hey!”

As Shion struggled to reception her daughter, both Akane and Mion seemed to notice the rest of the group, and particularly Rika; upon Mion’s face brightened, all tension disappearing right away as if it had never existed.

“Hey, lookit who’s here! The biggest star of the village finally makes her entrance!” She said before immediately closing the distance and wrapping her arms around Rika.

While Rika never refused her friends’ physical affection, she had to admit the most annoying part of coming back to Hinamizawa after awhile was all the embraces she had to go through each times; but of course she couldn’t actually complain about this without coming across as a jerk, so she simply hugged back her oldest friend quietly.

“I’m glad to see you back,” Akane declared, and it seemed there was an implicit ‘Thank you for saving us from this’ hidden somewhere in her words.

Rika nodded in a sympathetic way, and then suddenly it really hit her just how tired and old Akane looked.

The Demon Princess of Shishibone was usually known of her implacable force of character, but here only a couple of hours of meeting and a fight between her daughters seemed to have tired her to the bone. Of course, Rika was well-aware that Akane was now almost in her sixties, but it still was an odd thing to wrap her mind around, and an odd feeling twisted her stomach.

“Ohh, so you’re finally here!” Rika heard another voice from behind her, and Rena then showed up along with Miyuki who was holding Kihiro in her arms.

“Rena! You’ve been here since a while? Where’s Kei?! I told him I wanted him to be here!” Mion instantly fulminated, a frown back on her face.

Rena smiled at her in an apologetic way, clapping her hands together.

“Sorry, Mii! He got very busy at school— but he said he’ll do his best to wrap up everything as quickly as he could.”

Mion groaned. “How comes he always does this?! He’s the mayor ! He can’t just go around skipping meetings about his village!”

“Don’t be mad, Mii,” Rika said nonchalantly. “Keiichi always does his best by the village even when he skips meetings.”

“I know that, but that still doesn’t make this okay.”

“That’s also rich to hear this from you, Rika,” Shion added as she rejoined the group, daughter in arms. “You’re always skipping meetings to run around the world, and you’re one of the heads of the three families.”

Rika smiled smugly. “Hinamizawa doesn’t need the three families anymore. It functions perfectly well without them.”

That was something she genuinely believed in, too. After Miyo Takano’s defeat, all of them had worked hard together with the villagers to make Hinamizawa a more open, modern place, and that had included getting rid of some of its outdated heritage like the village’s hierarchy and the three families. At some point as an adult, Mion had revoked her rights as the head of the Sonozakis and put into place a way that didn’t make the village as dependant on that system anymore, ultimately leading her to take back her uncle’s job as the owner of Okinomiya’s toys shop.

So of course, all of this was perfect for Rika as she now had very little responsibility towards the village as a Furude, but Hinamizawa slowly detaching itself from too old traditional staples that had stopped being relevant long ago was great for everyone in the end. Now even someone who was originally an outsider like Keiichi could take important decisions within the community, newcomers and tourists alike came more and more every year, and the village kept developing and evolving in positive manners.

A couple years ago, Rika had even started to accept teaching young girls about the traditional dance of Watanagashi as well as the customs of the Oyashiro priestesses; so that maybe one of them would succeed her eventually, even though up until now it had only been something reserved to the Furude women.

She was sure that Oyashiro — that Hanyuu was proud.

“Still sounds like an excuse to skip out to me,” Shion added, arching an eyebrow, and Rika grinned at her.

“Always a critic. I’m glad to see you missed me too, Shii.”

“Now, now, let’s not fight any more for tonight guys, shall we?” Satoko intervened, clapping her hands in an authoritative manner.

“Right! We still have a lot of work to help out with the festival prep,” Rena agreed. “And now that you’re here, Rika, you’ll help out too, right?”

“Uh… well, that is to said—”

“Of course she’ll help out,” Mion said, grinning viciously as she put both of her hands on Rika’s shoulders. “She can’t escape this. You don’t even have any training for the dance planned today.”

Rika sighed. “That’s mean. Even though I only just arrived after a long trip in train…”

“Pssh. You’ve had plenty time to recuperate, Rika! Stop being lazy! You’re setting up a bad example for the kids.”

Rika groaned, knowing that if even Satoko was getting on her case she truly wouldn’t be able to escape this, which made a few club members giggles.

It was still only the start of the afternoon, the sun peeking out in the sky warmly, but Rika knew it would be a long one.

______________________________________________________________

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s very nice of you, but we actually have things planned already tonight. Plus, I think it’d be better to leave you all together, right? Even Mr. and Mrs. Maebara left you the house specifically for that.”

“Well, that’s true, but…”

Rika couldn’t continue as Miyuki opened the door of the main Furude residence, and they stepped inside together. Just like every time she would came here, a big wave of nostalgia overwhelmed her and she took a deep breath.

The house was still the same as when she was a child. The walls, the rooms, some of the furniture. She could still remember pretty vividly the way she used to run around in the corridor, how she would cook with her mom in the kitchen or pester her dad on the porch to let her drink his wine.

It felt like an eternity ago, and at the same time, so close in time; a family life lost and meddled within thousands of thousands of different loops and memories.

When she entered the living room, however, instead of her parents sitting at the table was the Akasaka couple — Mamoru was just about to fill Yukie’s glass with water as their daughter enthusiastically waved at them.

“Hey! Dad, Mom, big sis Rika’s finally here!”

Both of them lifted their heads towards the newcomers, and as everyone before them, their faces brightened upon recognizing Rika. In Akasaka’s case, however, something warmer, softer stretched his features; a gentle smile and a fondness unique to him coloured his eyes as he fixed his eyes to her.

“Rika,” he greeted, his voice as deep and smooth as usual when he spoke to her. “You look good.”

It was a much simpler welcome compared to all those that she’d received up until now, but it somehow managed to make her heart fill with warmth a lot more than any of the others. Without even thinking about it, she headed in his direction, wrapped her arms around him and melted into his embrace. His strong arms enveloped her body and strongly hugged her in return, kissing the top of her head as she buried her face into his shoulder.

Her friends’ arms had always been home, but she had never felt as safe as when she was in Akasaka and Hanyuu’s embrace; as if nothing in the world could touch her as long as they were here, protecting her from everything.

An odd feeling of grief tightened her throat a little as she was briefly reminded of her own father’s hugs; and it made her feel odd, that even after all these years, she was still able to get that familiar ache in her chest.

She used to think she had become completely desensitized to those kinds of emotions after her decades of decay within the loops.

Maybe those past years of normal life had managed to get her back some of her humanity.

With some reluctance, she finally let go of Akasaka and pulled away, smiling back at him.

“We’re so glad to finally see you again,” Yukie then said with her innate motherly tone.

“For once, I didn’t even had to wait!” Miyuki added cheerfully as she took place at the table.

“Come on, Miyuki, don’t be rude. And you could at least make the effort to serve some tea to the guest.”

“Technically, we’re the guests, as this is her house,” her daughter pointed out. “Also, I’ve spent the entire afternoon running around. She’ll survive.”

Rika gently elbowed her in the sides, frowning, but Miyuki only chuckled and her mother sighed in fond exasperation.

“I was just proposing to Miyuki that you should come over to eat dinner with us at Keiichi’s house. But I guess it might be better for some of you to not come, after all, huh,” Rika said, side-eyeing Miyuki.

“Oh, right. I’ve heard from Rena about this,” Akasaka replied. “Sadly, we already have plans tonight. Ooishi is meant to come over to eat with us.”

“Oh? First I hear about this. I didn’t even know he was in town.”

“He is. It’s been twenty years since the curse’s case has been resolved, so he thought he’d like to come as… a way to commemorate this, I suppose.”

Yukie sighed. “Honestly, I kept telling him it would be best for him to stay in Sapporo. He’s not young anymore, and moving around like that is not good for his health.”

“Don’t worry, Yukie. He wouldn’t have come if this truly was too much for him,” her husband responded levelly.

“True!” Miyuki interjected. “Uncle Kura is as tenacious as a cockroach, no way a little trip’s gonna beat him.”

Ooishi had moved to Sapporo with his mother shortly after they’d solved the case about Oyashiro’s curse. Having received closure regarding his old friend’s death, there was nothing that tied him to the village anymore so he had finally decided to retire. Rika rarely got the occasion to see him afterwards, and most of the news she heard were thanks to Akasaka, but apparently it seemed he was living a peaceful, fulfilling life. She had thought that after everything that had happened he would’ve rather cut all ties with Hinamizawa, but sometimes every few years he dropped by at the village, and according to Akasaka he always asked about ‘the kids’ here whenever they talked to each other. Even though Rika and the others hadn’t been ‘kids’ in a long time.

Still, just like Akane, he had gotten quite old now as well. Even for how much of a ‘cockroach’ he was, it wouldn’t be surprising if in a handful of years he were to leave them.

Just like Kiichirou and Oryou had.

Just like Akane eventually would in a couple of decades, too.

In the corner of her eyes, Rika caught sight of an altar with her parents’ photo resting on top of it. It was something Yukie had made for her years ago when she had told her once that she’d never done this for them, and ever since she would always keep it well-maintened every time she’d came.

Her mother and father’s eyes from the frozen picture seemed scathingly burning all of a sudden, and Rika felt heavy, like the weight of the world and of the past twenty years had just fell upon her shoulders.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she almost felt like she was starting to suffocate— until a large, warm hand settled on her arm, and she lifted her eyes to meet Akasaka’s concerned eyes.

“Is everything all right?” He asked gently, and Rika smiled, not wanting to worry him.

And she was all right. Really.

She was home, with her family, for the first time in months; Watanagashi was just around the corner; everyone was well and alive and were leading fulfilling, promising lives filled with hope.

There was nothing bad about any of this. This was good — great, even.

Everyone has a right to pursue a happy life.

The difficult part is to be given that right—

“I’m okay,” Rika said, attempting to widen her smile.

Hoping it felt more genuine that she felt.

Akasaka didn’t seem to believe her entirely, just like Miyuki and Yukie probably, but she didn’t feel like looking at them right now so she wouldn’t.

“I’m glad to be there with you,” she then added, and it was true. It was. “I missed you.”

Akasaka smiled. “I missed you too. I…” He seemed to hesitate. “I’m sure you know that by now, but, I’m always here for you if you need it. Even if it’s just to talk. You’re like a daughter to me, so please don’t hesitate to come to me for help. To us,” he added pointedly, looking at his wife and daughter, whom Rika could see nodding right away at his words.

She smiled, stared at Miyuki, then Yukie, then finally the man who had became her second father in the last twenty, twenty-five, one hundred twenty-five last years.

“I know.”

______________________________________________________________

The Maebara house, or Maebara Mansion as most everyone in the village still called it, had known a few different works throughout the years — Ichirou had made some big new layouts in his workshop, Aiko had redecorated the kitchen and living room at least twice — but even so the feeling of cosiness and warmness that Rika had always associated with it persisted, and she loved coming back to it almost as much as to her and Satoko’s place.

“And here it is! Rena Ryuuguu’s Special Katsudon! The most unique and tasty that you’ll ever eat in the entirety of Japan! There is no one who can cook deep-fried pork cutlet, eggs or vegetables the way Miss Ryuuguu does!”

All while finishing his speech very theatrically, Keiichi disposed the plates on the table as everyone were awed at the dish’s presentation and mouth-watering odour that filled the room. Only Rena appeared flustered about the over-the-top praises and threw him a reprimanding look.

“K-Keiichi, I told you to stop doing things like that! It’s not anything special… I wanted to actually cook something more complicated, but…”

“Gah, don’t be silly, Rena!” Mion interrupted. “Kei’s right, absolutely no one can cook like you, even your simplest dishes are delicious! Not even Grandma rivalled you.”

“That’s very true,” Satoshi added. “Stop putting you down.”

“Being modest is not cute at all anymore,” his sister agreed, and poor Rena could only melt in her seat, completely red and defeated.

“So, as I was saying!” Keiichi resumed. “This is Rena Ryuuguu’s Special Katsudon, cooked with love by delicate fingers and accompanied with tonkatsu sauce—”

“Who cares!” The youngest of the table, Sakiko, suddenly cut off her uncle with a grumpy face. “I’m hungry! Let’s eat!”

Truthfully, the poor girl had been waiting more than an hour before they actually started digging into the dinner, so Rika couldn’t blame her eagerness. At least Kihiro had gotten baby privilege, eating early on and then now sleeping peacefully in her room; but Sakiko and her five years of age had to wait at the table like the adults.

“Saki!” Satoko exclaimed, using her best Angry Mom Voice. “Don’t interrupt your uncle like that. Apologize.”

“It’s fine, Satoko,” Shion intervened. “It’s just Kei, and Saki’s right; we should start eating instead of monologuing!”

“N-Nee-nee! You can’t say that, you need to set the example for her—”

“Geez! It’s a party tonight, no need to be so serious!” Shion grabbed Satoko’s cheek and pulled on it, while Satoshi simply shook his head, but he looked more amused than anything.

“No, no, you’re very right, young lady,” Keiichi added finally, winking at Sakiko, whose bad mood seemed to be wiped out instantly and giggled at the man’s antics. “It’s a lot ruder to simply stare at all this marvellous food and not touch it!”

“Well spoken, Soldier Maebara!” Mion exclaimed in turn, raising from her seat and clicking her chopsticks on her glass. “All Club Members! No one are allowed to even leave one crumb of Rena Ryuuguu’s Special Katsudon! Am I being clear?!”

A thundering ‘Yeaaah!’ resonated throughout the Maebara Mansion’s living room, and the club’s game president smiled smugly.

“All right! In that case, let’s dig in in one… two… three!”

“Fight, on!” Rika added.

And everyone did as they were told; although Sakiko actually started eating before Mion finished the countdown, ignoring Satoko’s reprobating look.

Of course, Rena’s katsudon was absolutely delicious. Everyone devoured all of it, as well as the sweets that had came from the neighbourhood’s ladies, and by the time Sakiko started to get grumpy because of the fatigue and her father had to bring her to bed Mion had already brought out a Jenga game to begin their first proper club game tournament in a long time.

This was the same type of intense challenge Rika was used to — has been used to for decades and decades — and she smiled and laughed and teased as much as the others, played at heart’s content, enjoyed every single minute of the adrenaline the rush of the club’s events always procured.

It was as it always was, as it always should be — similar, but still never the same as what she’d been used to in her century-trapped loop.

But then, in a way, it also felt… a bit off.

And Rika started to get that odd feeling of disconnection she felt, from times to times, when the world kept on turning but she alone seemed stuck in a small bubble of time separated from the rest.

Just like when she used to be held captive in a hundred years chessboard game while everyone around her was blissfully unaware.

The world kept turning, her loved ones kept laughing, but only she was detached, floating around, untethered.

As Rena, Shion and Mion were starting the final round, Rika discretely rose from her seat.

With all the grace of a feline and a glass of wine in hand, she went outside the house and closed the door behind her. The summer night was cold, a frail breeze brushing her face and hair, and she took a long breath.

It felt nice, like a way to ground her back in the present. She raised her eyes towards the sky, then took a sip of wine. It was one element to their club activities that had gotten naturally added after all of them turned twenty-one — alcohol. Of course some of them, most notably Satoko and Rena, had not been fond of the concept and actively discouraged the idea to use it in games, but it was still something that ended up being put in to spice things up, especially when it came to late-night games like now.

Although of course, whenever it came to alcohol games, no one could ever beat Rika to it.

It had become a little more awkward to talk about why that was — and Satoko always got angry at her whenever she drunk too much, as her maybe-alcoholism had been a point of contention between them for a while.

She was probably right, too; but Rika didn’t think she could ever stop drinking, as it had become one of her last means of true comfort.

Or it should be, at least, but it seemed tonight, even wine was pretty ineffective to ease her feelings of anxiety and dissociation.

It was in those types of moments she really missed Hanyuu.

She’d be annoying, no doubt, but at least she’d here, with her, like she always used to be — and at least she would talk to her, and whisper to her, and sing to her, like when she used to be a child. At least she’d be—

“Thought I’d seen someone get out earlier… so it was you.”

The voice almost made her jump; she swirled around, and Keiichi was here, standing next to her, grinning — but not in his usual way, more softer.

“Yo, Rika. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. I was just taking some fresh air.”

“Some fresh air, huh?”

Keiichi eyed her glass suspiciously as she said so. Satoko hadn’t been the only one of her friends to have some misgivings regarding her drinking habits — Rena, especially, had taken her aside on the topic more than once — but surprisingly, Keiichi had also been one of the most disapproving on the topic.

She groaned. “I haven’t drunk that much. It’s only my… fifth glass… Probably?”

“Rika…”

“It’s not a lot for me, I swear. And either way, that’s none of your business. I’m not driving tonight anyway, so.”

Keiichi sighed, and it was too dark to see if he was rolling his eyes but she was pretty sure he did.

“Okay, okay. I’m not here to fight with you. Satoko won’t be happy about this, though.”

“What Satoko doesn’t know can’t hurt her,” she replied, finishing the glass.

“What, you’re lying to her now?”

“I’m not… Keiichi, are you here for something or do you just want to lecture me?”

“No, I was just… Sorry, that wasn’t my intention.”

He sighed, then crouched down. Rika stared at him for a moment, then finally let herself sat on the ground next to him. Her head fell on his shoulder casually.

“Rika, is everything good?”

“Hmm hm.”

“Cause you, like, don’t look all that good. I mean, you’re good, but… I dunno. You seem a big spacey? Did something happen in one of your trips, before you came back?”

“No,” she said honestly. “Nothing happened. Or rather… yeah, things happened. Some bad, some good, but that has nothing to do with this… It’s just…”

She felt Keiichi tilt his head slightly, a few brown strands falling in her eyes. She could sense his concern from here; but he didn’t rush her, just waited for her to speak on her own.

It was something Keiichi had learned and became good at as he got older; how to listen, how to be patient. He matured, grown into such a good, reliable man. She was proud of him.

Rika wasn’t sure she could say the same of her.

“I don’t feel bad,” she finally said. “I don’t. I’m glad to be here. I’m glad to be back home, in Hinamizawa, to see all of you; I really missed you…”

“I know you did.”

“But… It’s not the same.”

Keiichi seemed to consider her words for a moment.

“It’s not,” he repeated, and Rika wasn’t certain if it was a question or simply an agreement.

“It’s similar, but everything’s different. Everyone’s different. Hinamizawa has changed so much; is still changing so much.”

“And it’s bad?”

“No, that’s the thing. It’s good. But I just… Maybe.” She inhaled. Eyes rived on the stars, shining, blinding, hurting. “Maybe I just feel a little bit left behind.”

Far, far away, somewhere in the woods, or in the fields, cicadas were singing.

But even their chirping had stopped feeling familiar to Rika.

Keiichi suddenly moved a little, and she felt as if he was about to say something; but then the door opened, making both of them jump.

“Oh, so you were there!” Rena exclaimed happily. “Shii won! And god, she keeps grinning while thinking about the punishment, and—”

She stopped, blinked, looked at each of her friends. “Am I… interrupting?”

Rika and Keiichi exchanged a gaze, then shook their heads.

“Nah, we were just musing,” the man explained. “About… change, and stuff.”

“Change,” Rena repeated.

She eyed Keiichi, then her gaze landed on Rika; which instinctively, made the younger woman look away. As always, it was just impossible to sustain Rena’s piercing gaze when it felt like she could read anyone like a book.

“Change’s complicated,” she added, and somehow, despite how ridiculously simple her statement was, it felt strangely validating of Rika’s feelings. “It’s scary, but not unsurmountable. Not if we have guidance and people rely on.”

Keiichi laughed, full throat on, and nodded heartily. “Rena’s always got the best encouragement, even when she doesn’t know what we’re talking about!”

Rika smiled briefly, but then Keiichi turned towards Rika, and abruptly gripped her shoulder; firmly, reassuringly.

“Rika, you might feel that way, but you’re not left behind, y’know. We’ll… never really be able to get what you’ve been through, but we’ll always be here, as tightly knit as always, whenever you need it. And you just have to make a phone call, even if you’re on the other side of the planet, and we’ll come running for you right away. Always.” He turned towards Rena, something on his face seeming to ask her silently if he’d said the right words. “Right?”

“Right.”

And Rika felt like she probably should say something, thank them maybe, but her throat was all clogged up and she didn’t think she’d be able to pronounce a single word without her voice cracking; so instead she simply nodded, hoping the silent gratefulness showed enough on her face.

Her friends seemed to get it, as they exchanged a smile, but right as they were about to retreat back inside, words brusquely fell out from Rika’s mouth.

“I miss Hanyuu, too.”

She hadn’t actually planned to say this, and it even shocked herself to hear her own voice articulate this peculiar, intimate feeling. It wasn’t like it was a secret, to her or to anyone, but it still was something she generally kept to herself and everyone respected that. Keiichi and Rena looked at her in surprise, before their expression softened and instead his expression settled on awkward, at a loss for words, while hers was more neutral.

“Sorry,” Rika quickly added, and really, her throat shouldn’t feel as dry as this — she would not cry over this, not right now, she just wouldn’t— “I-I didn’t… I mean—”

“It’s okay,” Rena said. Both her face and her voice were very gentle, and she took a few steps before softly hugging Rika in her arms. “I miss her too.”

And because it was Rena, who was maybe the only other club member with a particular bond to Hinamizawa’s god, Rika believed her, and let herself feel supported, and loved, and understood.

“Heeyy! Kei, Rena, Rika!” Mion’s voice suddenly resounded from inside, making Rika pull away from Rena before their friend’s silhouette actually burst out outside.

She threw her arms around Rena and Keiichi’s shoulders, apparently too high and excited from the game’s liveliness to notice the mood.

“What’re ya guys doin’?! Trying to run away?”

“No way, I won’t allow it!” Shion’s voice added from behind. “I finally decided upon the punishment, and you’re not going to avoid it!”

Keiichi winced and Rena shuddered, but Rika only laughed — and when they finally all went back inside, she grabbed both of her friends’ hands, letting their warmth being the thing to ground her this time instead of some glass of wine.

______________________________________________________________

She tapped the tip of her pen on the paper.

Her notebook’s page was still blank. Not a trace of ink, of pencil, of gum marks tainted the white of the paper. Not a single hint of inspiration spiralled inside her empty mind. Frustrated, she took yet again the bottle of wine to her side, and emptied it in one gulp.

“Rika, that’s enough now. You’ve drink enough for the evening, don’t you think?”

Satoko headed to her side — Rika had barely sensed her presence, which was unusual — then took the bottle from her hand. Rika glared at her, but she knew if she started to argue it would end up in a fight, and she didn’t want to fight with Satoko right now; so she just let it go, closed her notebook and descended from the window sill on which she’d been perched since they’d come back from Keiichi’s house.

Surprisingly, they hadn’t left all that late. The Sonozaki twins — who were the two biggest drinkers of their group after Rika — had been too drunk to walk anywhere, so they decided to sleep at the Maebaras’; but all the others went home shortly after midnight, Satoko and Rika included. Well, Rika might not have been too drunk to go back to their place without problems, but now she certainly was, as she almost felt her head spinning just by standing.

“Come now, go to sleep, Rika,” Satoko said, kneeling next to their futon. “You have training for the dance tomorrow, don’t you? You need to be in good shape.”

She did. Even if admittedly, she really wasn’t looking forward to doing any of these things right now.

Rika looked through the window for a moment, staring at the full moon shining in the sky, then instinctively turned around to stare at their calendar; almost the same model they’d used for years — the one where out of the two of them who woke up first had the privilege to turn the page each new mornings. The one Rika had stared at longingly for so many, many identical days, endlessly repeating. It displayed today’s date — ‘Sunday, June 8, 2003’   — in a vivid red colour right now.

Rika shook her head, then finally let herself crawl under the blanket of the futon next to Satoko — burying herself under the sheets, as if hoping to disappear through them.

She heard a long-suffering sigh, then the body next to hers moved. Slowly, fingers gently touched hers, and when they weren’t met by rejection they entangled themselves with her own.

“Rika, what’s going on? I know you talked with Keiichi and Rena earlier. Won’t you talk to me too?”

“It’s stupid,” Rika whispered, voice muffled from under the sheets.

“Obviously it’s not, if it makes you act like a capricious child.”

Rika lifted her head, and was met with a pair of magenta jewels glimmering brilliantly under the moonlight.

Satoko’s eyes always shined so brightly, just like the rest of her.

“I’m not,” she mumbled childishly while glaring at her friend, which certainly didn’t help her case.

“Then speak to me. Come on, Rika. You should know that by now. Speak to me.” She paused. “Don’t hide things. At least not to me.”

She did know that, of course.

Talk. Don’t bottle things up. She’d learnt that lesson already, years and years back.

“…I can’t write.”

Satoko blinked at her, confusion written all over her face. “What?”

“I… you know, I write. Sometimes. A couple of sentences, here and there. Poems.”

Satoko nodded. She did know, since Rika had told her herself. She’d never shown anyone her very first notebooks, her very first poems — the ones she’d wrote all by herself, in the darkness, when she felt like everything was so hopeless she’d be better off to stay dead and never come back again.

She’d never shown anyone those poems, not even to Hanyuu.

They were hers, and only hers — painful secrets and ugly thoughts and wretched prayers that had to stay just between herself and the old, deranged witch Bernkastel.

It was her wishes and her despair and her hopes all channelled into flowery words and papers and she could never stand it for anyone to poise their hands on it, tearing apart her heart at its most vulnerable.

That’s why she’d burnt all of them after writing the last one once she made it past that summer twenty years ago.

But while she couldn’t show them, she had… spoken about them. To Satoko.

She’d let Satoko read some of her newer poems, the ones who weren’t as raw as those written in the loops.

“I write… about all sorts of things. My feelings. My travels. My experiences. The years going by…” She swallowed. “But those last few months, it seems I cannot write anything at all anymore.”

Satoko frowned. “Writer’s block?”

“I thought I’d be able to find more inspirations by finally coming back home, but instead…”

Instead, it was if it had been worse. Now even just looking at the paper made her stomach twist and let her mind wander into its worst thoughts.

“I told Keiichi,” she continued, voice soft, almost a whisper. “That I… that things changed. You know. They’re the same, but they’re different. And that’s a good thing, I do believe so, but it feels like I’m… I don’t know, like I’m the only one who doesn’t change. Like I’m the only one who’s… stuck. Like I…”

She stopped. She couldn’t look at Satoko in the eyes anymore, even though she could still feel the other woman’s gaze fixed on her, listening to her intensely.

“Like I’m still stuck in that loop.”

Rika didn’t need to explain what she meant by that, she knew Satoko knew.

The grip on her hand didn’t lessen, but she felt a thumb gently caress her skin, brushing over old cutting scars on her wrist.

“You’re scared of change.”

“No, that’s not… not really. It’s too… I don’t know. The years pass on, and back then— back then, when I was still stuck, I knew what to expect. I knew what would happen every single day, every single hour; everything was scripted, and I just knew. And it was all so unbearably… boring, but at least— at least I knew.” She sighed. “I don’t know anymore. Nothing’s scripted anymore. I can never tell what’s going to happen. And it’s good, but also… Not good. I guess.”

She let go of Satoko’s hand so that she could rub her face and her eyes, and suddenly she felt all of her one hundred thirty-one years weight on her, pulling her down, and she felt so tired.

“I told Keiichi I felt left behind, sort of. But like— that’s stupid. I’m glad to be here, I’m glad things are changing, and— god, it’s been twenty goddamn years, and I should be used to all this by now. I should be— I should be fine. I’m fine.”

Satoko kept silent for a moment, as Rika tried to regulate her breathing and not have some stupid panic attack or something because it would’ve been even more unbearably embarrassing.

Fuck, she wished Hanyuu was here so damn badly. At least with Hanyuu she never felt like an idiot when stuff like this happened.

“You’ve changed too, Rika.”

Rika removed her hands from her face, and turned to stare at Satoko oddly. But her friend wasn’t looking at her, she was looking at her hands under the blanket instead, frowning slightly.

“You’ve changed. You’re not stuck. You might not have realized it, but you did. You’ve grown up. You’ve matured. You speak, you share your burdens, you keep writing. And even when you feel bad, like right now, you keep speaking.” Satoko breathed in, then looked at Rika again. “You know, I really miss you, a whole damn lot. Almost every day, when you’re away travelling the world and whatnot, I wish you were still right here with me, by my side; but at the end of the day, I’m okay with it, because I know you’re out there doing what you love, and in the end you’ll always came back home, come back to me. And every time you do, you look even more beautiful and changed than the last time. And I’m— I’m proud of you, for that.”

Satoko smiles, and there’s something truly unique about this moment with the fact she’s able to say all of this without getting embarrassed.

“And you know, even if I can’t understand what you went through exactly, I can still relate to this. Feeling left behind. Feeling like… I don’t know, the world move too fast, and that one day Saki’s going to be a grown woman and I’ll be an old lady and it won’t makes sense.”

She reached out towards Rika, running her hand in her short blue hair, putting back some of her strands behind her ear in a tender movement.

“But as long as we— keep talking. About this. Then it’ll be all right, I think. It’ll makes sense. We’ll be okay.”

Rika stares at her, straight into her eyes, and Satoko smiles at her, and then she believes it.

Yes, they’ll be okay.

Hanyuu’s not here, and people die and grow up too fast and her village move on and the world keep turning and Rika still feel too disconnected from it all like she’ll never be truly able to fit in and adapt to normal life, but maybe it’ll be all right.

Maybe they’ll be okay.

As she held Satoko’s hand yet again, and close her eyes to fall asleep, her heart feel a little more at ease for the first time since she came back to Hinamizawa.

______________________________________________________________

Watanagashi’s colours and lightning felt so blinding this year.

Well, Rika didn’t know if it was actually any more or less than the other years, but at least it seemed to feel like that for sure. Maybe it was the effect of knowing it was the twentieth year since the end of the curse.

A week had passed since she’d first came, and as the last Sunday of June had finally arrived, the festival was now living at its fullest; villagers and tourists alike trotting both in casual clothes and kimono, children playing and running, music and screams and laughters roaring all around. Rika was watching all of this from afar in her shrine priestess garb while chewing on yakitori, making sure not to dirty the traditional robes. Although she had years of experience of this by now, so it was pretty easy; but this was the last souvenir of Oryou that she had — one she’d sew for her twentieth birthday when at the time she could barely get out of bed anymore — so she still wanted to be extremely careful with it.

She and the rest of the club had just started their big annual club activity — the Fight of the Seven Demons (with, maybe sometimes, Eight Demons because of Sakiko, but the girl usually got quickly tired of this and wanted to go home) — however, at some point there had been tensions between two booth owners and Keiichi, as the mayor, had to go intervene so that it doesn’t degenerate. And on the way back he’d been intercepted by his old pal, famous baseball player Yukikazu Kameda, and they’d been catching up ever since. She heard Satoko let out a sigh as she leaned onto her shoulder, a small horse plushie that Satoshi (well, technically Shion because Satoshi hadn’t been able to win it) had gotten for her at one of the booth as a present.

“Really can’t believe he actually left us for this guy,” she grumbled. “Soon it’ll be time for Rika’s performance and we won’t know who won the Seven Demons’ Fight!”

“Hauu, but look at them, they’re so kyute! I wanna take ‘em home!”

“Don’t worry, Satoko,” Mion added. “Even if we don’t make it in time before the performance, we can finish it after. We don’t have a curfew anymore, after all!”

Rika nodded and was about to add something, when another voice came from behind her.

“You might not have a curfew anymore, but some of you has kids you have to look after now, don’t you?”

Irie appeared in their vision field along with Satoshi and Shion, who had just left briefly to get Sakiko to quiet down as she’d started to throw a tantrum in the middle of the festivities. Rika didn’t know what they’d done, but manifestly she’d calmed down now, resting in her mother’s arms in utter silence.

“Oh, Manager!” Mion exclaimed. “We hadn't seen you all night, so we were wondering if something had happened.”

“There was some work to do at the clinic, but nothing urgent.”

Rika knew that if Irie said that had been nothing urgent then he probably meant it, but the sentence made her tense by instinct. Hinamizawa syndrome hadn’t been an issue in years, and now Irie Clinic was just a normal clinic; once in a while, Rika would still drop by and run some tests, as well as the ones who’d been heavily affected by the syndrome like Satoko and Satoshi, but so far there had not been any new problems and Hifumi Takano or his granddaughter’s researches had not been mentioned in a long time. And even if it was the case, Rika was certain that Irie would instantly come to her about it.

But she still tensed. Maybe it was a natural reaction when it came to the syndrome that had been too deeply embedded in her since she was a child, but she just couldn’t help it.

She didn’t know if Irie actually noticed it, but he still threw an odd sympathetic look at her, which she guessed was meant to be reassuring — and that was surprisingly effective these days. With his caramel hair a bit longer and tied in a low ponytail and his features older, he actually did now have the posture of a respected older doctor, although he was still prompt to throw around his silly jokes.

“We don’t have to worry about the kids, actually,” Rena said. “Aiko and Ichirou are the ones looking after Kihiro right now, and they’ll go home right after Rika’s dance. And Mii and Shii’s uncle Yoshirou said he’ll take care of Saki for the night if need to be.”

“Ohh, I see you’ve already taken care of everything then. What responsible adults you’ve all become.”

“Are you going to have fun at the festival now, then?” Satoko asked. “You work too much, Manager. It’s not good for your health now that your so old.”

“Oh dear, Satoko, you should careful to how you talk to your elders like that.”

Irie laughed heartily, before rubbing Satoko’s head roughly and attempting to pinch her sides in retaliation — although he didn’t look offended at all.

“I wanna play baseball again, Uncle Manager,” Sakiko interjected softly from Shion’s arms.

The girl was still too young to officially rejoins Irie’s baseball team, that had since then became mixed, but with the three most important adults in her life being pretty involved in the sport, she’d quickly got initiated as well — Satoko always boasted about how good she was at it already. Irie smiled at the child, then while checking the authorisation from Shion, he took her in his arms while grinning.

“Of course. I’ll make sure to organize a game just for you at school next month, Saki. What do you say?”

Sakiko’s eyes brightened. “Really?!”

“But in exchange you’ll have to listen to everything your parents says without arguing for a whole year.”

And then her face crumpled, and everyone laughed upon seeing her clearly weighting the pros and the cons in her head.

“Hey, sorry to make you all wait, I’m back now and I’m so fired up!” Keiichi suddenly jumped in from the crowd within their circle, showing off his biceps. “Are you ready to lose?!”

“We’re the ones who should be asking that!” Mion replied, elbowing him in the sides. “Who abandoned us to go hang out with your boyfriend, huh?! You traitor!”

“Ow! Hey, Mion! I already told you to stop it with the accusations, Kameda’s not—”

Mion caught his head in a playful headlock while Rena fussed over them, and after some time spent messing around their big fight finally started again. They jumped from booth to booth, both the games and food ones, as usual without interruption all while making as much noise as possible; something, it seemed, that not even their departure of their teenage years had changed, but also something everyone in Hinamizawa had become quite used to by now.

It was upon arriving at Tomita’s tofu booth that they ultimately decided on their final round, Okamura accepting to play the role of their arbiter; and after a frank debate between the two old best friends, they settled upon Rika being the official winner, with Keiichi arriving last. (Whether or not Okamura’s old crush from their childhood years played into this choice, like Shion accused, was up for debate — but Rika managed to play off all suspicions by reminding them of the fact that both Okamura and Tomita were now married to completely different women than her and Satoko.)

Everything felt so pleasantly familiar as Rika let herself laugh with the others that she’d almost completely forgot her stupid unease she’d had when she’d first arrived here a week ago.

But then, out of nowhere, she promptly heard the click of a camera behind her.

Her heart skipped a beat as a wave of nostalgia swallowed her, and she spun around. She was almost expecting to find in front of her the face of a brown-haired man with glasses and an awkward smile, a big yellow camera in his hands, but instead there was no one; it seemed the click had come from a family a few steps away.

She felt like she was starting to get paranoid now. Honestly, what had been that reaction?

“So?” Mion interject. “What punishment should Keiichi get?”

Rika snapped back to reality, and felt almost ashamed to admit she didn’t consider it. They hadn’t decided to plan it in advance, so the winner had to be the one to decide — but, while usually she’d have a lot of choices, right now she couldn’t think of anything. Keiichi was staring at her suspiciously, and she only smiled apologetically at him.

“I’ll come up with one after the performance,” she explained finally.

“What? You cannot do that, that’s boring,” Shion protested, but her sister only shrugged.

“That’ll do it, I guess— Oh?”

Mion’s eyes suddenly stopped with surprise right in front of her; and, as such, everyone in the club followed her gaze. They seemed to be fixated on the silhouette of a woman a few meters away — probably in her thirties, she had long green hair, darker than Mion’s, tied into a single braid and a lost look on her face as she looked right and left, as if searching for someone. Rika had no idea who this was, but Mion’s face brightened into a smile, so she seemed to be an acquaintance of her.

“Natsumi!” She finally exclaimed, and the woman turned around. When she noticed Mion waving at her, she smiled back and quickly trotted towards them.

“Mion,” she said, softly. “It’s… nice to see you.”

“You too! Glad you could make it. According to your mom, it wasn’t certain you would, huh?”

“Um,” Rena interrupted. “Mii?”

Mion blinked back at Rena, then finally realized that the rest of the group looked at her with confused faces. She scratched her head.

“Oh c’mon, you’ve met Natsumi already, didn’t you? She’s a distant relative from the Kimiyoshis. Used to live in Okinomiya back when we were kids, but she moved about a long time ago. She still dropped by here a few times before?”

“Ah!” Shion exclaimed. “Right, right, of course. My apologies, Kimiyoshi, my memories can be pretty bad.”

Natsumi, it seemed, didn’t seem offended in the slightest, and simply smiled.

“It’s all right. And I’m Natsumi Toudou now.”

“Oh that’s right! Don’t think I’ve ever met your husband before. Is he here?”

“He is,” she confirmed, and her face cleared with adoration right away. “Akira and I came here with some friends too. Although, it wouldn’t have been possible if not for Detective Ooishi.”

“Ooishi?” Keiichi repeated. “You know that old fart too?”

Natsumi appeared surprised by his vulgarity and stared at him with wide eyes, as Rena shushed him right away with a ‘Be more polite!’

“Natsumi is friend with a cop lady who’s an old buddy of Ooishi, apparently,” Mion explained for her. “Or, er, something like that, I think?”

“Detective Minai, yes. So, Mr. Ooishi is the one who guided us here…”

“How generous of him,” Mion snorted, not trying to disguise the thorns in her voice. Even after all this time, she still wasn’t fond of the man. “Always ready to help the ones in need, huh, that old guy.”

“Of course I am. What kind of person would I be to abandon a charming young lady in need like Mrs. Toudou?”

Each member of the group jumped and turned around; and sure enough, the said old fart was here — almost the same sleazy gaze and appearance he always had, too, even if the last few years had clearly taken a toll on him, and that he now had to use a cane to help him move around. Right behind him stood Akasaka, who seemed to be carefully observing his friend as though he was afraid of him tumbling down at some point — but he still managed to sparse a soft smile to Rika, who responded in kind.

“Oh, Detective!” Natsumi exclaimed. “I was wondering where you were…”

“Oh, worried for me, Mrs. Toudou? Nahaha, I’m flattered, but unfortunately I am not interested in married women; they’re too much troubles.”

“Wha—” The woman turned bright red. “Th-That’s not what— I mean—”

“He’s only messing with you, do not mind him,” Akasaka helped, throwing a glare at Ooishi who chuckled. “You should stop teasing her like that, or else I’m going to report it to Ms. Minai.”

“Ohh, scary, scary! You’re right, I apologize then.”

“We’ve just came across Mr. Toudou and two of your friends, I believe. They seemed to be looking for you, so I think you should go back to them.”

“O-Oh, right, I should do that! Thank you!”

Natsumi seemed to be about to run off, but right before then she stopped, and turned towards Mion again.

“We’ll stay here for a few days, but I just wanted to say… I’m really grateful to be able to be here for this festival right now. My grandmother loved Watanagashi and Hinamizawa very much, and she was right — this really is a beautiful place.”

Mion grinned, but it was Keiichi who answered for her this time, voice full of pride: “You’re right! Drop by anytime, Hinamizawa’s open to all!”

She smiled, and then allowed one glance at Rika this time.

“I’ll be sure to watch your performance as well. Thank you for welcoming me here.”

Rika nodded a little confusedly, and then with one last good bye to Mion, Natsumi finally ran off. She wasn’t sure why she’d taken the pain to specifically say this to Rika; but maybe her status as the priestess of Oyashiro tended to have this effect on people, even those who weren’t all that familiar with the region’s customs.

“Seems like you did a lot of good work this year again,” Ooishi mused, looking around pensively. “Last time I came it was… six years ago? And even then, there wasn’t as many tourists. You’ll easily beat Tokyo’s festivals if you keep on like this.”

“If that’s a challenge, Detective, then I’ll accept it!” Keiichi exclaimed, and Ooishi chuckled.

“I haven’t been a ‘detective’ in decades, so maybe it’ll be time for you kids to stop calling me that.”

“You’ll always be Detective to us,” Rena replied. “You’ll be one to me, at least.”

“Aw, would you see that. Always the one with the sweetest words, Ms. Ryuuguu. Right, speakin’ of, is your small enterprise going well in Okinomiya? Heard from Kuma that you’re doing quite some competition to the police; people prefer coming to you rather than the cops to solve problems and cases.”

Rena flushed a little, rolling one strand of orange hair around her finger. “That’s not true… I’m just doing some detective work here and there, but that’s not much.”

“And always as modest as ever, huh.”

It wasn’t as much modesty as it was the truth; technically speaking, Rena was only the editor and publisher of a small town independent magazine, but somehow one thing leading to another she’d also ended up doing quite some detective work at her lost hours. Some even called her a private detective here and there, even if that wasn’t how she marketed herself.

“Ah… by the way, aren’t Miyuki and Yukie with you?” Rika asked then, noticing only the presence of the two men around.

“They decided to make a round of the festival just the two of them,” Akasaka replied. “But don’t worry, they won’t miss your performance. Miyuki bought a specific camera for it, even.”

Rika smiled back at him. “I have no doubt about it.”

Behind him, Ooishi seemed to have fallen into an unusual silence; his wrinkled eyes surveying the area, the people having fun, with a melancholic look.

Rika wondered what must be going on in his mind at this moment, as he observed yet again the festival after not having seen it for years now.

She wondered if he felt like he was back twenty years before then, still investigating the curse, on the lookout for the slightest suspicious person or event.

She wondered if he thought back to his friend, the construction manager that had been killed and dismembered.

But she didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking when suddenly his face relaxed and he looked over them — their group of kids who were not kids anymore — because his gaze communicated his thoughts as clearly as the day.

 Thank god that this year, no murder and disappearance will happen.

______________________________________________________________

When Rika descended from the stage at the end of her dance, she was struggling to breathe and her limbs were trembling.

It felt almost strange how exhausted she felt. Back when she was a child, she was never this tired after a performance or training, even when she had troubles to even just lift the hoe. She’d say that she was getting old, but she was only thirty-one, so she refused to admit this to herself.

Some villagers rushed to her side to help her out as well as two of the girls she was mentoring; newcomers of the village, one had who moved in four years ago and the other only last year. They were good at it, too, and seemed very fascinated by Oyashiro and Hinamizawa’s traditions, so Rika was glad to see there were genuine interest in these old customs from a new generation, even non-native.

After drinking some water, she decided she wanted to stay away from the crowd for a little while before she get back to her friends; to breath some fresh air and rest her body a little more, and so she ended up trotting all the way back to the ritual storehouse, which was the only place she knew she’d find time alone.

When she arrived there, she let out a sigh and sat on the rock that stood in front of the shed, contemplating the small, familiar building, with only company the muffled sounds of the cicadas escaping from the forest.

She used to spend so much time in there, alone with Oyashiro’s status, all those rusty torture implements and, occasionally, Hanyuu.

Everyone had always been horrified by such an ominous place, even her own parents despite being part of the Furude family, but it had never been the case for Rika.

To her, it had always been Hanyuu’s home before anything else, and even the bloody instruments scattered around had never been able to taint that sense of comfort she felt in it.

Her reminiscences were cut shorts when she heard a rustling sound from behind.

She jumped back; all of her muscles getting tense and her senses sharply vivid as her eyes narrowed and surveyed the surroundings. For a moment, she contemplated the idea of just running away, maybe screaming for help if needed — until a voice stopped her.

“Please, don’t leave. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to startle you, Rika Furude.”

The shadows in front of her started moving; and then a figure emerged. A woman — older than Rika, most likely, with long, fair hair, wearing skinny pants and high heels and a long hat. It should be completely impossible to tell her identity in the dark like that, not when Rika couldn’t even tell the colour of her hair, but somehow she still recognized her immediately.

She knew that voice, that way of talking, of moving. She wasn’t a person she was intimate with, but despite this she was pretty sure she’d be able to tell her apart anywhere.

“Takano?”

The name escaped her before she could really register what that person being there truly meant, and when she did, her blood froze in her veins and her breath got stuck in her throat.

“The one and only,” the woman said, and if there were any doubts about her identity before, that very specific cheeky and seducing tone she’d always employed confirmed it. “Although I just go by Miyoko now. It’s been a long time.”

Rika was simply so stunned that she couldn’t respond anything to this. How was she even supposed to react to that?

She hadn’t seen Miyo Takano ever since that infamous day where they defeated her and she left in Jirou Tomitake’s care. The man had come to them a few days afterwards, giving them a vague update about her situation being ‘stabilized’; that he was now ‘in charge of her’ and that they didn’t need to worry about her anymore. And then both of them had promptly disappeared from Rika’s life.

Even though Irie had said he had cut all ties with their organization, she always had some suspicions that the doctor might’ve still been sporadically in contact with Tomitake — but she had never asked, and he never told her, so it was more of an unspoken secret between them than something actually concrete.

And as far as Rika was concerned, it was perfectly fine by her to not know, too.

Miyo Takano was the person directly responsible for her hundred years of suffering.

She’d tortured her and her friends and forced her to experience so many horrific things that she still suffered nightmares from even now. She’d mercilessly massacred an entire village in countless other fragments. She’d killed both of Rika’s parents.

She was her murderer.

Rika had let her go twenty years ago, wasn’t interested in making her pay for that or taking revenge. As long as she could live her happy, peaceful life with her loved ones, the rest didn’t matter. But she certainly wasn’t interested in playing nice or having any contact with her, either.

Of course, she was aware that this Miyo Takano — or Miyoko — in front of her was technically not responsible for most of those things.

This fragment’s Miyo Takano had not killed or tortured her, she had not massacred the entirety of Hinamizawa. But that didn’t mean Rika was just fine with her, she’d always tended to be a pretty grudgeful person.

Oyashiro forgave that woman because she was a god, but her priestess was only human and had no intention to.

With all of this, an anger she’d thought asleep for decades suddenly resurfaced — and she felt lost, confused, and frustrated.

Why was this woman dared to show up here, right now, in front of her? Who did she think she was?

“I know what you must be thinking,” Takano started again. “‘What nerves does this old lady has to come to me after all that happened’, right?”

Somehow, the fact she seemed very aware of how surreal and out of place her impromptu visit was made it all the way worse, and Rika’s irritation completely overridden her shock.

“You’re fucking right I am,” she spat out. “How the hell did you think I’d react? Welcoming you with arms wide open? I let you go back then, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I know that,” Takano replied, voice firm, confident; just like she always used to speak back then. “I wasn’t expecting you to. I wasn’t—”

“Then what? What are you doing here, exactly? I swear, if you don’t answer quickly I’m going to yell and make sure to bring everyone here to kick your ass.”

She’d expect such a menace would take effect, but instead it seemed to completely shut down Takano. She got silent, and Rika thought she was staring at her; but it was hard to tell in the dark.

“She came because she wanted to see you.”

Another, masculine voice resonated from behind Takano. The woman didn’t startle at this, but she turned around a little jerkily, as if she’d known the other presence’s but hadn’t expected them to intervene.

“Wait, I told you—”

“You leave me no choice if you refuses to explains yourself to her properly, Miyoko.”

And then, right at the woman’s side, a man appeared in turn; and for a moment Rika felt herself going back in time — because the man she used to know as ‘Jirou Tomitake’ has almost not changed at all in those two decades. Of course, he did look a bit older; a few more wrinkles here and there, hair starting to turn grey (as much as she could see of them, anyway); and his camera and casual photographer clothes were nowhere to be seen. His soft, friendly smile, however, was just the same as Rika remembered.

“Hello, Rika. You’ve grown up to become quite a beautiful woman.” He sounded smoother than he used to be. More confident. Less awkward. Maybe it was an effect of old age, or maybe it was thanks to whatever must’ve happened to him and Takano after they left the village. Who knows.

“And you’ve become old,” Rika retorted, still on edge, angry. “What are you doing here? ‘Wanting to see me’ is not an answer. It honestly doesn’t makes sense. Why would you come all the way here after so many years just to ‘see’ me?”

She heard Takano sighing, and the couple exchanged a glance — are they still a couple? Hard to say like that. Tomitake seemed to throw at her an encouraging look, and Takano stepped forward, pulling some of her blonde strands behind her ears. Rika took a step back instinctively.

“I… Listen, I know you’re suspicious, and that makes sense,” she said. “You have every right to be—”

“You’ve tried to kill me and my friends and this entire village.” Rika took a shaky breath, then added, in a softer voice: “You’ve killed my parents.”

This is strange that even in this darkness, Rika was able to clearly see the flash of guilt and regret across the woman’s face. It somehow managed to anger her even further.

“Don’t tell me you’re here to apologize or some bullshit like that,” she snapped, her voice cold. “Because I won’t hear it. You don’t get to—”

“I won’t,” Takano stated, and Rika closed her mouth.

There was something in the way she just said it that made her freeze.

“I’m not… I didn’t come to apologize to you, or to anyone,” she continued. “Not because you don’t deserve it, or because I don’t feel sorry, but because— I’m aware any apologies I could make would only ring hollow. It would mean nothing to you and fix nothing. I know.”

Rika stayed quiet, because yes, she was absolutely right. Takano’s regrets or apologies would hold no meaning to hundred years of suffering, to her parents’ death. She had no need for it.

“It is… simply like what he said. I just… wanted to see you. See Hinamizawa, once more. I just—”

She swallowed, and then her gaze looked around, through the forest.

“It is pretty amazing, how everything stayed the same and changed so much at the same time. I spent so much time studying this village and analysing every bit of it… and yet, I feel like this is the first time I’ve really been able to see it. As it truly is.”

She sounded so contemplating, so… serene, that weirdly enough, despite the anger, Rika let her speak.

“I’ve heard… that Irie managed to canalize the syndrome. And that… you’ve emptied the ritual storehouse, too. Got rid of all the torture instruments.”

“…Yes. Some have been stored in a museum of a neighbouring city. Only Oyashiro’s status and the proper equipment we use for Watanagashi remains in there. We decided it was… time to leave this dark history of Hinamizawa in the past.”

It happened a few years after Rika ended the loops, when she’d just started college. It had created quite the fuss, especially amongst the elderly. Some had fought them on the topic, but in the end, it was decided this wasn’t something that should be kept hidden like that, and that it was harmful for the future of the village.

It didn’t mean they just wanted to erase Hinamizawa’s history, even the more bloody one — they only wanted to put this particularly page of their history in the past. Let bygones be bygones. Let this trauma of the past where it belongs to finally moves on properly.

“And I’ve… also heard that you’ve been travelling around the world.”

“Yes…”

Takano breathed in once again, and Tomitake reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. Rika didn’t know if that gesture was meant to be one of comfort or something else.

“That’s good,” Takano finally concluded. “That’s… how it all should be.”

“…It is.”

Takano nodded, then once again stared at the ritual storehouse behind Rika. She didn’t know if it was the moon or Takano’s feelings, but something wistful seemed to shine in her eyes.

“She must be proud, too. That god.”

______________________________________________________________

In the end, she never really understood what Takano had wanted to do by coming here, but maybe it didn’t matter much.

It seemed important to her, but to Rika, it was only one slight incident in the big parcour that was her life. She hadn’t even tried to see if Takano and Tomitake had stayed around afterwards, of if they’d left immediately — but, somehow, she had the feeling that they wouldn’t be seeing each other anymore after that.

Whatever life this woman Miyoko had built for herself in the last decades, it was far away from here and her sins, and it was likely for the best.

Rika shook away her thoughts as she tried to discretely entangles herself from Satoko’s arms and get away from Keiichi’s foot.

After leaving Takano and Tomitake, she’d rejoined the group and they’d decided to yet again start another new game. Sakiko had fell asleep already and been left in the care of her uncle as planned, meanwhile their game had quickly devolved into an alcoholic one and, as most of them ended up completely drunk, they’d just decided to crash at Rika and Satoko’s place until the morning.

Their little home was a bit cramped with all seven of them sleeping in there, but at least none of them were guaranteed to get cold during the night — and it wasn’t the first time they’d done this anyway.

As Rika stepped outside the room, she couldn’t help but smile fondly while watching them all sleeping soundly; Satoshi, Shion and Satoko were all bundled up together, Rena was using Keiichi’s stomach as a pillow while being spooned from behind by Mion. She closed the door softly behind her, walking like a cat.

It felt oddly cold tonight, and she almost regretted not bringing a sweater with her. Even she didn’t turn back and kept walking determinedly in front of her, not disturbed in the least by the complete darkness surrounding her except for the moonlight.

Finally after about ten minutes, she arrived at her favourite place; the one overlooking the entirety of the village with the most beautiful view of the landscape. She could still remember being six years old and dragging Akasaka up here, prophetizing her own death to him.

Hanyuu had been the one to show her this place.

She leaned on the railing as a gust of wind made her blue hair and her pink nightgown flutter in the air. Her eyes narrowed, trying to figure out the scenery even amongst the darkness, spotting all the little lights in the middle of the night’s blackness that were still turned on.

Her home, her prison, her graveyard — Hinamizawa, Onigafuchi, the village of demons.

Takano’s words from earlier still echoed in her mind, each one filled with grief and melancholy.

“…Hello, Hanyuu. How have you been? Sorry I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

Except for the dead silence of the night and the cry of the cicadas, there was no answer — but Rika didn’t let this bother and continued to speak, her voice barely a whisper.

Even if there had been someone, they wouldn’t have been able to hear her unless they’d been right besides her.

“Things changed a lot since… you’ve been gone, but somehow, they also haven’t. It’s all very odd. I’ve seen all kinds of marvellous and incredible things all over the world, and all of us have grown up, and it feels like nothing will ever be the same and at the same time that nothing will change.”

She took a deep, shaky breath.

“…It’s a little confusing, sometimes. A little lonely and frightening. Sometimes… I wonder if you might’ve been right. About no trying harder to get past that summer. It was easier in a way, to be stuck in that loop and know everything that was going to happen in advance. I don’t have that chance anymore. But… that’s how it should be. And I’m strong, and I’m not all alone, so I’m doing fine, all things considered. So… in the end, I’m still certain I was right, Hanyuu. The future past that eternal summer of Shouwa 53… is wonderful. I’m glad to be there…”

She leaned onto the railing; her fingers tightening around the old, decrepit wood.

“But I miss you too, sometimes.” She looked up at the moon. “She’s right though, isn’t she? You have to be proud… Of us, of the village, of… me.”

There was still no reply, of course. Hanyuu hadn’t been there for her in years; she hadn’t heard he voice in decades.

But she felt like she was right in believing so; felt as if a little voice was nodding along with her.

She thought back to Akasaka and his family and their quiet support, she thought back to Rena and Keiichi’s encouragement, about the other club members’ strength, about Satoko’s love.

Oyashiro wasn’t here anymore, Hinamizawa was moving on from the past, and everything was evolving — but she would be fine. They would be fine.

This is what she’d always desired since she got murdered for the first time all those years ago at the age of eleven, and she would trade it for nothing in the world.

Her fingers were cold, but she slowly took out her notebook she’d hidden in her dress with a pen and opened it under the light of the moon, resplendent against the white paper.

The pages were still blank for now; she hadn’t been able to fill them up even in the whole week she’d been here.

But she felt a bit more inspired now. Maybe it was Watanagashi’s magic.

She couldn’t help but remember the last poem she’d penned right after breaking the curse, the words still ingrained in her head even though she’d burnt the whole thing immediately after.

For me, that is about a hundred year’s worth.

For you, a thousand year’s worth.

She still hadn’t earned back her hundred year’s worth of happiness, but she felt she was on the good path for it.

With a smile, she took her pen in hand and started writing.

#Higurashi no Naku Koro ni #Higurashi #Rika Furude #Higurashi When They Cry #Furude Rika #Higurashi: When They Cry #07th Expansion #When They Cry #Fanfiction #Connan's Fanfics #Satoko Houjou #Long Post #Connan's Posts #Keiichi Maebara #Fanfic #Rena Ryuuguu #Fic #Higurashi Fanfic #Ryukishi #Ryukishi07 #Mion Sonozaki #Satoshi Houjou

[connan-l]

Meandering Souls - Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Nellie Rhodes & Isadora Rhodes, Mell Rhodes & Nellie Rhodes

Summary: Until their souls cross path once more in the boundless sphere of fate.

Nellie’s mother gave her a mirror as a present for her fifth birthday. She’d always loved looking at her reflection with it, until she doesn’t.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @fata10thanni prompts:

Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany 

Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Happy 10th Anniversary, FataMoru! And happy Fata Week as well!

Shh, I know, I know, I’m late, but listen. Better late than never.

So, this was written for the Fata Week in celebration of… well, Fata’s 10th anniversary, from those prompts: on Tumblr and Twitter. Ideally I really wanted to wrote a little something for each of the 10 prompts, but I dunno if I’ll actually be able to make it. Even if I do it’ll probably take some time cause for some reason I have zero energy lately and it feels like a struggle for me to write. But well I’ll still try! We’ll see how it goes.

Anyway, here’s the first prompt for Door 1. This takes place, well, before, during and after Door 1, so spoilers for that as well as for the short story related to it, ‘A Slow-Killing Poison.’

And oh, yeah, in case you were wondering: the names used here for Nellie and Mell’s parents, Isadora and Barnard, are their actual official names; they were given in the guidebook as well as in one untranslated short story.

________________________________________________________________

When she turned five years old, Nellie’s mother offered her a huge mirror for her birthday.

It was beautiful — all golden and silver and shining, with gorgeous, delicate flowers carved in it (not roses, sadly, but those lilies were pretty enough that Nellie tolerated them). She was so small at the time that when she stood in front of it she could only see the top of her head and two amber eyes peeking out in the bottom of the glass, but even so she couldn’t help but stare at her reflection excitedly every time she passed in front of it.

“You really like this mirror, don’t you, Nellie?”

Her mother Isadora asked her this once with a soft, content smile, as she looked at the little girl spun around right before the mirror.

“Yup! Like that, I can look at how cute I am every day!”

Isadora laughed — and Nellie didn’t know why because she was very serious —  then gently caressed her daughter’s flaxen hair.

“You know, mirrors are very important for women.”

“To help us making us pretty!” The child exclaimed proudly.

“Well, there’s that,” her mother conceded. “But it also helps us to remember who we truly are.”

Nellie didn’t understood that. Isadora looked a little strange saying this, but just when she was about to press her further, she noticed Mell’s silhouette popping up at the door and her face beamed.

“Dearest Mell! Have you seen the mirror Mother gave me? Hey, hey, have you?”

She dragged her brother in front of the mirror — because he was slightly taller than Nellie, unlike her his entire head could be seen in the reflection — and then she excitedly told him all about all the other presents she’d gotten. Mell just smiled gently at her, nodding quietly, like he always did.

And so she completely forgot all about this conversation, until one night a few weeks later when she went to find her mother in her bedchamber. Nellie should be asleep already at this time, but she had a nightmare and couldn’t stand to stay alone in her bed anymore. Usually, she would’ve gone to Mell to comfort her, but both he and their father Barnard weren’t home tonight; they went out of town because of some complicated business matters and Barnard had wanted his son with him for some reason. They wouldn’t be back until a couple of days, so unfortunately only the women of the house were here tonight and she had to settle for her mother instead of her brother.

It wasn’t like Nellie disliked Isadora or anything. She very much loved her, in fact; just as much as she loved her father. Both of them were very kind and always complimented her and gave her everything she wanted.

But… they still weren’t Mell.

Her mother was quite affectionate, but she also strictly scolded Nellie whenever she did anything little girls weren’t supposed to. Her father always bought her the most beautiful dresses and dolls, but he hated letting Nellie play outside or forced her to talk and be polite to men and boys she had no interest in.

Mell never expected anything like that from her. He never tried to restrict her. He always listened to her in such a genuine, attentive way that her parents just never did.

With Mell, she was always free, and she never felt that way with anyone else.

Isadora was sitting down in front of a mirror in her gorgeous embroidered white nightgown, while her long, wavy blond hair — of a very distinct fairer color than the rest of the family — fell on her shoulders elegantly.

Her mother was very beautiful. The most beautiful woman on earth even, in Nellie’s eyes. She really wanted to be just like her when she’d be grownup.

“Mother,” she murmured while trotting over to her, and Isadora got startled when she felt her daughter’s presence and her arms wrap around her waist.

“Oh my. Nellie, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nightmare,” the girl mumbled in her mother’s clothes. “Can’t sleep.”

“Oh, poor dear.” The woman grabbed her daughter right away and put her on her lap, gently caressing her hair in a soothing manner. Nellie buried her face in her mother’s neck, letting herself get lulled by her warmth and faint citrus perfume.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Don’t remember.”

“I see…”

Isadora then fell quiet. After a moment of complete silence, Nellie lifted her head and stared curiously at her. Her mother…  looked strangely sad. She stared fixedly into the mirror, her features stretched in clear sorrow and nostalgia.

She did that, sometimes. She’d go quiet and all melancholic, lost in thoughts.

Nellie never knew what she must be thinking about when it happened, but she never dared to ask; as if doing so would break some kind of taboo.

That’s when she suddenly remembered what her mother had told her, when she’d offered her the golden mirror for her birthday.

“…Does it help you remember?” She asked.

Her mother blinked, then looked at her oddly. “Huh?”

“You said it the other day. You said mirrors help women remember and see us for who we really are.”

Isadora’s expression cleared in understanding, but then something more complicated spread on her face.

“Oh, right…”

She looked up into the glass once again, and stared. Nellie wondered what she must be seeing, because it didn’t seem to be her reflection.

“Yes, I suppose it does. Whenever I look at it, I can’t help but remember him, and her—”

“Him and her?”

Isadora smiled sadly, grief filling her eyes, and then she shook her head.

“Yes. It helps me remember them, and then, it helps me remember my sins.”

Nellie’s eyes widened with surprise. “Mother, you sinned?!”

‘Sin,’ in Nellie’s mind, was when she didn’t listen to her governess or broke a vase accidentally or went running around in the garden without being careful and dirtied her clothes. But those were all things she could never imagine her beautiful, elegant, always perfect mother doing. However, when her mother looked at her and replied, her answer had nothing to do with what she’d expected.

“I fell in love.”

______________________________________________________________

Nellie took the habit to stop and look at herself in her mirror every morning.

With each month, each years that passed, she could see herself grow up little by little in the looking-glass; her hair became longer, her silhouette refined, her chest a bit bigger.

By the time she reached fourteen, Nellie looked almost like a grown woman, almost like her mother — Isadora and Barnard and every adult around her always made sure to compliment her on this, on how pretty she’d became, how she’d have no trouble finding a good suitor with how beautiful of a young lady she now was.

But instead of making her happy like she’d imagined it would as a child, it started to fill her with dread.

The less she looked like a little girl, and the more it was harder to deny the reality that was catching up to her dreamy, ideal life.

Nellie wasn’t stupid, contrary to what most people around her seemed to think; she was well-aware her sheltered life where she could just spend her days playing around with her dearest Mell would inevitably come to an end.

She’d have to get married, leave Mell, have children.

The simple thought of it got her stomach tied up in knots. It made her want to run away and never look back; but she was too scared to do so. Not all alone, anyway.

Nellie hated being alone more than anything in the world.

That was why she couldn’t bear the perspective of getting separated from Mell, because he was the only one who truly loved her for who she was — but no matter how much she wished it, she couldn’t bend reality just because she wanted to.

At some point, she knew she’ll have to wake up from the dream — and she knew it’ll hurt more than anything.

And that point seemed to grow nearer and nearer as her appearance kept changing.

She didn’t want to grow up. She wanted to stay a little girl forever, so that she didn’t have to part away from Mell, so that she didn’t have to get married, so that she didn’t have to get locked up in that cage everyone around wanted to fit her into.

Unlike Mell, who had the privilege to keep meandering in life however he pleased, Nellie would be forced to wake up brutally.

(And maybe, just maybe, despite how much she loved him, there was a little part of Nellie who resented him for it. Just a little.)

She used to love looking into that mirror, but now it only made her feel ugly.

Maybe her mother’s words from all those years ago were true, after all.

Mirrors were there to help them remember who they truly were.

But Nellie didn’t want to.

“Oh my? Why did you cover it up?”

Isadora stared strangely at the big mirror, which was entirely hidden by a large piece of white sheet Nellie had gotten somewhere.

“Mother,” she said, softly, without looking at the other woman. “What do I look like?”

Isadora probably didn’t understand her real question, because she just smiled gently at her.

“You look beautiful of course, my darling. Soon you’ll be as pretty as all the noble ladies of the court.”

Nellie’s chest twisted. It hurt, even though it was stupid of her to feel that way.

She’d already knew her mother would say that, after all, because that was what everyone always said.

Her mother, her father, all of the servants and nobles and anyone glancing at her.

In the end, even her dearest Mell thought that way.

“I’d much rather having been born ugly.”

______________________________________________________________

The curtain kept flying up under the breeze in the room.

There was never any sound.

Or at least, there wouldn’t be from an outsider’s perspective, but to Nellie, the bedchamber was always filled with laughters and cheerful high-pitched voices.

Her brother, not much taller than the bed, was always next to her, reading and smiling — and Nellie was happy just staying by his side, occasionally trying to childishly bother him away from the story.

Mell would sigh at her exasperatedly, of course, but he’d never get angry at her.

Mell had never been able to truly stay angry at her for long.

Because he knew it’d hurt Nellie, and Mell could never hurt Nellie.

The door suddenly opened.

It took some time for Nellie to truly realize it; but even then she didn’t stray her attention away from her beloved brother. She wanted to give all of her attention to him and only him.

The person sat next to her bed. She had long, pretty blond hair, and a long time ago she probably would’ve been beautiful, but now she only looked ashed and exhausted.

It took a long time for Nellie to realize that this was her mother.

When was the last time Nellie had spoken to her mother?

“My darling, can you hear me?”

Her voice felt barely audible, like a dream’s whisper. A complete shadow from what her mother’s gentle voice used to sound like.

There was a sigh, some awkward gesture. A larger hand grabbing hers, holding her, caressing her skin.

“I know I haven’t come to see you in a long time… I apologize. I have been a very terrible mother. I…”

Fingers tightened their grip on hers, but Nellie couldn’t bother to care about it.

Nothing and no one could reach her, not anymore.

Only her dearest brother stuck in the dream mattered.

“Nellie, honey, I’m sorry. None of this would’ve happened if your father and I had not… made so many mistakes and actually paid attention to you. But I…” A pause; a shaky breath. “Please, my darling, it is not too late. We can still fix this. You can still… you can still come back to us. Please? Nellie?”

It sounded like someone was begging desperately, but it barely registered to Nellie.

The voice slowly faded away in a corner of her consciousness, words stopping making sense.

She looked away from her brother, and instead stared straight in front of her.

The mirror she’d gotten as a gift at five years old stood there, uncovered.

Her reflection smiled back at her, and she giggled.

She’d never been happier to look so ugly.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata10thAnni #Nellie Rhodes #Isadora Rhodes #FataMoru 10th Anniversary Week #FataMoru 10th Anniversary #Mell Rhodes #Fanfic #Connan's Fanfics #Fanfiction #Connan's Posts #Fata 10th Anni #Fic #FataMoru Fanfic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Nellie #Isadora #Fata #Novect

[connan-l]

Meandering Souls - Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Giselle & Yukimasa Aida, Yukimasa Aida/Pauline Asama, Yukimasa Aida & The White-Haired Girl

Summary: Until their souls cross path once more in the boundless sphere of fate.

The Maid teaches Bestia how to plant flowers; something he might've done before, a long time ago.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @fata10thanni prompts:

Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany

Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I’ve actually hesitated for a while to write something with Javi for this one. I went with Yukimasa in the end cause it’s still *his* door, you know? But I don’t really like it in the end so I wonder if I would’ve done better to go with Javi instead like I planned initially… Oh well. Sorry Javi, one day I’ll write something about you, I promise.

Also, just like in the first prompt with the Rhodes parents, Pauline’s mother’s name Filippa here is also her official name, in case you didn’t know.

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 The manor’s garden didn’t look much like an actual garden and more like some untreated, wild forest.

 Bestia didn’t know where he’d got this certitude, given he’d obviously never  seen   a normal human’s garden before, but somehow he was sure of this.  A fact  he  was aware of   innately.

Maybe he’d noticed without realizing it when he’d stopped at that village—

But no, he would not dwell on this.

Just thinking about the village  was enough to make   him nauseous.

Instead, he reported his gaze on the Maid,  sat  next to him, who was currently dirtying her hands in the  ground  .

“Do you understand now, Master?” She asked, after pulling out some more herbs and burying yet another seed. “Come on, give me a hand here. I might be a maid, but it is only the two of us here; and it is quite rude to watch someone work without helping, would you not say?”

Bestia did not understand. The Maid had solicited his help for gardening, but he couldn’t make sense of the reason why she bothered with this. She was  weeding out ,  digging a small hole  , then putting a handful of seeds into the ground. She did this almost every day. It seemed so useless to him.

“Why?” He managed to articulate, words still so foreign to him.

 The woman stopped, then looked up at him. “Why am I doing this?” She inquired.

She was always surprisingly astute to understand him even when he barely managed to put together comprehensible sentences. Her hand, as white and ethereal as the moon, came resting on her cheek in a thoughtful gesture. Bestia thought about how strange it was that her skin was completely clean despite the fact she’d been twiddling dirt for over an hour now.

 She truly didn’t feel human at all, even when she was doing the most  basic   of tasks.

“My, that’s a good question. Gardening can be useful to grow food, but what we are planting here is not food, so I can understand your bewilderment. Indeed, I suppose you could say there is not much purpose in planting flowers…”

 A melancholic expression spread on her face, and Bestia felt more and more confused by the minutes. Why was she even spending time on this if she agreed  it was useless  ?

As if she’d just read his thoughts, she quickly continued: “There is no purpose… and this land has been cursed and dead for centuries. I doubt anything would be able to grow in it anymore, to be honest, but…”

 Suddenly, she looked at him; jade eyes  shimmering, enrapturing  . “But I love roses. They are the flowers of love. And I know she  loved them  , too, so I am doing it for her.”

“For her.”

 The Maid looked down at the ground, face perfectly blank, but an odd little smile stretch  ed   her red lips.

“For when she’ll come back.”

 Bestia did not ask her who she meant by that.

 Not because he was not curious, but because there was something, somewhere, in her voice, that told him it was a secret  he had no right to be privy to.

 So he simply helped her plant the seeds in silence.

______________________________________________________________

“Tsubaki?”

 Yukimasa nodded at Pauline’s curious tone and eyes while she stared at his bag of seeds.

“This is what they’re called. That’s the name for Japanese camellias.”

“Ooh.” Pauline blinked at the seeds, looking at them fixedly as if she was trying to find something hidden in there. “But why does that has anything to do with me?”

 He sighed. Sometimes, some part of his mind thought that if he was a normal man, he probably would feel embarrassed  by this of interaction with Pauline.

“I… wanted to give you flowers,” he admitted. “And… because you always asks me so much about my home country, I thought… maybe you’d like some Japanese flowers…”

 Not like Yukimasa knew much of anything about  those  , even less so about Japanese ones. Or about gardening, really. He'd always been a man of the sea; he'd never really had to deal with working the land before then.

“…But it’s not like you can just find those around here, so I asked your father, and he told me about how your mother has a garden and loved gardening, so…”

 As the words  finally started to get   to Pauline’s head, a big smile spread on her face and her dark eyes shined with excitement.

“Yes, she has! Does that mean you’re asking for us to garden together?!”

“Well—”

“That sounds like fun! I’m not all that good at it, Mom always tells me I just make a mess of everything and so she generally want to keep me away from the garden— but if you’re here with me then she’ll probably agree! C’mon, let’s ask her!”

 Before Yukimasa  could reply  , Pauline pulled on his hand and hurried him inside the family house. Her mother Filippa did seem quite reluctant at first to let Pauline anywhere near her garden, but with the condition Yukimasa had to keep an eye on her they finally got access to it.

Although Filippa had initially been a  gainst   her daughter  having   a foreigner for lover, she’d quickly  warmed up   to Yukimasa because of “how well-mannered and gentlemanly” he was, and she’d been very amiable towards him ever since. Sometimes, she even actively favored  his opinions   over Pauline’s and was also very enthusiastic at the prospect of them getting married.

Maybe he should feel a bit bad over deceiving Filippa so overtly when he was anything but an ideal future son-in-law, but it wasn’t like it was in his interest to try to disprove her.

 He’d been deceiving Pauline for longer than that too, anyway.

“Okaayy, so they’re in! Do you think we need to do anything else now…?”

 Pauline spoke cheerfully before  patting   the ground in a gentle way, as if she was afraid of disrupting the task she’d just accomplished.

 They had finally put into the ground the seeds, and it had… certainly been interesting to watch Pauline make such a mess around her in so little time. Not only were her gloved hands  completely   covered in dirt, but so were her hair, face and clothes; and this despite her mother having insisted for her to take on an apron to protect herself. Yukimasa could now definitely understand Filippa’s initial reluctance about letting her daughter  anywhere near the fresh ground  .

 But he supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised — Pauline was always like that,  after all. So deeply e  arnest and intense about everything she was doing that it ended up scattering this energy everywhere around her.

“Those are just normal seeds,” Yukimasa finally replied. “There’s no need for anything else. Just water them.”

“Hmm, I see…” Pauline patted the freshly-covered hole a little once again with the tip of her fingers. Yukimasa was the one who had no experience in gardening, and yet Pauline was always asking him for instructions. “Heheh, well, I can’t wait to see them finally bloom! I wonder what they’ll look like… and when they’ll bloom…”

 As she seemed to get lost in thought, Yukimasa stared at her in silence. Her round, pale face was peppered with brown  mud   all over. It didn’t suit her, he thought, to be dirty like that.

 Pauline  had to   always be clean and pamper, that’s just how it should be.

 So before he could think about it, he reached out towards her and wiped out the  mud   off her face. Pauline, snapping out of her  reverie  , shrieked in surprise  and   blushed heavily, her cheeks feeling suddenly very hot under his fingers.

“Y-Yukimasa— What are you—”

“You were dirty.”

“O-Oh… Right…” After realizing what he meant, she giggled awkwardly. “I-It’s always like this with me, right? I just can’t seem to do anything right…”

“You planted the seeds right enough.”

“H-Huh? Oh…” For some reason, she appeared surprised at his comment; and then a gentle smile spread on her face. “Right, I guess so…”

 She then looked around her, as if checking if there was not her mother or anyone else around, and then leaned in; briefly putting a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, as  feeble   as a butterfly.

 Yukimasa could feel from here some dirt residual rest on his cheek as a result of this, but as Pauline pulled away and smiled shyly at him, he decided he didn’t mind it much.

“I don’t… know when they’re supposed to bloom,” he finally declared, then looked down at the seeds now deep in the ground.

Captain Asama had been the one to tell him those were red camellias, but he had not  added   anything else. A long time ago, Yukimasa had heard from his grandfather that red camellias in their culture symbolized a noble death for Japanese warriors, as well as love.

 Romantic notions  that didn’t fit him in the slightest.

 But he had thought they fitted Pauline.

“Oh… well, that doesn’t really matter.”

 He lifted his eyes towards  the young woman in front of him, the lover he didn’t love  , and she was smiling at him, like always.

“I’m sure they’ll be here when you come back either way.”

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“What are you doing in the garden?”

 A soft, gentle voice shook him out of his thoughts, and when he raised his head a blur of green and white greeted him.

Michelle was looking down at him, curiosity printed all over her face; although he knew she technically wasn’t able to actually look at anything at all.

Bestia hesitated for a moment, not certain of what he should reply, because he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. The one who had dragged him out there in the first place to take care of the garden — the Maid, or the Witch, or whoever she was — had been nowhere to be seen; so to say the truth, he had no need to go there anymore.

 But he’d noticed something unusual today, so he had to check it out.

“The flower,” he finally said.

 He could see Michelle tilt her head in confusion.

“Flower?”

“Rose,” he clarified. “She… The rose planted there, it bloomed.”

The young woman’s red eyes widened in understanding, and they seemed to shine in excitement. Bestia wasn’t really sure why, as he should be the most surprised out of the two of them. The Witch had made sure to tell him this land was dead and cursed and that nothing could grow in there anymore. It was strange this single rose had managed to bloom, then, wasn’t it?

 W  ell, it wasn’t like he had any experience in gardening before anyway. He was just a beast.

“My, you planted roses? It sounds wonderful. I didn’t know you liked gardening.”

 He didn’t. No more than anything else. It was the Witch that had planted them, but somehow he didn’t know how to properly explain it to Michelle.

(Or, at least, he didn’t think he liked gardening, but—)

The woman knelt down next to him, not caring about sullying her pretty green dress, and then with svelte fingers she patted around delicately, searching for the flower. At some point, Bestia decided to help her out, and with his much bigger hands he grabbed hers, pulling them towards the rose.

“Oh my,” she said, her small fingers gently caressing the petals. “It seems very pretty. What color is it?”

 She raised her head, and for a minute, Bestia suddenly saw the figure of another person.

 Another young woman, with black hair, earnest eyes, covered in  mud   from head to toes.

“I’m sure they’ll be here when you come back either way.”

“…White.”

“White roses, huh?” Michelle brought her fingers on her lips thoughtfully. “If I recall correctly, they symbolizes purity and loyalty. My mother told me so, once. Meanwhile red roses are for love and passion.”

 Bestia wouldn’t know, but somehow, that seemed right.

“Do you… want it?”

“The rose? Oh no. I think flowers are prettier when they’re left alive and in the ground, don’t you think?”

“…Not particularly.”

 Michelle chuckled, then looked down, as if trying to look at the flower despite her impaired vision.

“Why did you plant these?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, there must’ve been a reason, no? Did you plant them for something?”

There was no reason, of course. Bestia hadn’t even really planted them, it had been the Witch. And even the Witch hadn’t seemed to expect for those to really bloom.

He wondered if she was satisfied  even just a single one did bloom  , wherever she was now. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed it.

But even so, the words left his mouth before he could think over them.

“It was for someone. When she’ll come back.”

Michelle stayed silent at that.

When Bestia came back to the garden the next morning, however…

The white rose the  White-Haired Girl had touched had turned red.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Fata10thAnni #Yukimasa Aida #Pauline Asama #YukiPauli #Fanfic #FataMoru 10th Anniversary Week #FataMoru Fanfic #Fanfiction #FataMoru 10th Anniversary #Giselle FataMoru #Giselle Bollinger #Michelle FataMoru #FataMoru Fic #Connan's Posts #Michelle (The House in Fata Morgana) #Connan's Fanfics #Fic #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Fata

[connan-l]

Meandering Souls - Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Giselle & The White-Haired Girl, Giselle/The White-Haired Girl

Summary: Until their souls cross path once more in the boundless sphere of fate.

Michelle tries to know more about the mysterious head maid of the manor.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @fata10thanni prompts:

Day 1: Door 1 - Mirror

Day 2: Door 2 - Gardening and Botany

Day 3: Door 3 - In the Shadows]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: So fun fact, I’ve actually been wanting to write a one-shot similar to this one focused on Door 3!Michelle and the Maid, so I actually struggled writing this one because I didn’t want to use much of my initials ideas I had for the OS lol.

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The first time she’d met her, her face had been one of utter despair.

It had been very brief, but Michelle had distinctly seen it and couldn’t manage to forget it; it was welded into her mind, carved into her eyes. Even Jacopo, not the most astute when it came to the feelings of others, had clearly noticed her stricken expression with the way she felt him tense to her side.

Michelle couldn’t wrap her mind around why. She’d never met the woman before, she was sure of it, and all she had done was smile at her and greet her in the most polite way she could.

Her shaken expression had quickly disappeared before her face went back to a neutral one, buried under a facade of placidity, but Michelle could still plainly see the shine of pain glinting in her beautiful jade eyes.

She kept replaying the scene in her mind — trying to find the slightest details that could explain such a reaction; what Michelle could have possibly done to wrong her this much, but nothing came.

The oddity about this woman didn’t stop there, though.

When she decided to ask more about her, Jacopo simply gave her a bewildered look, as if that was a ridiculous thing to want to know.

“She’s just a maid,” he said. “All I know is that she was here at the manor before I even came.”

He didn’t know where she came from, didn’t know who she’d worked for before — he didn’t even know her name, in fact. Michelle felt completely flabbergasted at this, and asked him how he could not even want to know such basic things about his own employees. He just shrugged.

“She is just a maid.”

Apparently, to Jacopo, as long as she was doing her job nothing else mattered — and doing her job, she was particularly good at it.

Not a single servant worked as efficiently and meticulously as her, and half the time, Michelle thought she almost looked like a marionette who was being manipulated by a puppeteer from the shadows.

Maria also shared Jacopo’s thoughts. When Michelle asked her about the head maid, she had just laughed and waved her hand in a dismissive way; “She’s just some creepy lady, leave her be.”

She probably should have headed their advices. The servants of the house were only employees, and there was no need for the masters to take an interest in their personal lives. Surely, if the woman had never said a word to anyone about herself, not even her name, then it was because she didn’t want to — and getting intrusive about it against her wish would be quite rude.

But somehow, Michelle couldn’t just leave her be.

She found herself oddly captivated by her.

Her eyes followed the Maid around whenever she caught sight of her in a corridor, or when she would come to serves tea. Whenever their gazes crossed, the woman would smile at her, but her face was blank, her eyes empty. It made Michelle’s heart aches.

This woman made her uncomfortable, but more than anything she made her sad.

She could tell, behind the walls of placidity she hid behind, that she was in a lot of pain — and, for a reason Michelle couldn’t explain, she felt that somehow this was her fault.

______________________________________________________________

She woke up in the middle of the night when a thunderous noise broke into her room.

Cold and water violently spread throughout the bedchambers, and Michelle looked around with surprise. She realized all of this was coming from the window, which had brutally opened upon the strength of the storm raging outside; the wind and rain were so powerful it had forcibly unlocked it and made the curtains wildly flapping around.

Michelle instantly stood up and ran to the window; her long white hair flying all around her, getting wet and sticking to her skin because of the rain. She tried to get it closed as quickly as she could, but the wind was so violent that her frail arms could barely manages to grasp each sides.

Suddenly, a firmer, stronger hand seized the window from behind her.

“Let it go, Madam. You are going to hurt yourself.”

Michelle jumped in surprised, inadvertently doing as she was told, and realizing the person who’d just spoken to her was the black-haired maid. She hadn’t even heard her enter her room, though she supposed it wasn’t that surprising given how noisy the tempest was.

Despite her surprise, she actually listened to her and stepped aside, while the Maid cleared off the curtains and bravely faced the animated window with unyielding hands. It took her only a couple of seconds before being able to close it tightly and put a bar to keep it that way, under Michelle’s impressed eyes.

“Wow, you’re a lot stronger than you look!” She couldn’t help but exclaim in awe, and then felt herself blushing a little because of how childish she sounded.

The Maid didn’t seem to mind as she put the curtains back in place, and then turned towards her. She silently scrutinized her in a way that made Michelle blush even more, so she looked away.

“U-Um…”

“At the risk of sounding rude, Madam… you are all wet and disheveled. I believe it would be preferable for you to change clothes and dry your hair before going back to bed.”

“H-Huh? Oh, right…!”

Michelle was, indeed, quite ‘wet and disheveled’ — and it was putting it mildly. Her nightgown was not exactly drenched but pretty humid, and her long hair was all soaked and messy around her face and shoulders, sticking to her frame. She must have looked quite awful. Thank goodness her husband wasn’t around to behold such a sight.

Before she could say any more, the other woman turned around, headed towards her wardrobe, and in a handful of seconds she was already handing her a new gown. She asked her if she needed any help putting the dress on, but Michelle quickly refused; even though she was used to servants helping her out since she was a child, she’d never liked letting others doing simple tasks for her like that. So the Maid let her do as she pleased, but stayed in the room while she undressed, only turning her back to her to give her some intimacy — which, for some reason, made Michelle’s stomach tie into knots. She didn’t know why, but the other woman’s presence somehow rendered her very anxious.

Once she was done, she smiled at her, almost about to say that everything was fine now and she could go, but then she noticed a comb in the woman’s hand.

“You might not let me help dress you, but please at least allow me to rearrange your hair a little.”

Michelle’s first instinct was to tell her it wasn’t necessary. She was going back to bed, after all — so her hair was going to end up a mess either way. But somehow she felt unable to open her mouth once her eyes crossed the Maid’s.

There was something odd, in her gaze. Something almost begging.Yearning.

Michelle’s lip trembled; she looked away, then nodded, unable to sustain the other’s eyes.

Soon she found herself sitting in front of her mirror as the Maid was slowly, gently combing her humid white hair. Michelle couldn’t help but vaguely ponder how strange of a situation this was; here she was, in the middle of the night, getting pampered by the unsettling nameless head maid of the mansion while a tempest was hollering outside.

A part of her almost felt like she was doing something taboo or forbidden, like cheating on her husband.

The Maid delicately threaded her fingers into the strands, as if making sure she wouldn’t forget a single knot, and the gesture was so tender that something in Michelle’s chest broke like glass.

She was handling her like something terribly precious; a treasured doll, a cherished daughter. A lover.

Somehow, somewhere, the whole thing felt upsettingly familiar. As she looked up into the mirror, she had a strange feeling of déjà vu; and in the light of a thunder, she thought she almost saw the silhouette of a younger version of herself, all dressed up in a beautiful, old-fashioned golden and white dress.

She blinked, and the vision was gone, but the hundreds contradictory feelings filling her chest and clogging up her throat stayed.

“You, um,” she tried — she needed to speak, to break the silence, otherwise she felt like she was going to suffocate. “—Uh, what, what are you doing here at this time? I mean, it’s so late… were you not sleeping?”

For a long time, the Maid stayed quiet, and Michelle almost thought she was not going to answer her.

“I never sleep,” she finally said. “So usually, I am doing rounds in the manor. But then I heard noises in your room, and I got worried.”

“O-Oh… Is that so?”

Admittedly, she did often look tired, with her skin almost as pale as Michelle’s and her big black circles under her eyes. Still, hearing her say she had been worried about her sounded… nice.

“I apologize if I worried you…”

“Don’t. I am only doing my duty.”

“I know… But still, thank you. Not a lot of people… have been very kind to me before.”

For a brief moment, Michelle felt the comb still in her hair; but by the time she got to lift her head and look at the other woman in the mirror, any trace of surprise or shock had disappeared and she was back to doing her task.

“I-I mean, my parents were very nice to me. And now, well… I have Maria. She told me we were friends.” She laughed a little. “I’ve never had any friends before, you know? I might have been… quite lonely in my previous home. And then, of course, there’s my husband—”

She was pretty sure she felt the comb stop yet again, but she was so caught up in her own feelings that she couldn’t bring herself to get distracted by it.

She wasn’t sure why she felt so talkative all of a sudden, opening up to this strange woman she knew nothing about.

But for as unsettling as she could — there was something about her… that felt weirdly comfortable, too.

“Well… he has been… acting a little strangely towards me lately. Like he’s… avoiding me…”

Her hands tightened on her on thighs, and she barely noticed the deep breath the Maid took from behind her.

“Would you… Would you have some advice to spare? I… I’m afraid of losing him, and… I mean, I’m sorry if that is rude of me, but I heard some of the servants gossip about you… maybe being married—”

Her question was brusquely cut by a vivid pain that made her shriek. Something — someone — had abruptly pulled on her hair, in such a brutal way that had unmistakably meant to hurt, and Michelle jumped from her chair and turned around.

The black-haired, green-eyed woman stood there, in front of her, but in the darkness she was unable to gauge her expression. Only her jade eyes were shining under the candle and the moonlight; something so deeply intense and full of resentment that Michelle’s throat and heart dried up instantly.

In the Maid’s right hand was dandling a few of her white strands that she had clearly torn up from her head.

They stared at each other in silence, and then Michelle felt something she’d never felt for this woman until now: fear. In this instant, for a brief, terrifying second, she was certain she was about to kill her; in some strange hallucination, she could almost feel her cold hands around her throat, pressing and pressing her trachea until nothing of her was left.

But the Maid did nothing of the sort. Instead, she lowered her hands, and the intensity of her eyes diminished until it was back to her normal, perfectly neutral stance.

“If you want advice,” she said, voice eerily cold. “Then I can give one. Do not trust in love too much, Madam.”

With some strength she didn’t know she possessed, Michelle was able to open up her mouth, even though the entirety of her body was trembling. Because she felt that the Maid was telling her what Maria had recently started rambling about; you’re too good for that guy. Leave him! With your looks, you’ll have no trouble finding a new one who’ll treat you like a princess!

“But I love him.”

She said it out loud, a little desperately, a little like a prayer.

The maid didn’t budge. Her expression was of stone.

“Sometimes, love is not worth it.”

And then she simply turned around, with the comb and the hair and the candle, closing the door behind her.

Michelle stood there, all alone, in the dark — and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, tears rolled down her face.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Michelle Bearzatti #Fata10thAnni #GiseWhite #FataMoru 10th Anniversary Week #JizeShiro #FataMoru 10th Anniversary #Giselle FataMoru #Giselle Bollinger #GiWhite #JizeWhite #Michelle FataMoru #The White-Haired Girl #Fanfiction #Connan's Posts #Connan's Fanfics #Fanfics #FataMoru Fanfic #FataMoru Fic #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #FataMoru Fanfiction #Fic

[connan-l]

unafraid

Fandom: Ciconia: When They Cry

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sujatha/Rukhshana

Summary: Suparna’s training session is cancelled for the day because of a sudden storm, which Sujatha is absolutely not scared of, and that might or might not creates tensions with her girlfriend.

[Femslash February 2023 Day 3: Storm]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Hi here’s your annual Ciconia FemFeb fic from me! Yes you’ll get one until Ryukishi finally decide to release Phase 2. Anyway this is very late but it’s meant to be for Day 3: Storm, from those prompts.

I don’t know why, but at first I didn’t want to write any Sujatha/Rukhshana piece for FemFeb; not because I don’t like them but for some reason I really wanted to write a proper one-shot for them and not something based on a random prompt. But technically speaking they’re still one of the most obvious F/F ships of the VN so far, so I thought they were just the next obvious choice, especially given I’d already done Lingji/Aysha and Valentina/Maricarmen before. So yeah it’s just a small cute fluffy thing without a lot of substance.

Given it’s going to mark the third year since I’ve last read the VN I admit I forgot a lot of stuff about the characters, so I really don’t feel confident in how I characterized them here. Especially Rukhshana. (And I know it *seems* like Phase 1 implied she was a CPP as well like Miyao, but we don’t know much about that yet so I didn’t want to touch on the topic). So I hope they don’t feel too off.

Also, it’s a small detail in the fic but — if you’re like me and haven’t played the game in a while, I feel the need to mention that COU is the one country that has ‘traditional’ families; so I’m assuming Sujatha, Rukhshana and Andry probably have ‘normal’ parents like Lingji & co.

Now on a small caveat I have that made me hesitate while writing this fic: I realized that, obviously we don’t know anything about whether or not Sujatha is religious, but as she is from India and that we’re told the COU is very traditional, IF she is religious then she would probably follow one of the many Hinduism faiths; however, on the other hand, given Rukhshana is from Saudi Arabia and is clearly wearing a hijab, she has to be Muslim. Queerness aside, I know interfaith relationships can be a bit of touchy topic in Islam; some might tolerate it and others do not (one of my non-Muslim cousin dated a Muslim woman for three years, but he had to convert when they got married), and it would be especially so for a Saudi girl given ‘dating’ in the Western sense in general is frowned upon over there. Not sure how things would be in Ciconia’s futuristic, post-World War III universe, but it did seem to imply Saudi Arabia is still very traditional similarly to how it is in our world because of how they mention there were issues with Rukhshana, as a girl, joining the team while there was a boy in it. The VN is very scarce when it comes to giving details about the religious/cultural practices of the characters (hell even the hijabi girls are never actually called ‘Muslims’ in-universe), so I can’t say how pious Rukhshana must be or how important it would be for her to only get together with someone who’s Muslim. So the way I see it in this fic, is that she must probably be respectful of the faith and wouldn’t marry a non-Muslim person usually, but she can give herself some leeway if this is with someone she really loves (and that the other person can potentially convert)? (And well, Muslim communities exists in India too so I suppose you can headcanon Sujatha as such as well). I dunno, maybe I’m just overthinking about it; and of course like I said this is just a short fluff piece and not some exploration of any of these topics anyway lol, but I am not Muslim myself, so I’d understand if any actual Muslim people don’t like it or take issue with this.

All this aside, there’s no spoilers (except for like, the start of Phase 1 I guess) or content warnings except for the inevitable vague mentions of war/child soldiers.

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Sujatha was absolutely not scared.

She had sworn to herself, from a very young age, to never become a person who got scared.

Fear was only meant for the common people. Fear was for normal girls; ones who didn’t have any responsibility, who weren’t soldiers, who weren’t part of the elite of the COU India Aerial Augmented Infantry, leader of Suparna.

Sujatha was anything but a normal girl — had worked very, very hard to not be one; so it was only natural she wouldn’t be scared.

And, most of the time, she did a good job at suppressing the feeling, even when it threatened to bubble up at the surface in the pit of her stomach.

Right now, however, as she heard the news that their training for the day was going to be exceptionally canceled because of some weather turmoils, the wave of anxiety started to overwhelm her in a way she didn’t think she could easily appease.

“What a pain,” Andry declared, letting himself fall all over a nearby couch. “What are we supposed to do now? They warned us at the last minute, so it’s not like we can quickly make other plans.”

Rukhshana made a weak noise of agreement buried under her black hijab. “Maybe… maybe we could play a game together? Until noon, at least…”

“Guess so,” the boy replied, but he didn’t seem very enthusiastic at the prospect. Then again, Andry never seemed very enthusiastic about most things. Everything seemed to pass through him like water; which could be both a relief and frustrating, depending on the situation.

“What do you think, Sujatha?”

“Huh? U-Um…” Sujatha’s eyes darted towards the dark sky, full of threatening gray clouds, trying not to fidget. “S-Sure. Probably.”

At this, both Rukhshana and Andry stared at her as if she was a ghost. They exchanged a brief, skeptical look with each other, before the boy straightened up and arched an eyebrow in Suparna’s leader’s direction.

“You sure?”

Sujatha frowned, feeling as if she was missing something obvious or was left out of an inside joke between her two teammates. Which, unfortunately, happened often.

“Of course I’m sure,” she responded sharply. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“W-Well…” Rukhi bit her lip, looking up at her hesitantly and wriggling her hands like she did whenever she felt unsure of herself. “It’s… not really like you to say something like this…”

“What?”

“Rukhi’s right,” Andry added. “Usually, you would’ve gone all ‘Who have time for games, you lazy scoundrels! If you only think about playing, we’ll end up the weakest of all Gauntlets Knights!’ and then Rukhi would have freaked out mentally over it, or something.”

Sujatha puffed out her chest in an irritated manner and glared at her teammate. “I do not sound like that.”

“But… you are acting weird, aren’t you?”

Rukhshana took a step towards her, and while Sujatha was about to snap back at her that she was imagining things, her mouth shut up instantly the moment she saw her eyes.

The other girl was looking at her with a concerned gaze, the one she took when she was genuinely worried about her; and instantly Sujatha felt herself softening against her will and guilt clogged up her throat. Had she really done that bad of a job to hide her anxiety?

“You’ve… been odd for a while now,” Rukhi continued. “And… it’s been worse since our training was officially canceled… I know you always think training is important, but… Is there… something else?”

Rukhshana stopped right in front of Sujatha, catching her off-guard, and her eyes staring straight into hers instantly pinned her into place. She gently reached out to her, her fingertips cupping her cheek in a tender, intimate gesture; and Sujatha flushed bright red, froze, then panicked.

“Th-There’s nothing else!” She exclaimed, snapping Rukhshana’s hand away and glaring at the other two teenagers. “But you’re right! You’d better find another way to exercise or study if you have nothing else better to do!”

She turned around before almost running away from the room; which still didn’t prevent her from hearing Andry snorting from behind and Rukhshana squeak and grumbling to herself ‘What’s this, she’s the one who said it was okay for us to play!’

Sujatha paid it no mind. She headed to her bedchambers, her face still feeling hot and her chest about to explode because of embarrassment.

She couldn’t believe how… open Rukhshana was with her in public, sometimes. Well, in private as well.

The two of them had been dating for about three months now, but everything still felt very new and surreal to her. No one knew, of course, with the exception of Andry — who had somehow grilled them only a week afterwards — and it did bring in some new challenges to navigate, but so far Sujatha didn’t regret it. She didn’t, but… she had to admit sometimes it felt a bit too… overwhelming, and she wasn’t always sure how to act towards Rukhi as a result (not that she knew how to handle her before, though).

She sighed, closing the door behind her, and let herself fell on her bed.

Rukhshana was going to be so angry for snapping at her like that, she knew. And maybe she deserved it, too. That… hadn’t been really fair from her, after all. She probably should go apologize before things get worse.

She might not look like it, but Rukhi was a pretty grudgeful person; and if she felt wronged, she was absolutely not going to let it slide. She could stop talking to Sujatha for months because of something like this — and the simple idea made Sujatha’s stomach turns into knots, even more so than it already was.

She knew she was the one who had to apologize, and that she had to do it now, but she couldn’t bring herself to get out of her bed.

The gray sky and future storm that loomed over outside seemed to have drained her entire energy. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, but the moment she heard the ripple of the rain on her window’s glass she tensed, then hurriedly buried herself under the blanket, as if this could protect her from the foreseeing tempest.

Sujatha wasn’t scared — she just… didn’t like the rain. And gray skies and clouds. And the dark. And thunders.

And it was absolutely not because she was scared that when she was a child she would stay hidden that way under the blanket back in her hometown in Hanumangarh, and that she would spends hours praying to Indra that the sky could finally light up.

She definitely never came to her parents for comfort, because Sujatha wasn’t destined to be a normal girl and not-normal girls were never scared.

So she also definitely didn’t jump when she heard a timid little knock at her door.

“Uh… S-Sujatha…?”

The voice on the other side was barely audible, especially with her ears camouflaged by the blanket and the heavy sound of the rain that seemed to get more and more violent as the minutes passed by — but of course Sujatha still recognized her.

She’d recognized her girlfriend’s voice everywhere.

“R-Rukhi?”

She distinguished some grumbling from the door, which confirmed her visitor’s identity and at the same time furthered her confusion.

She’d never thought Rukhshana would ever come to see her first. After what had happened earlier, she would’ve been way too mad for that.

“Um… I… I wanted to… uh, check on you…” Rukhi’s voice let out hesitantly. “Can I… come in?”

Sujatha bit her lip. Her heart screamed Yes please, her mind yelled back God no. Sujatha wasn’t scared, but she still refused to let anyone see her… like that.

Even Rukhshana. Maybe especially Rukhshana.

“No,” she finally declared, with a voice a little too shaky.

There was a sigh. And then the door opened anyway.

Sujatha almost jumped off the bed.

“I just said no!”

“I know,” Rukhshana said, glaring at her. “But it was one of your ‘no’ that actually meant ‘yes, please, I need you horribly.’”

Her frame was hallowed of light from the corridor’s luminosity, and Sujatha could see she was still wearing her hijab, albeit another, more casual one along with a long, dark dress.

She clenched her jaw, glared at her girlfriend, flushed, and then threw the blanket over her head yet again. Damn her.

She couldn’t see her, but Sujatha was pretty sure Rukhi rolled her eyes at this. There was a few footsteps sounds, then the mattress moved, tilted under an additional new weight.

“So. Can I stay?”

“A bit too late for that now,” Sujatha mumbled, and the more this situation kept on the more she felt ridiculous. She acted just like a child — completely unbefitting of her.

“Yes.”

And then they fell into an awkward, deep-seated silence for what felt like an eternity.

“Why…” Sujatha started, succumbing to the discomforting tension, before hesitating. “Why are you here, anyway? I thought you wouldn’t…”

“Talk to you for a while? Yes. I didn’t want to. But…” She sighed. “Andry convinced me it was better to not be stubborn, for once.”

That made sense. Andry seemed to be the only other person Rukhshana actually genuinely listened to.

“But he agreed you owe me an apology.”

Well, she supposed that was true. All three of them were on the same page, for once.

“…I’m sorry… for snapping at you… It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s fine. I forgive you. But… you’ll have to tell me why you did it.” Of course, only silence met her and Rukhi grumbled. “Come on. Why are you acting like this since this morning? What’s going on? You know you can talk to me.”

And Sujatha knew she could. She knew. She just wasn’t…

Well. She wasn’t used to it. Talk, and be open, and be… be scared. That wasn’t a thing she’d been taught. Not even to someone she, apparently, loved.

Sujatha buried her face into her knees, debating what to do with this overflow of contradictory feelings, when it seemed the sky decided to answer for her.

A booming, deafening thunder ripped the room apart, bathing the place in a wide splash of white light. Sujatha then lost all self-control and dignity and actually screamed, her heart stopping and her breath getting caught in her throat. A couple of smaller, other thunders outside left her a trembling, weeping mess under the blanket, rolled into a ball as if she was hoping to disappear.

For a while, the room stayed quiet except for the sound of the rain, but then finally Rukhi raised a small, doubtful voice:

“W-Wait… Could it be… that you’re scared of the thunder?”

Sujatha made no attempt to try to answer this. She didn’t think Rukhi needed and answer, anyway, as even a three years old could have come up with one.

And then the next second she was greeted with loud, unadulterated laughters.

“Oh no! That’s what this was all about! You’re scared of the thunder!”

“D-Don’t laugh! I’m not—”

Sujatha flushed red as she tried to disentangle herself from the blanket to glare at the other girl; but then another thunder resonated behind her, and she shrieked. Rukhshana gave her a smug look, raising an eyebrow.

And stared.

“…F-Fine,” Sujatha admitted, before hiding her head into her knees. “Maybe… Maybe I’m…”

She felt like someone was tearing out her teeth one by one, having to make such a statement. It would have probably hurt less if it had actually been the case.

Vulnerability was the worst, most humiliating thing in the world. She would rather die than appear weak to anyone, least of all Rukhshana.

Least of all Rukhshana, but…

But, maybe, at the same time, if she had to choose just one person who could see this side of her… then Rukhshana would be the one.

“Maybe… I am… a little scared…”

She wasn’t sure what to expect from her teammate, friend, lover. Maybe some teasing mockery and more laughters; that sounded like something Rukhshana would do, because she sure loved to tease her.

Instead, she felt something warm and soft on her back; a hand, she quickly realized, and when she raised her head, she was meet by a pair of soft, kind violet eyes that shined in the dim room.

“You are so ridiculous,” Rukhi said, but there was only fondness in her voice for once. “You know you got me and Andry actually worried here, right? If it was just about something so silly then you could’ve just told us. We’re your comrades.”

Of course she couldn’t have just told them, and of course it wasn’t just something silly; no matter how ‘ridiculous’ it seemed, it was still a weakness to Sujatha, and she could never let any weakness be seen to anyone. Well, except for now, it seemed.

“We’re all afraid of something. What’s the point of being friends if we can’t rely on each other to parry our weaknesses?”

Sujatha didn’t feel like fighting on the topic, so she just looked away, escaping Rukhi’s dark, deep eyes. Maybe the other girl knew it was a pointless argument to have at the moment, because she just shook her head before sitting right next to her girlfriend, their shoulders brushing. She pulled the blanket and covered up both of their heads with it.

When Sujatha looked at Rukhshana again, her face was only inches away from her own, her breath on her lips.

“Don’t be scared,” Rukhi said, smiling. “I’ll stay with you for the entirety of the storm. Okay?”

Rukhi extended her hand toward Sujatha, and while the former muttered a small ‘Idiot,’ she grasped it without a second thought. Rukhshana then leaned in and pressed her lips to hers, giving a gentle, comforting kiss as she was oft to do.

Sujatha let herself melt into her lover’s embrace, hiding her head into the corner of her shoulder, retracting into her arms every time a thunder shattered their peace.

And here, hidden under the blanket, away from the storm and from the whole world with only Rukhshana’s heartbeat and warmth for company, she didn’t feel so scared anymore.

#Ciconia no Naku Koro ni #Ciconia #SujaRukh #FemslashFeb2023 #RukhSuja #Sujatha #Rukhshana #Sujatha Ciconia #Femslash February #Rukhitha #Rukhshana Ciconia #Femslash February 2023 #Rukhi #Femslash Feb #FemFeb #Femslash Feb 2023 #Fanfiction #Ciconia When They Cry #Connan's Fanfics #CiconiaWhenTheyCry #Ciconia Fanfic #07th Expansion #Sujatha x Rukhshana #When They Cry #Sujatha (Ciconia) #Sujatha (Ciconia: When They Cry) #Connan's Posts #Rukhshana (Ciconia: When They Cry) #Rukhshana x Sujatha #Rukhshana (Ciconia)

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 1: Wedding Day

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Michel Bollinger/Giselle

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Michel and Giselle's wedding will take place in less than an hour, but things get more complicated when Giselle suddenly starts crying out of the blue.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Heya! I will post here a collections of unrelated one-shots I wrote for Gischel Week (if you're curious, it's here on Twitter, and here on Tumblr). I will likely be late for some of them sadly so please be patient as to when I'll complete them lol.

So, this takes place following the short story Happily Ever After from Requiem and Reincarnation’s canon, though you don't need to read either to understand it honestly, there's not really any spoilers.

I’ve actually hesitated to includes Iméon in this, but for some reason I’ve always headcanoned that they gets to meet Michel again only after he got married. Can’t tell you why, that’s just how it is in my head lol, I think I just like the idea (and find it funny) of them meeting again after Michel really got his life together with a pretty wife haha. But there’s still the Bollinger bros at least!

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“It’s too tight. And too dark. It doesn’t fit with the rest.”

The white-haired man in a tuxedo was staring straight back at him in the mirror. He wished he could say he looked ecstatic, fulfilled, delighted — it was, after all, the most important day of his life, technically. But the only true apparent emotion on his face was stress, afflicting his features and shining uncomfortably in his red eyes. He sighed, then grabbed his tie once again to loosen up the knot in an annoyed movement.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing? Leave it! It’s perfect, I’m tellin’ ya!”

Another man flew in Michel’s direction, jumping on him from behind and grabbing his wrist before he could alter else to his outfit. Wavy black hair flew all over his right shoulder, and then dark brown eyes crossed his own.

“It’s not perfect, Georges. I look like an idiot. I need to find another one before—”

“Jesus, you’ll never find the  perfect one. We’ve already set our sights on this one, don’t start to make things more complicated now! The ceremony will start in what, half an hour? We don’t have time for this!”

“But it’s just—”

“For once, I agree with Georges.” A deeper, sterner masculine voice resonated from behind. “It already looks more than fine that way. Leave it be.”

Michel turned around to glance at Didier who was sitting on the couch a bit afar from them, and then towards Georges, who grinned broadly at him.

“Sorry, but I just… It has to be perfect, you know? And right now it’s…”

“It’ll never be perfect the way you hope for, no matter what you do, Michel,” declared the oldest man. “So just focus on enjoying yourself and making Giselle happy.  That  will be more be enough, I promise.”

“Yep! No need to fret over stupid stuff!” Georges added, grabbing and shaking Michel’s shoulders cheerfully. “Let’s just have fun! We have to pop up the bottles, play the music super loud, then gets so wasted we end up dancing on the tables all night!”

“…Right, maybe don’t enjoy yourself to  that  level.”

“Why not?! That’s what weddings are made for, no? Mine certainly was!”

“Didn’t you told us your wedding had been an ‘accident’ at a college party and that you were so drunk at the time you didn’t even realize you’d gotten married?”

“W-Well, yeah, but like, that still counts!”

Michel sighed. He knew that, theoretically, they both were right; Giselle wouldn’t care or even notice if his tie was too tight or too dark or whatever. But he couldn’t prevent himself from being anxious and perfectionist.

It was a day they’d both yearned and waited for so such a long time. He didn’t want to let anything, even the slightest detail, ruin it in any way.

At least he was thankful that his brothers were able to be there for him when he got too stressed. Well, even if they weren’t his  brothers  anymore, technically speaking — at least not by blood.

In this era, all three of them had been born from different parents, grown up in different families and different houses, and lived very different lives until they met again about a year ago now. Michel didn’t know if it was fate or something else that had brought his siblings back to him once more, but whatever it was he was grateful for it. They’d been able to bond and get close very quickly even despite the fact neither Georges or Didier seemed to remember anything of their past lives — there were maybe some residual, lingering feelings left between them, but the only trace of it he’d been able to gather was Georges joking that it felt like they’d known each other their whole lives, and nothing more.

It felt sad, sometimes, that their entire childhood together as brothers had seemingly been erased, and that Michel was the only one who could remember it. But at the same time, there was a part of him who felt it might be better this way; and he decided to just focus on the happiness of being able to spend time with them once more, which already was a miracle in and on itself.

So of course, they had been among the first to be invited to his marriage; especially after Giselle had instantly gotten along with them. Georges had even been able to bring his two young sons with him — what had once been Michel’s nephews, the boys he’d never been able to meet in person and had barely known the existence of in the Middle Ages. He didn’t really had the occasion to know them well yet, but they seemed like nice kids. (Thankfully, the mother wasn’t Aimée this time but a random woman Georges met in college, with whom he quickly got married to  and divorced — he had no idea where Aimée was in this era and if she was even here to start with, and he had no intention to ever find out, either.)

It had been decided their wedding would be a small, intimate ceremony. At first, Michel had wanted to do something big, but Giselle was against the idea, so they simply choose to stay on a simple event with a committee of just a few relatives and friends. Asides from his brothers and Georges’ sons, they’d both invited their families, a few of Giselle’s friends from college and high school — four including her best friend; Michel had met all of them about a year ago now, though admittedly he still didn’t know them very well — and then of course Morgana, Maria, and Nellie. Mell did drop by to congratulate them as well but didn’t stay — Michel had become relatively friendly with the Rhodes siblings again, but given Morgana still refused to see Mell in any capacity, he’d quickly left. Maria had also passed on best wishes from Pauline, Yukimasa and even Jacopo, although none of them actually came. Michel thought it was probably better like that anyway. All in all, they were eighteen, which was already a fine number — and more importantly, there was everyone he wanted here for this special day.

Well, there was one person left he hadn’t been able to invite, which he was still sad about — Iméon. The diseased man he’d befriended at the mansion before meeting Giselle. Their relationship had been complicated to say the least, but he’d left a big impact on him and to this day Michel still hoped to be able to meet with him again, no matter how unlikely it would be.

In any case, this and his perfectionist issues asides, everything had actually been going on smoothly. More than anything, Giselle, while a bit anxious here and there during the preparations, had looked absolutely delighted and smiled the brightest of smiles ever since this morning.

So, maybe his brothers were right. Maybe he should just… relax, and enjoy the day, marrying the love of his life and try to make her as happy as possible as he should’ve had done a thousand years ago. He looked at himself once again in the mirror — his long white hair tied in a tighter ponytail than usual, his impeccable black and gray tuxedo — and then finally he nodded to himself, deciding that maybe he didn’t look  all  that bad.

Yes, this was fine. Everything was fine; there was no way this day could turn out wrong.

That is, until the door was burst open by a short blonde woman.

“Shit, Michel! We’ve got a big problem!”

Maria jumped inside the room, her red and white bridesmaid dress almost getting stuck in the door in her panic and her green eyes wide open in a concerned gaze. Right on her heel appeared Nellie, just as or maybe even more upset-looking than the other woman. Michel instinctively felt his stomach turn at the sight, and a dark hand grabbed his heart and squeezed.

“Wh-What’s wrong?”

“It’s Giselle!” Maria kept on, saying the last name he’d wanted to hear in this moment. “She’s… Well, uh, you see, there’s—”

“She’s crying!” Nellie cut in for her, her voice shaking. “She just started crying out of the blue!”

Michel blinked, stunned, as he tried to keep his composure and wrap his mind around this new information. “What? Why?”

Maria shook her head. “We don’t know; that’s the problem! Everything was going fine, we were talking with her sis and bestie and all and suddenly… she started sobbing as if she’d just lost her entire family.”

“Where is she now?” He immediately asked, already about to leave the room.

“Still with Morgana and her sister,” Nellie replied. “They’ve been trying to console her for a while now, but… it doesn’t work, so we thought we should get you as well!”

An exaggerated gasp leaked from behind Michel’s back. “Oh god, is that going to go like in those TV shows? Where the bride run away dramatically right at the last minute?! I’m currently watching one of those and the bride actually fell off a cliff, got kidnapped by aliens and ended up having an affair with one of them!”

Both Didier and Michel shot him a glare, but Nellie actually let out an excited ‘Ohh!’ with sparkling eyes.

“Wait, really? I watched that show too!” She exclaimed. “That’s why I’m worried now!”

“Huh, you did?! I still can’t believe she chooses to end up with Gellando and go back to Mars instead of Alfred, even after he killed her brother! Even the cowboy who was in love with her twin sister would’ve been a better choice!”

“I know, right? That’s was such a bad choice! No way he’ll ever makes her happy! They’re just such an  awful  fit!”

“What kind stupid soap operas are you guys watching…?” Maria commented, narrowing her eyes, and Michel could only feel his brain starting to burn between all the topics changes and his increasing worry for his wife-to-be eating at him — with the hope that she was  still  his wife-to-be.

“All of you, calm down,” Didier finally intervened, making Michel infinitely grateful for having at least  one  sane person present in the room. “Explain more properly, please. What happened exactly? What do you think Michel should do?”

“Well, if a gal’s crying the day of her wedding then good chances it’s related to the dude she’s going to marry, so it’d be cool if he could come with us to have a chat.”

“It’s against the tradition and disrespectful for the groom to see the bride before the wedding,” Didier warned, but Maria rolled her eyes.

“Man, what time period is it? The Middle Ages? Pretty sure God doesn’t give a shit about whether he goes to see her before or not. They’re likely going to do some much more  disrespectful  and unchristian things later on anyway.”

Nellie shot her a confused look and Georges let out a falsely offended gasp, but Michel simply shook his head and decided to focus on the problem at hand.

“All right, I’ll go. Sorry, I’ll try to make it quick,” he added to his brothers, before the got out of the room with the two women.

“You’re sure it’s not just one of her usual mood swings?” He asked to Maria afterwards as they trotted down the corridor. “She’s been very emotional about the wedding lately, so it wouldn’t be odd.”

As Maria and Giselle worked together and as such saw each other almost every day, he knew that she was very acquainted with Giselle’s burst of emotional tears that she had for the past few months now, and he had hopped that was still all this was about; but to this dismay, Maria shook her head.

“No, it’s something else. I feel it’s more… I don’t know, more  intense .”

“She was  very  upset,” Nellie confirmed.

Well,  that  certainly wasn’t helping to ease the anxiety he’d had since this morning.

As they walked past the chapel where he was supposed to get married in a few dozens of minutes, Michel’s eyes got drawn to the lustrous bits of blue, purple and red, shimmering like crystal in the back of the room — a stained-glass depicting the archangel who shared his name.

It had been Giselle’s idea. She’d hadn’t asked for anything for this wedding, but she  had  been insistent on exchanging their vows in a chapel, in front of Michael.

Michel still had mixed feelings regarding this angel, God and Christianity to this day — and this despite having been raised by fairly pious parents. Even before he got back his past life’s memories, the uneasy emotions regarding his faith would always sat at the bottom of his stomach, and he’d never been able to stand any depiction of the Christ and crucifixion ever since he was a toddler — triggering actual panic attacks in the worst cases. As a result, he’d hesitated to hold a Christian marriage at all in the first place — but his parents really wanted them to, and Morgana had openly treated him of ‘blasphemer’ for considering not to. Giselle and her family, who weren’t particularly religious, didn’t mind either way, so in the end they decided to settle it by following his parents’ wishes.

Still, for as much as he used to dislike the archangel and being named after him back then, it was undeniable that he had a meaningful importance to their past — and he knew he specifically was very significant to Giselle and to her life as the Maid, so he could understand her desire to have it present for this occasion.

This particular stained-glass of Michael was much less sophisticated and beautiful than the one that had been in the mansion; and this church, situated in a rural little town an hour away from Paris, was much smaller, but it was enough for them.

“They’re here!” Maria’s voice suddenly got him out of his thoughts, and he realized they had indeed reached the room Giselle had been prepared in.

When he stepped in, the first thing he noticed was his fiancée sat down in front of a mirror, all dressed up in her white gown and her long black hair tied up in an intricate, braided bun with a rose decorating the top. Michel would’ve paused to contemplate just how beautiful she was — his heart did miss a beat for an instant, and even if he kept gently making fun of her for her burst of emotional tears over their wedding, he was certain he would end up crying on the altar too — but her red, sore eyes and her make up spread all over her cheeks stopped him. She did, indeed, look very upset , and his heart deflated instantly upon the sight. Kneeled next to her was her older sister Clémence, wearing a bridesmaid dress similar to Nellie and Maria’s and holding her sibling’s hands. Clémence was gently whispering consoling words he couldn’t hear from where he was, but it didn’t seem to work as Giselle’s tears still continued to roll down her face without any indication of stopping.

“At this point you might as well cancel the wedding. I mean, do you really intend to show up at the altar looking like  this ?”

It was an acerbic, arrogant voice that had spoken; one deceptively as sweet as honey, that Michel could recognize anywhere. Turning around, he saw Morgana slumped on the couch and scrolling through her phone with a look of complete disinterest in the events currently occurring in front of her, probably looking either at Twitter or playing one of her gacha games.

Her sentence only seemed to make Giselle cry harder though, and Clémence glared at her.

“Could you  stop saying things like that?” She asked in an angry voice, and Michel guessed from it that Morgana’s cutting remarks must’ve been a recurring thing since earlier. “You’re only making things worse!”

“I’m only saying the truth. She’s the one who suddenly burst out crying out of nowhere and ruining what’s supposed to be the biggest day of her life.”

Morgana shrugged without even lifting her eyes from her screen, and Michel could see Clémence doing her best to restrain herself from getting up and slapping her right here and then. Thankfully, she seemed to notice Michel’s presence at this moment and a relieved expression crossed her face.

“Can someone please get this girl out of here?” She asked.

Maria grimaced, threw a desperate look at Michel and then stepped in to grab Morgana by the arm.

“Right! Sorry! Let’s go now, Morgana. We’ll go find some food to stuff ourselves with. Surely that’ll be more productive than trying to destroy poor Giselle’s self-esteem.”

Morgana opened her mouth to protest as Maria pulled her out of the couch, but in the end seemed to decide she was right and simply stood up.

“I’m not trying to destroy anything, I’m just annoyed. At this rate, these two will have to wait another thousands years before finally getting married.”

“Yeah, yeah, now come on, over here.”

The girl sighed while Maria was hurriedly trying to drag her out of the room, but stopped just when she passed next to Michel.

“It’s not a big deal. She still want to marry you, she just needs a push in the right direction — so stop looking as if someone gave you a death sentence.”

Without waiting for an answer, she then disappeared in the corridor. Nellie seemed to hesitate to follow them a little, looking back and forth between the room and the hallway; Michel guessed she was probably fighting between knowing it was better to leave them some intimacy and her desire to see what the drama was all about — but finally she ended up patting Michel’s shoulder in a comforting manner with an awkward smile.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’re just the cutest, most perfect couple, after all; there’s no way something like that could ruin your wedding! We’ll wait for you in the chapel!”

And then she was off. Michel let out a sigh, before finally joining Giselle and her sister; the first one didn’t seem to be able too look at him in the eyes, sobbing quietly, while the former stood up and shot him a distressed look.

“We tried all we could to cheer her up, but she doens’t seem to want to tell us anything,” she said. “Naïla and Aurélie and went to seek out Mom. But I think you’re the one she needs to talk to the most.”

He nodded silently. “All right… I’ll do what I can. Thank you.”

Clémence smiled uncomfortably at him, running her hand in her black hair — practically the same as Giselle’s, but shorter and tied into a ponytail — before finally adding hesitantly: “…You know, I was angry at you at first, but I don’t think it’s your fault anymore. So… don’t blame yourself too much.”

He simply nodded again; an admission like that was actually a big deal for Clémence, as it had took her some time to warm up to Michel and that she often tended to be pretty protective of Giselle. She gently put her hand on her little sister’s shoulder one last time in sign of support before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Despite her words, however, a part of Michel couldn’t help but think it was, in fact, his fault; even if that didn’t make much sense. He always had that reflex to blame himself for whatever thing that might happen to Giselle, regardless of how true it was — and today was no exception. In fact, today felt even worse than usual, in a way.

He stared down at Giselle, then finally kneeled down next to her, gently taking her hands in his own much like Clémence had done earlier. She didn’t try to fight him off, which he took as a good sign — and then, as softly as he could, he murmured her name.

“Giselle.”

His fiancée didn’t respond, but he could see her bare shoulders ease up a little.

“Giselle… please, talk to me. I cannot help or do anything if you don’t talk to me.”

Of course, she must already know that. He heard her sniffle; one, two, five times. Finally, she was able to muster her courage to lift back her head, and her jade eyes crossed his ruby. One of her hand let go of his so that she could rub her eyes, trying to prevent anymore sob from escaping her.

She seemed to struggle to find her words. He waited.

“I��” She coughed a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s just… I mean. I-It’s silly, really. Morgana’s right. She’s always right.”

“Well… I don’t want to contradict you, but she’s actually often been more wrong than right about a lot of things.”

Giselle chuckled at this, which relieved him.

“I didn’t want them to get you,” she finally added in a very quiet, very muted voice; so much that he wouldn’t have been able to hear her if she hadn’t been right in front of him. “I didn’t want to— I didn’t want you to worry…”

“Well… If that can comfort you, I was already worried.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t want to make it worse. But it’s… I don’t want you to think I don’t want us to get married anymore. It’s not like that.”

“I know.”

The confidence in his voice actually managed to bring a timid smile on her face; and as such, it automatically brought one on his, too.

If there was one thing he wouldn’t waver on anymore, it was on the certainty and strength of her love.

“But you’re still crying.”

The smile dropped, and she looked down again. For a while, she didn’t seem to be able to add anything; so, trying to encourage her to go on while still not pressuring her, he gently cupped her cheek in his hand — caressing her skin, wiping the tears at the corner of her eyes with his thumb. He hoped she could feel the tenderness in his gesture, the solace he sought to bring to her heart.

And maybe she did, because her features then seemed to relax and she opened her mouth again:

“Michel, do you remember… Do you remember that conversation we had at the mansion, that one time?”

She looked at him, and then closed her eyes. He frowned, but waited patiently for her to clarify her words.

It always felt like a double-edged word whenever Giselle evoked their past lives of her own volition; even with the happiest of their memories. Maybe was it a product of her experience as the Maid, but it had always seemed like her recollections of their time together at the mansion was blurrier than his — that they were often jumbled, changed, out of order. It was like a puzzle she had to recompose every time in her mind, and sometimes, even all that effort wasn’t able to remind her of every occurrence. It wasn’t like Michel remembered  everything  that had happened back then perfectly either, but his were distinctly more lucid and defined than her own.

“Back then… after you’d… sent that letter to your family, for us to come back to the capital. Before we get… raided by the knights… We had a conversation together at night, in your bed, about the future… Do you remember?”

“…I do.”

“I… I actually think I forgot most of it. But… I do remember the feeling of anxiety I felt then. And earlier, I realized that was the exact same feeling I felt then. I… I think… that at that time, you talked about how… surreal it all felt. That it was like… the world outside the mansion never existed and was just a figment of your imagination…”

He did say that. In fact, he remembered this conversation very well; in strangely odd details. Maybe one of their discussions he recalled the best.

She laughed softly. “It’s funny. I said I could understand what you meant back then, but to be honest, I only truly understood it after becoming the Maid. That was how it always felt at the time. That the world outside the mansion never really existed, and that everything… our live, our past together… was nothing more than a story…”

Giselle looked out towards the window, her gaze suddenly seeming a little empty, and by instinct he grasped her hand more tightly; as if hoping that her feeling his grip would ground her here, in their reality — remind her that she wasn’t the Maid and that they weren’t stuck in that mansion anymore.

“It still feel that way, sometimes. I still feel… I don’t know, like I’m just dreaming. Even with my memories of my life here, I still feel like that’s just something I made up out of boredom. I did that a lot as the Maid, you know. Create stories that are not my own. Happy stories. Happy endings. All of them fakes.”

He paused; deciphering her words, emphasizing with her; making sure he could find the right thing to say without dismissing her feelings, though in the end the only he could mutter was the most simple of assurance: “…But this one is not fake.”

Of course, there was no way to truly prove it — and both of them knew it.

That was why Giselle simply looked back at him and smiled sadly without replying anything.

The memories of their past lives was a double-edged sword; a curse and a blessing.

It had brought them together, but it still inevitably tied them to the past.

For people like them who desperately tried,  needed to move on and reach a new, better future, it was like a chain around their ankle — one they had no way to break now that they remembered.

“That’s true. I did say this, back then. But… do you recall what you said then, Giselle?”

Her face darkened a little. She frowned, and he could see the gears in her brain turn, trying to remind herself of a clumsy discussion between two broken, lonely lovers living in a decrepit cursed mansion from a millennium ago.

“I… I’m not sure I…”

“You said… that it was natural to be nervous, to be scared of what the future might be… but that as long as we were together, we’d be able to overcome anything. That as long as we had each other, there was no need to be afraid of the future.”

She stared at him with an unreadable expression; and he had actually no idea if that meant she was able to remember or if something else had come up to her mind. Regardless, he only gave another squeeze to her hand, and smiled bitterly.

“I don’t think I can promise you the same thing now. I can’t prove to you that this is reality unless you accept it for yourself, and there’s no way to know what might await us in the future. We’ll probably run into other struggles, experience some new painful moments. I can’t even promise you I’ll never hurt you again. We were naive to believe we could do so back then. But…”

He took a deep breath, making sure to not break eye contact with her— and then gently pushed his forehead against hers, their noses brushing each other’s.

“Back then, like during that conversation, you were always the one pushing me forward. So, I want to do the same for you now. What I  can   promise you, is that I’ll always try my best to be there for you and love you, so that we can share this burden and make it at least a little less heavy.”

His fingers pushed away some of the strands of her black hair that had fallen out of her bun. Tears welled up in her green eyes again, but she didn’t look as upset anymore. In fact, she seemed relieved… content. He hoped that’d meant he had been able to find the right words to ease her discomfort.

After a long moment of silence, she finally let out an exhausted sigh, then nodded imperceptibly, smiling.

“Yes… That’s right. You’re right… We can share that. We can try, at least.”

A smile of his own spread on his lips. “Good.”

There was slight moment where none of them said anything, simply basking in the other’s presence; before Michel opened his mouth once more.

“So… I really want to kiss you right now. Do you think that’d be against the tradition to kiss the bride right before the ceremony?”

Giselle laughed; a pleasant, slightly trembling melody.

“You’re an idiot,” was the only comment she made before pushing her lips to his own.

And so, still cupping his future wife’s cheek with one hand and holding her own with the other, he playfully kissed her, once, twice, thrice; and wished, upon all the gods and the saints he knew, that no matter what the future had in store for them, he would still have the occasion to do so to compensate for the millennium he spent without her.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Gischel #GischelWeek #Gischel Week #Michel Bollinger #MisheJize #More than a millennium #Giselle FataMoru #Fanfiction #JizeMishe #Connan's Fanfics #FataMoru Fanfiction #Connan's Posts #Giselle Bollinger #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #House in Fata Morgana #TheHouseinFataMorgana #Novect #Michel #Giselle #Michel x Giselle

[connan-l]

Fiore Cadavere

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Jacopo Bearzatti & Morgana

Summary: Trying to take care of this traumatized little girl he saved turned out trickier than Jacopo had expected, especially with his own doubts getting in the way. So when she suddenly decide to disappear out of the blue one day, things become even more complicated.

Content Warnings: Requiem oblige, there’s mentions of prostitution (and underage prostitution given Maria is still 17 at this point) and of past child abuse/torture because of Morgana. Some mild descriptions of corpses as well I guess.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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The girl was still bundled up in there when he stepped inside.

The only anomaly to his routine lately, he thought with a bitter smile as the strong perfumes of the brothel piqued his nostrils and made him grimace instinctively; it was something he’d never entirely accommodated to, even after all those years.

Last room on the right, all at the bottom. That was where she’d taken shelter in for the past ten days since he’d first brought her here. She basically spent most of her days in there, refusing to interact with any of the girls as if they were lepers and not putting a single toe outside. At this point, most of the women had given up on the kid except for the really kind-hearted and patient ones like Iris who’d occasionally come to check on her, but if it wasn’t for him coming in every day to bring her the ointment and her meals he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just let herself die of hunger.

That girl — Morgana, right, she’d told him her name was Morgana — was committed on being a pain in the ass to everyone, it seemed. And, admittedly, it worked; Jacopo wasn’t really sure what to do with her anymore.

It’s barely been two weeks, he tried to reason with himself. And she’s a child who has been through hell. Just give her time. But a small, vicious voice, that could sounds either like Maria or Gratien or the goddamn lord himself depending on the circumstances, would in turn whisper in his ear that he would’ve done better to let her die during the uprising at the manor.

Even if it was slightly better than the first day he’d talked to her, she still seemed so determined to stop living. He wondered if trying to tire him out and force him to let her die was her end goal. That would be twisted, but then again, the words she’d told him when she’d woken up back then still plagued his mind.

“Would you… please kill me…?”

His blood boiled just remembering it, and he gripped his own fist tightly as he stopped in front of her room’s door.

Like hell I will.

“Morgana? Hey?”

He knocked once, twice. Then once again louder when he got no answer.

“…Who is it?”

A barely audible voice finally leaked through the wood, and he sighed. Which man could come to visit her besides him?

“It’s me, Jacopo?”

“…Who?”

“Oh come on, don’t screw with me! You should know my name by now. I’m the guy who bring you food every day!”

“Ah… the slave man.”

Jacopo tried not to let her odd insistence on never saying his name get under his skin.

She’s just a kid, he repeated again in his head, a recitation he’d learned by heart ever since he’d met her. Don’t get mad. Don’t get mad.

“Can I come in?” He asked, controlling his voice as much as he could. However after being given the silent treatment yet again for quite some time, he grumbled and couldn’t help but speak more forcefully. “Morgana.”

“It’s open.”

Jacopo sighed, then finally penetrated inside the room. Morgana was there alright; curled up on herself in a corner of the bed, all wrapped up in the blanket and that black cloak that she never let go of nowadays. She pulled her hood over face at his entrance, as if trying to hide herself even more than she already was. Jacopo couldn’t bring himself to understand why she persisted in wearing this large, cumbersome thing even inside; it really was as if she was trying to dissimulate her presence as much as possible from any pair of eyes that would dare to be too curious to stare at her. Though, knowing her, it very much could be the case, as she definitely always seemed to run away from any kind of visual contact. Shaking his head in disbelief, he decided not to comment on it as he was aware enough it’d only make things worse, and simply put the plate of food on the mattress.

“You know, you really should just start going to the kitchen all by yourself to eat,” he said instead while sitting down — far away from her so that she didn’t feel too threatened. “The girls won’t mind if you ask them nicely to share meals with them.”

Morgana eyed the bowl of pottage quietly for a moment, as if she feared it could be poisoned, and then slowly reached for it. Without looking at him and all while grabbing her spoon, she just mumbled back a sentence that sounded like, “You’re saying… I should go share my meals with these vile sinners?”

Jacopo sighed again, which was now a pretty regular occurrence in each of his interactions with Morgana. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Do you intent to keep insulting them for long like that? In case you forgot, may I remind you that those ‘vile sinners’ are the ones sheltering you for free right now. You don’t have to like their jobs, but is that really too much to ask that you talk to them like human beings? I’m pretty sure that ‘treating your benefactors like trash’ isn’t featured in the Bible.”

The girl said nothing, simply chewing on her bread in silence like a small mouse. The way she would simply fell silent whenever he made her notice she was being disrespectful made him think that maybe she did realize her behavior was uncalled for, but then again she still didn’t seem to make any effort to interact with the other women or just to stop calling them sinners.

Maria had said it’d take at least three years of work to get through to her. He’d originally been fine with the perspective of taking responsibility for saving her and taking care of her, but… Sometimes, he still couldn’t help but ponder if he’d truly be able to do something like this for such a long time.

“Well, whatever. Finish your meal and then I’ll take care of the ointment.”

As soon as she heard the word ‘ointment,’ the kid instantly tensed up, stopped eating and raised her eyes towards him fearfully. This was also another irritating behavior that he tried his best to not be irritated about. He’d come to put ointment on her for as long as she’d been here, every days, and yet she still reacted like that when he mentioned it. Sure, it had only been ten days — but certainly by now she should be aware he wouldn’t harm her, right?

“Christ, Morgana. Again, I won’t do anything you won’t like — it’s just putting the ointment on you. Nothing more. You should know that by now.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“No, but I want to, so I will. We are not having this conversation again.”

“It’s just useless. You should stop.”

Her dry way of speaking — a bit firmer than usual — stopped him in his tracks for a moment. Was she really still talking about just the ointment… or about herself in general? Maybe there truly was a part of her who was trying to be as unbearable as possible so that he’d eventually give up on her.

If Gratien or Maria were there, they’d most definitely tell him he should do so already — no point in trying to help someone who didn’t want to be helped. And in a way, they weren’t wrong, but…

He shook his head, trying to get rid of these thoughts. “…Oh, yeah. By the way, I wanted to ask you something… Erm, so you see, there’s this guy at the pub… um, a pretty nice dude; he often comes hang with us, and he helped during the riot at the manor too. Well, that guy, he has two daughters around your age — ten and eight years old.”

Morgana aimed inquisitive, suspicious eyes at him; he’d learned to recognize by now that it was the kind of warning gaze she used whenever he would say something she found particularly unpleasant and wanted him to shut up, but that didn’t deflate him to continue.

“I’ve talked with them a few times, and they’re really kind, cute girls. From time to time, they go out together with a few of their friends to play in the hills, collect plants and whatever so— well, what I’m saying is that, I’ve asked them yesterday if they’d be okay if another new girl joined them, so that they could show you around a bit and all, and they seemed really enthusiastic about it. So, what do you think?”

“You’re asking me to… join them? For what?”

“Huh? W-Well, you know… Play around… doing kids stuff? I don’t know, just, to have fun together. It’d be good if you could start making friends with other children—”

“I have no interest in things like ‘playing around,’ or in making friends with other children.”

Jacopo groaned. He had expected this type of answer, yes, but that didn’t mean it was any less annoying to actually hear it.

“Why do you just refuse to make any effort?” He let out in a frustrated voice before he could monitor his tone. “Making friends is a good thing, it’s not like I’m forcing you to do chores. Didn’t you have… um, well, friends, where you lived before?”

“No.”

This time, he actually hadn’t expected this type of answer. “Huh? Wait, really? Oh, come on, that can’t be true. I’m sure there must’ve been at least some, right? Kids you hanged around with?”

“There was none.”

“…Okay… Well, even if you didn’t have any back then, you can’t stay all the time on your own now, and I’m sure you must be bored to only be around people who are all older than you. You should find yourself some hobby too, instead of staying locked up inside all day. You know, if you’d just—”

“Stop that.”

Her voice rose; the spoon tinkled inside the bowl. Not quite a shout, per se — but still very loud for her standards, and it was so surprising for her to do something like that that Jacopo shut it up instantly, frozen in amazement. Golden eyes left the half-finished soup, and for once, hesitantly crossed his own willingly.

“Stop… deciding things for me… what you think is best for me… stop it. You… know nothing about me.”

A pregnant silence fell between them. They stared at each for some time, before Morgana finally gave in first and dropped off her eyes inside her bowl again. She didn’t seem to want to eat anymore, though, as she pushed the plate away from her; her fingers starting to play nervously with a pan of her robe.

Stiff shoulders, chin hanging down, fidgeting hands, a dodgy expression; those were all signs Jacopo knew very intimately — a collection of symptoms that he was a connoisseur of.

The body language of a child he’d known when he was younger; when he’d only just arrived to this town after running all by himself for days and days; after having been just barely saved by Maria — the language of a weak kid who was fearful of everything and would become cagey about any questions concerning his past, concerning himself.

That child who ran away and desperately tried to avoid people and hide from the stares was no more now.

He’d made sure of it — had buried him deep inside him, locked him away in a small box, destroyed his very existence.

Never would he have thought to see him again now, right in front of him, in the form of a young girl with red hair and skin scattered in scars.

“Sorry…”

There was a sigh, and then a head scratch.

“I’m… sorry, really.”

I’m sorry I can’t help you.

I’m sorry you gave up on living.

He didn’t say those parts out loud, of course. She wouldn’t hear it, wouldn’t understand it — just like he hadn’t when he had been like her.

Morgana didn’t react, and Jacopo knew that he wouldn’t hear a single word from her anymore for the rest of the day at least. He’d be lucky if she even allowed herself to speak to him again tomorrow. So, he simply took the plate of food and the ointment, departed from the room and closed the door behind him.

For as much she could be frustrating, he knew he had been her, once — but he just wasn’t sure if he’d be able to help her out the way he’d helped himself.

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There was too much noise.

Morgana’s head felt like it was going to explode. She pulled on her hood avidly, as if doing so could somehow protect her from the overwhelming sounds and people that surrounded her. She’d never been good at dealing with crowds, even back at her village — and her village had been pretty small — but now it just felt even worse somehow.

Ever since she escaped, it felt like if she closed her eyes she would just be back at the lord’s manor; hearing the nobles laugh and watch her bleed on the altar like hawks as they gawked and stuffed themselves up.

The memories made her dizzy, then nauseous, and instantly triggered her instinct to flight — but at this moment an adult’s hand grabbed her own, gently but firmly, and when she raised her head she saw a woman with black locks smiling at her lovingly, her dark eyes shining with concern.

“Are you okay, Morgana? If you feel bad you can just tell me, okay? I promise it won’t be much longer…”

The woman’s voice was very kind, but it somehow only managed to irk Morgana even more. She slapped her hand away and tightly grasped her cloak instead, looking down at the ground — hoping her hood would dissimulate as much of her face as possible. She couldn’t see the woman’s reaction to her rejection, but she could hear Maria snort from behind.

“Just leave the brat be, Iris. Honestly, I’m starting to regret we brought her along. Maybe we should just ‘accidentally’ lose her somewhere on the way or something.”

“Maria!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking! Jacopo would skin me alive if I ever did that.”

I never asked to be here, Morgana almost replied bitterly, but bit down her tongue at the last moment.

They’d needed to go out to buy a few things, apparently, and usually it would’ve been none of Morgana’s business and she would’ve just stayed locked up in her dedicated room. But Iris had showed up and asked her if she wanted to come, to ‘get some fresh air’ or something, and before she could say anything Maria had jumped on the occasion to push on the idea. Her argument, however, wasn’t that Morgana needed fresh her, but that given she was just a freeloader, the bare minimum she could do was help out with the chores like taking care of the shopping.

Morgana had tried to refuse, she really did. But that blond girl was just as stubborn as her, and she kept insisting, and… and, well. Admittedly, she had to admit she was kind of right. These… women had lent a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in and food to eat, while Morgana could give them nothing in return. She still would never approve of these their sinful lifestyles, but… she did feel guilty. If she could just reveal her real identity as a saint then she probably could use her blood as a way to repay them, but…

She just couldn’t. The idea of slicing up her skin like before, of just revealing her lineage brought back memories of the lord, of how she’d been used like an entertaining object, and with this all the sickening, disgusting feelings that were associated with him.

She should just leave the brothel. Run away from here, live on her own. The twelve days she’d been living there had already been too much.

But whenever she tried to gather her courage to do just that, she always ended up desisting herself at the last minute.

She didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t leave.

The fear of the unknown, the dread of not having any home, any future, anyone to count on anymore overwhelmed her, and then her thoughts just went back to what the slave man had told her about his hometown and of the possibility of them being family and—

How ridiculous.

She truly had now become the most disgraced, cowardly being on this earth.

“Anyway, what do we have left again?” Maria declared, sighing heavily as she ran her hand through her short hair. “Not sure we’ll find the rest around here… Should we just try to go to the city proper for once?”

“We’ll never be able to afford it in the city proper,” Iris intervened. “I think that—”

“Guards! Guards!”

“The guards are here!”

The people in the street suddenly began to get agitated, a few of them running away in smaller, darker alleys, as if they searched to hide. Maria and Iris instantly tensed up, but Morgana didn’t really understand what all this turmoil was about until she noticed a few horses trotting on the paved road, with on top of them men in what looked like heavy, metallic armors.

Guards. In her mind, guards were representatives of justice and goodness, loyally serving and protecting citizens, so she had no idea why everyone here seemed so panicked at the sight of them or why Iris suddenly gripped her hand once again in a protective manner.

It was as if… they were suspicious of them. Fearful. And then her blood went cold. It was only when this thought crossed her mind that she remembered…

Before serving and protecting citizens, those guards were first and foremost serving the lord. A shiver ran through her, and despite how callously she’d rejected Iris just a little while back, she now grabbed her long skirt tightly.

The men, up high on their horses, entirely engulfed in robust silver plates and with long swords hanging at their belts, looked incredibly imposing and intimidating as they surveyed the street and the people there. Then, the gaze of one of them stopped when he saw Iris and Maria, and directed his horse towards them. The blond-haired girl’s face instantly hardened, while the older woman nervously bit her lower lip before shoving Morgana behind her back.

“Well, now… Look who we have here,” one of the guards declared. “If it isn’t last time’s whores. What are your names again?”

“Since when do you fuckers care about the names of some rat slums?”

Maria replied sharply, her hand on her hip and her eyes glaring at the guard without an ounce of fear. Iris grimaced, but the man only chuckled, manifestly indifferent at the girl’s impudence.

“Cocky as always, huh.”

“Um… may I ask, why are you here?” Iris hesitantly tried, a very clear ‘you never come here’ accompanying the rest of her question.

“A few days ago, there was a slave revolt at the mansion of the lord. A revolt induced by people of the city. Lord Barnier wants us to find the instigators… But I believe you already know all of that, don’t you?”

“Hah. And of course, the first place you come to for that are the slums, huh?”

“It is always you guys who causes the most problems, so can you blame us for being suspicious?”

“And why don’t you start asking yourself why, exactly, do we fucking ‘causes problems,’ huh?”

“I-I am sorry to hear about what happened,” Iris cut in, trying to calm down the growing tension between the men and Maria. “But, um, neither I nor my friends know anything about that.”

“That, you see, I have troubles to believe. You all always know everything about each other, so I definitely think you must be aware of at least a few of those criminals. The lord is certain some of you are behind this.”

“Then why doesn’t the great Lord Barnier come to see us himself, hmm? Or maybe is he too afraid of a handful of slums rats for that?”

This definitely seemed like the one sentence too many. Iris gasped an anxious ‘Maria!’ through her teeth, and the guard leaned on his horse, fiercely glaring down at the women. Morgana only tried to bury herself even more inside her hood, erasing her presence as much as she could behind the two prostitutes.

“You better be careful, whore,” the man hissed menacingly. “Next time, the lord won’t be as forgiving.”

“Bring it on,” Maria replied back dryly without hesitation, a muffled anger vibrating through her voice.

The man snorted, then to Morgana’s surprised and relief, he actually straightened up, patted his horse, and finally he and his men turned around and walked away, not without throwing a last glare in their direction. It wasn’t until they disappeared at the corner of the street that the tension created by their arrival dissolved, and that the people of the district seemed to start breathing again. Iris, however, didn’t appear relieved in the slightest and instead grabbed Maria’s arm in an uncharacteristic mild anger.

“What on earth were you thinking by trying to provoke him like that, Maria? You realize how wrong this could’ve turned out?”

“It’s fine. They were just here as a warning, they wouldn’t have done anything unless they were sure we were connected to the revolt.”

“But you don’t know that! Honestly, you sounds like Jacopo! What if they tell the lord and he finally decides to take some drastic measures against the slums?”

“I don’t think some random whore being kind of rude to one of his guards is what will end up ticking off that guy,” Maria replied, shrugging. “And I get mad sometimes too. Okay, listen, I know we have to play it safe, but there’s a difference between this and actually creating a riot at the manor like the other dumbasses did. And the lord can’t bring himself to anger the people living in the city proper either, which by now could happen any time if he takes some measures too extreme. Like I said, in the end he’s just a fuckin’ coward afraid of us.”

“He is not afraid.”

“Huh?”

The words escaped Morgana’s mouth before she could even think about them; as if the mention of the lord had instinctively unlocked her voice, awakening a force that allowed her to speak up from behind Iris’ skirt when she would’ve never done so under normal circumstances.

The man’s deranged, black eyes — standing large and imposing in his sumptuous, shining clothing and jewels — were still burned in her mind; and even now, when she was so far away from him, she still felt like his gaze was burrowing inside her, wringing her soul dry.

No, that man had not an ounce of fear left in his body; not even for God Himself. There was only warped cruelty and madness.

“The lord… is not afraid of coming down here. It is more like… He just does not see the people who live here. He does not fear or hate them, he only think of them as if they don’t exist, as if they are…”

“You are my property. You are to do as I say. You are not to talk back or criticize.

And you are to give everything to me. Your life. Your body. Your soul. Your love. Every last thing.”

Laughters. Blood. Torn flesh.

“Not human.”

Maria and Iris exchanged a look, an uncomfortable expression spreading on both of their faces. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. She vaguely wondered if they now thought she was insane — but then quickly realized she didn’t care.

Many people here talked about the lord; there hadn’t been one day spent in the slums where she hadn’t heard his name, even in her limited social space. They were all so scared of him, but most didn’t even knew what he looked like. She was the only one here who had a very personal experience with him, besides the slave man and his big blond friend, so of course these women who’d never interacted with the man wouldn’t understand. And even then, she was still probably the only person who’d spent as much time with him and held actual, prolonged conversations.

How much time had she spent at that manor, tied up on that altar? Weeks? Months? Years?

She hadn’t been able to tell, as if time broke inside these walls.

At some point, it had just stopped mattering — stopped feeling real.

In a way, it still didn’t feel real.

A throat clear snapped her out of her thoughts; some clumsy attempt at getting them out of the uncomfortable silence that had prevailed until now.

“O-Okay, well, who cares anyway, right?” Morgana recognized Maria’s voice, although she couldn’t bring herself to lift her head to confirm it. “We have better things to do. We should go now or we’ll still be there tonight.”

“Th-That’s right,” Iris agreed, and without waiting a beat they started walking through the street again. Her hand was still holding Morgana’s in hers, and this time the girl didn’t try to slap it away.

The routine bustling of the slums had gone back to normal, forgetting all about the threatening visit they’d just experienced, and Morgana let her eyes ran over the weathered buildings, the starved homeless people and the emaciated orphans at every corners of the streets. Morgana’s birth village had been relatively poor, but even so it had never reached this level of miserable, and of indifference in that miserableness, that could be seen here. Such a stark display of human depravity piqued her instincts as a saint, her desire to help and use her blood on the sick, abandoned people lying down on the side of the street resurfacing strongly.

Until she realized there were not just sick people that lied on the side of the street. In the darkest corners, hidden and confined so that they wouldn’t be as obvious to the naked eye, were bodies; unlike the diseased, none of them moved, breathed, whimpered.

Soulless corpses, sprawled and forgotten by all, slowly rotting away in complete apathy.

Her stomach turned.

“Huh…? Morgana, what’s wrong?”

Iris stopped as soon as she realized the young girl was not following them anymore, and Maria imitated her shortly after. Morgana had come to a halt right in front of a dark alleyway, and her eyes were staring intensely at the dead bodies.

“What… are those?” She articulated slowly.

That was a stupid question; of course she already knew what those were, but the words escaped her anyway.

“Oh… that,” Maria said. “Well, you’re new here, so I guess it must be unusual to you. It’s just some poor guys who are too unfortunate to have anyone care for them and died here alone. Or, guys that no one wants so they just ditch them out here.”

Once again, a nauseous, dizzy feeling washed over Morgana, and her throat felt dry.

“J-Just… leave them here?” She stammered. “B-But, you don’t— you don’t bury them?”

Maria arched an eyebrow and stared at her as if she was some curious creature.

“Well, why bother, y’know?” She finally let out. “Like, we don’t know these folks, and we have already a lot of shit on our hands to deal with, so… Who would actually waste time to bury some randos?”

Her answer actually horrified her. She just couldn’t comprehend how could anyone think that way; it just went against every single one of her principles.

“B-But if you don’t bury them… then their souls can’t move on to the afterlife!” She exclaimed, and she couldn’t tell if she felt angry or saddened or both at the same time. “They’ll stay stuck on earth and never reach the purgatory!”

The two women seemed taken aback by her behavior. Maria looked uneasy, as she bit her lip and smiled awkwardly.

“I mean… maybe…? Sucks for them, I guess? But again, it’s none of our business. And it’s none of yours too, isn’t it?”

Something burned inside Morgana’s chest, her stomach, her whole body. She couldn’t like Maria for the simple fact that she was a prostitute — a woman choosing to live in sin — but at this very moment, she actually felt hatred towards her and her cold words. She wanted to yell at her; how could she so unceremoniously spat on God’s teaching? Throw away others’ souls and lives for her own? Did she simply had no moral consciousness at all?

Maybe Iris sensed her distress, because she then put a hand on her shoulder, crouching down to reach her height, and smiled gently.

“It’s not like we think it’s a good thing. I know it can be upsetting, Morgana… but, you see, we’re still just trying to survive as best as we can here already, so… we simply cannot care as much for people who cannot be saved anymore anyway. Do you understand?”

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t; that made no sense. What did she mean, ‘people who can’t be saved anymore’? Their physical envelop may be dead, but their souls weren’t — in fact, it was the most important part of a person. They absolutely could still be saved; it was when it would be decided what’ll happen for them in the afterlife.

And they were saying it just didn’t matter? That their own survival was more important?

If she hadn’t been the dignified daughter of God, Morgana would have screamed in her face. But she controlled her anger and did her best to keep it in. Doing so would not only be unbefitting of her, it would also serve no purpose, she realized.

Clearly, these women were way too sinful to even realize what sort of blasphemous inanities they were proffering. And Morgana didn’t think they’d understand, even if she were to take all the time in the world to explain it.

“C’mon now, let’s stop talking about those depressing stuffs,” Maria finally cut in. “Let me remind you, we still have work to do, girls! So let’s move on already!”

“Yes… that’s right. Let’s go, Morgana.”

Iris smiled, and extended her hand towards the girl again. She didn’t take it. Instead, she ignored her and started walking with her head hung down, trying her best not to turn around.

She bit her lip. Her scraped, fleshless lip; cursed along with the rest of her life, festered and desecrated along with the rest of her body and mind.

A constant reminder of how defiled she was, how her entire identity had been ripped away from her, how useless and meaningless her life had now become — and how she was just a coward running away from her duties.

In this instant, she really felt like she wasn’t that different from the corpses rotting away in the dark alleys that everyone here had forgotten about.

________________________________________________________________

“What do you mean, you ‘lost’ her?!”

Jacopo felt like tearing out his hair — he yelled, not even trying to hide his frustration. His childhood friend, on the other hand, seemed very indifferent; both concerning the news she’d just broke to him and towards his anger.

She just shrugged. “Well, y’know. Shit happens.”

And this definitely didn’t help her case. Iris was at her side, looking down shamefully, and the contrast between the two would have been kind of funny if not for the circumstances.

“Maria, it was your job to look after her! Bringing her outside wasn’t a bad idea, but you had to be careful!”

“Dude, chill, okay? I’m not a freakin’ babysitter. You’re the one who brought her to the brothel to start with!”

“And you’re the one who agreed to help me take care of her! Which you clearly didn’t do, right now!”

“N-Now, please you two, don’t fight… We won’t find her like this…”

Iris stepped forward, trying to put some distance between her arguing friends, and Jacopo reluctantly listened to her, sighing and running his hands in his hair.

Certainly, fighting only made them lose time that could be used to look for Morgana, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop feeling annoyed at Maria.

“Well then, explain everything again. What happened exactly?”

“I told you! We’d just came back from our little shopping trip, and I turned my back for like two minutes then poof, she was gone. I really can’t tell you more than that.”

Jacopo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, is there anything that could indicate where she went? Did she say anything on the way?”

Iris tilted her head thoughtfully, putting a finger on her lip. “Not particularly… But, well, she was her usual odd self, you know? The only instances I can think of is when we ran into the guards like we told you earlier, or… the moment where she stopped because of the corpses.”

“The corpses?”

Maria sighed. “Oh, yeah. At some point we came across some corpses. You know, nothing unusual. But when the girl saw them, she kinda threw a fit. About how we couldn’t just let them rot like that, that we needed to bury them, yadda, yadda.”

“We explained to her that we didn’t have any other choices,” Iris continued. “We don’t know these people, but she still seemed upset… She must be very pious.”

Maria snorted derisively, and Iris shot her a disapproving look. Certainly, Jacopo was well aware by now just how deeply religious Morgana was, and it didn’t surprise him that she wouldn’t like the idea of letting dead people unburied, no matter how silly he personally thought it was.

“So, that’s all then? You’ve got nothing about where she could be?”

“Look, dude, we already did all we could for her, okay? I can’t have my eyes on her every waking moment, and like I said, I just let go of her for two minutes. We’re already doing the best we can, so cut it out with the haughty tone.”

Maria glared at him with her arms crossed, and this actually made Jacopo feel a bit ashamed. Truth be told, he did feel bad to leave Morgana so much in Maria and the other girls’ care. After all, that child wasn’t their responsibility, and they struggled enough like that with the brothel and to survive out there without having to look after a kid with a bad character who hated them. But they were the friends he trusted the most, and he didn’t know who else to ask — that certainly wasn’t a service he could demand of the guys at the pub, and, for as much as Morgana couldn’t stand the prostitutes, he was still certain she was more comfortable living with other women than with some older men she didn’t know.

“You’re right… sorry. I’m just… I’m worried. Anything could happen to her, so we need to find her quickly, especially before it gets dark.”

Iris smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We still have time before opening the brothel, so I’ll ask Lili and the others to help look as well. It’ll be okay.”

“I appreciate it,” he said, sincerely.

Iris simply nodded back at him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, and then she stepped aside towards the backroom. Maria let out a sigh as soon as she went away, and she and Jacopo exchanged a look.

“Well, we’d better start looking as well, then.”

And so they did. They separated into three groups with the other prostitutes; he and Maria inspecting the west of the slums while the others took upon the east and south. But even with a few people, the slums were big and it felt like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“That’s where we stopped for a while,” Maria declared, as they stopped at the street the three of them had been earlier. “And where the guards showed up. They were really mad, by the way. It seems you guys really did a number on the lord with your little revolt.”

“Yes, well, that was the goal. Even so, something like this still won’t be enough to stop him.” Jacopo could feel Maria was about to make a snide comment, so he decided to quickly change the topic — not wanting to fight with her about this right now: “So you think she must still be around here?”

Maria shook her head exasperatedly. “I don’t know, Jacopo. I’m just telling you where we went, but honestly, she could be anywhere right now. And we already retraced our steps with Iris to look for her; she’s not here.”

Jacopo raised his head towards the sky — it was slowly starting to tint itself of a red-orange color, indicating evening was arriving. Soon, Maria and the others would have to open the brothel, and he’d be the only one left who could look for her.

“We can’t just look through the entire city before it gets dark, so we have to think strategically,” he declared. “We need to find her before the night.”

Maria stared at him in silence for a moment. She glanced left and right, bit her lip, and then finally scratched her head.

“Why, though? In a way, maybe it’d be better for all of us if she ran away and didn’t come back.”

Jacopo looked back at her with a bewildered expression.

“Are you really that hellbent on wanting to let her die?”

“God, of course I don’t wanna see that kid die! Stop making me sound like a heartless bitch, you know what I mean. A brothel isn’t a right place for a little girl, especially not if she can’t work. And — well, I definitely don’t have the best track records with them, but it’d probably be better for her to go to an orphanage or something. Surely not all of them are as bad as mine was.”

She wasn’t actually wrong. Jacopo knew that too, of course — logically, getting her to a place that could look after her properly like an orphanage should be the best course of action. Leaving her into hands that were infinitely more competent than him for that type of task.

So why couldn’t he just do that?

Maria waited for a response, and as none come, she looked at him weirdly.

“Do you really care that much about that girl?”

“It’s not like that,” he replied. “I just… I feel responsible, you know? I’m the one who saved her life.”

She kept staring at him dubiously, as if she was trying to read his mind. Maria was usually pretty good at reading his mind, but Jacopo wasn’t even sure what was going on in his head right now, so he doubted she’d be able to decipher it in his stead.

Even now… he still wasn’t really sure why he had saved the girl.

Of course he hadn’t wanted a child to die, especially so cruelly. It had been the right thing to do. But Barnier’s words resounded ominously in his brain, plaguing him like a curse, and he couldn’t get rid of them, no matter how hard he tried.

Still, he thought back about the morning he spent with her two days ago. About the way she’d bundled herself up in her bed, hidden under her hood. About the way she’d warily chewed on her bread like she was afraid he’d take it away from at the slightest mistake, and the way she was so completely unable to sustain anyone’s gaze.

And then he thought back to the young boy he’d been at least ten years ago now.

“I understand what she’s going through right now, that’s all.”

“What do you understand? You just met her!”

“I just do, okay?!”

Maria opened her mouth, apparently ready to argue back, but no words came out. Instead, she simply stared at him, straight into his eyes. Jacopo couldn’t make out her expression, and for all their usual shared complicity, this time he also couldn’t make out what could be the thoughts crossing her mind. Her pointed gaze on him started to feel uncomfortable, and he ended up looking away.

A silence followed their outburst, until finally his friend sighed.

“All right,” she declared. “All right. I get it.”

Jacopo risked a glance at her, and she seemed… understanding. He didn’t really know if she truly ‘got it,’ because if she did then that’d meant she’d figured out something about him not even he himself had been able to. Then again, if there was someone out there who could do that, it definitely was Maria.

“I think we’ll have more chance to find her if we separate as well,” she finally added. “I’ll take the south, you keep looking in that direction. But I’ll have to go back when it’s time for the brothel to open. Is that fine with you?”

“…Yeah. Sounds good.”

Maria nodded, then started to walk away — however, she seemed to change her mind at the last minute and went back to put a hand on Jacopo’s shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” she said in an unusual soft voice. “I do hope we’ll find her in one piece. I don’t want her to die.”

“…I know.”

She leveled a concerned look at him, before finally setting off. Once all alone in the street, Jacopo let out another sigh. Still, with all that said, he wasn’t actually more advanced. He followed Maria’s advice and kept looking around, trying to get her words out of his head, and not doing a good job at it.

“You’re a puny worm, powerless to truly ‘save’ anyone. You merely want to help the girl so you can pat yourself on the back and pretend you did a good deed.”

No matter how senseless the lord’s words were, they were glued to him and followed his every steps. He almost felt like the man’s shadow was right behind him, murmuring in his ears.

He shook his head, and looked up at the sky once more. Was Barnier right, after all…? Had it been nonsensical for him to try to save that girl’s life? Should he agree with Maria when she said it might’ve been better for the girl to get away from them?

Was he just making everything worse, after all?

The sky’s orange tint kept on getting darker and darker. Soon, it would probably be of a similar color as Morgana’s hair. He let his gaze fell on the street, and noticed in the corner of the district a dark alley littered with corpses. A sad sight he’d gotten way too used to in his years of living here.

But then suddenly, what Iris and Maria had told him earlier came back to him. About Morgana’s reaction to the slums’ dead bodies. He’d already looked around to see if she’d stayed nearby them, but hadn’t been lucky. Still, if he remembered well, Maria had said Morgana had been particularly upset about the fact they weren’t buried—

Of course…! Why didn’t I think of it before?!

He instantly turned away and began to run.

________________________________________________________________

There was a small, deserted hill a little outside the slums, near the town’s entrance.

A tranquil, quiet field full of green grass, leafy trees and other growing plants no one was taking care of. The place was not good for any kind of plantations except those wild herbs, which was why despite the surface and the convenient placement, no farmers had tried to exploit the land, so only the rare travelers or kids who tried to find a place to play would hang around here.

In this field, kneeled in front of a handmade hole under the vermilion sunset, was the little girl with the red braids.

“Morgana!”

The child jumped and turned around as if she had been stung by a needle. Jacopo couldn’t really make out her expression under her hood and her scars, but she was clearly looking at him with wide, frightened golden eyes. However, as soon as she realized the person who called out to her was a familiar figure, her panic cooled down a little.

“As I thought,” he said, sighing.

“Wh-What are you doing here?”

“I should be the one to ask you this! Seriously, look at you.”

She was covered in mud from head to toes and was panting heavily, as if she’d just spent the afternoon running around — which could be true, for all he knew. Now that he was only two meters away from her, he also could clearly see a decrepit wooden plate she must’ve used to dig, as well as the rotting corpse at the side of the hole; the decomposed body of a middle-aged man, and given the gray state of his mangled, decayed flesh under which the bones stood out, he must’ve been dead for quite some time. The awful smell emanating from him was nauseous, and Jacopo had to really force himself to keep standing so close to him instead of turning away on the spot. He was used to corpses and rotten fleshes, sure, but that didn’t mean he was going to start finding them pleasant any time soon.

“How… did you find me?” The girl questioned suspiciously.

“Maria and Iris told me about what happened earlier… I thought if the corpses had really upset you that much, maybe you’d try to actually bury them yourself. And that for doing so you’ll search the most quiet, far away place without people.”

For all response, Morgana just stared quietly at him, but he knew he must’ve been right. He honestly felt kind of proud to have been able to guess her thought process, given how unreadable she was most of the time, but he wasn’t going to let that show on his face.

“Though seriously, I can’t believe you actually did this! Did you really brought that corpse here all by yourself? And made that hole?”

“…Of course I did… Who else would?”

Jacopo winced, before looking at the corpse and the hole. She was so tiny and meager, it must’ve been a freaking challenge to bring the dead body of an adult man here, and then to make that hole with nothing but her bare hands and some wooden plate. She must’ve been at it for hours — and with that sickening smell for only company on top of that. That girl really was completely crazy.

“Do you realize how dangerous what you did is? Running away like that on your own is stupid, especially without telling anyone! You really worried Maria and Iris, and anything could’ve happened to you! This is the slums here!”

“Well, nothing happened. Furthermore, that is… none of your business.”

“None of my— Oh, Jesus.”

Jacopo honestly thought about just leaving the ungrateful brat here — with her corpse and her hole, since she seemed so attached to them — and simply go back home and sleep. But of course his conscience would never let him sleep in peace if he did that. So he tried to calm his nerves, and sat down in front of her.

“Come now, that’s enough. Let’s go back at the brothel before it gets dark… Ugh, god, and look at your hands! They’re all scratched—”

“Don’t touch me!”

All while taking, he had tried to grab her wrists, but the moment his fingers had brushed hers she had brusquely hit his hand, pulled away, and glared at him fiercely.

Ah, right. He forgot about that, too.

“Uh… sorry. I won’t touch you. Okay? But we need to go back now.”

“…I… won’t go back.”

He blinked. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

“I won’t come back. Not until… I finish to bury him.”

“Oh for god’s sake… It’s a fucking corpse, Morgana! It’s— It’s dead! It won’t run away. It’ll still be here tomorrow!”

“I need to bury him now, that’s all,” Morgana replied, and dammit, why was that girl so annoyingly stubborn?

“Why do you even need to bury him at all anyway? I just… don’t get it. Whether it’s in the ground or not, it won’t change the fact he’s dead. It won’t bring him back to life.”

“It will not bring him back to life, no. But if he is not buried… then his soul cannot have a proper farewell. It will… not be able to depart from this earth, to join my Fa— God. This is an incredibly… cruel fate to inflict upon someone… and I cannot bear that idea.”

Restraining himself from rolling his eyes was harder than he’d thought right now. Here she was again, babbling about souls and God and duties. As someone who couldn’t give less of a damn about religion or God, he had very little patience for those kinds of talks; especially after hearing her preaching about it for days.

“All right, maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s dead, and you’re not, so I’m sorry but as long as it’s the case, you comes first.”

“I’m… fine. I won’t…  die just because I’ll stay a bit late to bury this body…”

“I swear, it’s just stupid! Why are you so obsessed with this? In fact, maybe that guy was scum who doesn’t even deserve to be buried anyway! Again, it’s just not important—”

“It is important!”

Morgana had yelled.

An actual shout, which Jacopo never thought he’d ever heard from her — not when up until now the only sounds she seemed to be able to produce were barely audible murmurs. Her voice was trembling, and she was… clearly upset. He felt so taken aback that it froze him in place.

“It is important! M-Maybe he was a sinner, maybe he’s not worth it, but that’s not for us to judge! Only God can decide that! And if he doesn’t get a proper burial, th-then his soul will just wander around on earth for the rest of eternity… with nowhere to go, nowhere to go home!”

She raised her face towards him, and her golden eyes stared straight at him. They shined way too much, looking red under the sunset.

“It— It was the same at the manor, too! The lord just killed and killed and then threw away the corpses as if they were vulgar toys, without ever burying them! A-And if you can’t— can’t understand how heartless and barbaric that is, then— you’re really no better than him!”

She stopped yelling, but her body was shaking and she was breathing really heavily. She brought her hands to her face, and he heard her sniffling. Sadness and sympathy gripped him, and a little bit of guilt as well, for once again losing the control of his emotions and pushing her to this extreme uncharacteristic reaction.

“All right… fine,” he said softly, gently. “I get it. There was no need to get that upset or to cry—”

“I-I’m not crying! And I’m not upset!”

“Okay, okay.” He actually couldn’t really tell if she was crying or not, but she was very visibly upset. He wasn’t going to fight her on that point, though. “Either way, I get it, so… it’s fine.”

Then he leaned down, grabbed the wooden plate she’d left hanging on the ground… and began to dig. He couldn’t see the girl, too focused on his new task, but he could plainly feel her stare at him with wide eyes — could easily imagine her stunned expression.

“What… What are you doing?” She asked, her voice still trembling a little from her outburst.

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m helping you. Otherwise we’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“But… But you kept saying you thought it was stupid—”

“Yeah, and I still stand by that. I really don’t think dead people deserve that much attention… but…”

He stopped, then looked up at her in the eyes.

“But it’s important to you, right? So it doesn’t matter if I don’t get it.”

Morgana kept staring at him. Jacopo couldn’t tell her expression or what she was thinking, but at some point she just ended up nodding slightly, before starting digging as well.

None of them exchanged a single word while they were working. They simply finished making the hole in silence, dragged the body inside it, and recovered it with as much soils as they could. And as the final touch, Morgana put a rock a bit bigger than her hand on top of it, before grimacing.

“It needs a better gravestones,” she concluded, and Jacopo couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have all the time you want tomorrow to find a better one, so please tell me you don’t intend to spend the night on it.”

Morgana stared at the makeshift burial, then at Jacopo, and, to his relief, she shook her head. “I’ll think about it… but tomorrow, not now.”

“Good! Then we can go—”

“Wait.”

He arched an eyebrow at her umpteenth protest, and then watched her kneel on the ground, join her hands together and hang down her head. At first he wasn’t sure what she intended to do, until he heard her small voice recite a feeble string of words.

A prayer, he realized. He instinctively let out another sigh, but decided it would do him no favor to interrupt her — so he just went to sit under the nearby tree, putting his hands behind his head as he watched her back and listened to her religious whispers.

After a while, he slowly closed his eyes. It felt soothing, somehow. Morgana didn’t speak much, but she had a very beautiful voice, so hearing her utter a prayer in such an unusual confident, fluent way felt particularly special — like he could genuinely believe there was something divine to this whole thing.

When was the last time I felt this relaxed? I can’t even remember…

It seemed like a very unique experience. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so at ease before; not even when he was having fun with Maria or his friends at the pub…

He practically let himself fell asleep when she finally stopped, and upon reopening his eyes he realized she was now briefly rearranging the improvised tomb, letting her small fingers run through the soils.

“Do you really know all these prayers by heart?” He asked; not that he was that interested in the topic, but it seemed like a lot of words to memorize for a young child.

“…Yes,” the girl replied. “The Bible too.”

“Wait. You know the entire freaking Bible by heart?”

“Of course. After all, I am the—”

Morgana stopped herself though, and then she looked away.

“You’re…?” Jacopo pressed her.

She seemed hesitant, but then she shook her head.

“Nothing,” she finally said.

He half-wanted to push her further on the issue, but he knew that doing so would only manage to close her off even more. So he just shrugged and looked around. The field was large and completely desert; definitely vast enough to bury dozens and dozens of holes like this one.

“Just out of curiosity… Something tell me this isn’t the only abandoned corpse that bothered you in slums, right? So do you intend to just… do the same with the others? Bury them?”

“Would there… be a problem with that?”

“Well… this land belongs to no one, so I guess not, but… Are you sure you want to do something like that?”

“…You’re the one who told me to find a hobby.”

“I-I did, but… I was more thinking about something like playing with other kids, not— burying corpses. I mean, you realize it’s a lot of work, right? And corpses can bring in diseases so it can be dangerous to—”

“I want to do it.”

She turned around towards him, golden eyes piercing him.

“I… need to.”

A part of him had been about to object some more, but staring straight at her, all of his arguments about it suddenly felt moot. Of course he still wasn’t very enthusiastic about this creepy idea of taking care of the random dead bodies that littered their streets, but… He knew, the moment he saw her eyes, that he wouldn’t change her mind.

But more than that, even without knowing anything of this girl’s life, he could understand, relate to her demand — to her need to do something.

That was why in the end, he simply nodded and whispered ‘all right,’ in a soft voice.

“Then now we should really go back. Maria and the others should be worried sick by now.”

“Maria…?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Short. Blonde. Angry.”

“No, I know who she is… It’s just that… she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to get worried…” She paused, then added more softly: “And I don’t think she… likes me very much.”

Jacopo laughed out loud at this. “Well, I won’t deny she’s not super fond of you right now. And I know she can be kinda scary sometimes, but I promise she’s a good person at heart. She’s very protective of people she cares about. Once you get to know her, she would die for you without hesitation.”

He knew, because she’d done so for him a lot of times already. Well, without the dying part thankfully, but that was the attention that counted.

“Though, you know… if she’s harsh with you, that’s kinda your fault too. If you stopped being so awful to her and the others at the brothel, I promise you’d get along well. The other women are all kind people as well. Just try to be a little more friendly, and you’ll see.”

The girl stayed quiet, and Jacopo was aware that it would probably take more than a few words to convince her. But he still hoped one day she’ll manage to get along well with Maria and the others… and with him too, of course.

“Anyway, let’s go,” he concluded, standing up.

He extended his hand towards Morgana, smiling. She looked up at him, then at his hand. For a brief moment, she seemed to be about to reach out towards him… but the instant she saw her own hand, covered in cuts, she stopped. To his surprised, she instead got up on her own.

“I don’t need your help,” she replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

And without any more words, she walked away— leaving Jacopo all by himself with his extended hand feeling like an idiot.

“Hey, are you kidding me?! You could’ve at least accepted that much, right?”

He screamed, running after her, and — although it could’ve just been his imagination, as soon as he got to her side he got the impression to distinguish the premise of a smile behind her scarred face.

A small, amused smile; and he realized, then, that regardless of if that had been real or if it was just his mind playing with him, the feeling of warmness it made bloom in his chest was genuine. That the happiness born from the idea of having managed to maybe makes her smile was one of the most content and pleasant feeling he’d experienced in a while.

And that if he could, he definitely wanted to try to do anything to make it happen again.

He still didn’t know what to make of the lord’s taunting or Maria’s warnings; maybe they were right. But in this moment, as the two of them together were leaving this bereft field slowly engulfed in darkness where was buried a single corpse, it didn’t matter.

What mattered is that he knew he had a renewed wish to help this girl, and he was well-decided to do anything in his power to make it work.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Jacopo Bearzatti #JacoMoru #Morgana FataMoru #Morgana #Morgana (FataMoru) #Fanfiction #Connan's Fanfics #ヤコモル #Fata Morgana #Connan's Posts #Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana) #FataMoru Fanfic #ファタモルガーナの館 #Morgana Fata Morgana #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #Fanfic #ファタモル #Fata Morgana no Yakata #House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru Fanfiction #Jacopo

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Michel Bollinger/Giselle

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Michel asks Giselle to teach him something, which might or might not end up in disaster.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I really struggled to find something for them to cook together that would be appropriate for the 11th century. I wanted them to do a Savoie cake originally, given it's pretty old and still really popular in France nowadays (it’s similar to English/American's 'sponge/angel cake' apparently), but after some research it seems it was only created in the 14th century… So after looking around I only found Hidelgard of Bingen’s recipies (but she’s also a bit too recent for Michel and Giselle’s period) and… 'fairy fingers.' It’s called 'doigts de fées' in French and I’m not sure if it really exists in other countries? But yeah, that seemed to fit. Not that it matters much in the end but hey. It was a fun topic to research.

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She had been staring at him with her mouth wide open for at least three whole minutes now.

And three minutes was a long time when spent in silence with just another person gawking at you. She was aware Michel must felt very uncomfortable by now; but honestly, how else was she supposed to reply to this?

“Giselle?” He finally tried again. “Did you… hear me?”

She blinked, although still in a trance, then finally closed her mouth. Frowning, she looked on her right and left.

“I…” She started, then stopped. “What… Can you repeat what you just said to me again?”

“I, uh… I just asked you if you… I mean, if you didn’t mind… teaching me… how to cook.”

Giselle stared at him once more. Then she stood up, approached him, and put her hand on his forehead.

“G-Giselle? What—”

“It doesn’t seem like you have a fever,” she said, very seriously. “What’s going on? You can’t possibly have gotten a heatstroke, it’s winter!”

Michel groaned, pushing her hand away — and that’s funny, because it’s only then that she noticed there was a very discernible blush creeping on his cheeks, and the problem with having an abnormally pale skin is that blushes are very visible.

Still, was he actually blushing because of her? Oh, that was cute.

“I’m not sick! God, is what I asked really that odd?”

“Well, I mean…” Giselle took a step back, crossed her arms, and stared straight at him again. “Yes.”

Truthfully, she actually would be more apt to believe him if he told her he was some sort of supernatural creature or that he’d received a missive telling her she could return to the capital than this.

Michel and cooking just seemed to be stuck in the realm of impossible in her mind — an anomaly that would for sure create some sort of distortion in the universe if brought together.

“I’m not sure how to take that answer.”

“But I mean, why would you ask me that all of a sudden?”

“Well, it’s just…”

Michel looked away, as if not sure how to put his thoughts into words, and appearing… embarrassed?

Oh no. Why is he acting so adorable all of a sudden? What’s going on?

Giselle felt like she was missing a piece of the puzzle here. It had been almost six months now since she came back to the mansion and that they’d started getting along. Things had been going so well, sometimes she almost couldn’t believe it; still waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment.

But at other times… she felt so at ease in his presence, so content, that it was as if all of her problems and all the pain she’d experienced up until now stopped existing.

During those past months, she felt confident in saying she’d gathered a pretty good grasp of Michel as a person, had been able to slowly nibble away his facades and discover many different sides of him. Yet, it was still the first time she was seeing him like… that — and it certainly was the first time he’d ever dared to ask such a favor out of her.

“I… You’ve been… taking care of all the cooking and… of most of the chores since you’ve arrived,” Michel finally continued.

He was still unable to look at her in the eyes, focusing on the ground instead, and it was very destabilizing to Giselle. He acted as embarrassed as if he was about to confess his love or something, which would be really ridiculous.

“And… uh… well, you know, I’ve been thinking that… it wasn’t very fair to… let you do that on your own. We are two people living here now, after all… So… I want to learn a little and maybe… help you out… I suppose…”

The words took a lot of time to actually reach Giselle’s brain, and so she continued to stare at him in disbelief for a while. And when they ultimately did — she gasped, chuckled, then burst out laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” Michel exclaimed in an uncharacteristic fit of emotion, his cheeks now completely red. “I-I’m being serious here!”

“S-Sorry, sorry! It’s just…” She tried to restrain her giggles as best as she could, without much success. “What? Th-That’s it? Really? Oh god. Master, you’re incredible!”

“That… doesn’t feel much like a compliment.”

She shook her head, wiping away her tears. “No, no, I’m genuinely touched. It makes me happy that you’re concerned about the type of work I have to do and that you want to help! But… well, you know, I’m still your servant. So, it is my job. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”

He sighed. “Well, yes. But still, I’m not the one who employed you, and we are not really—”

Michel stopped there. His face was frozen in doubt, as if putting the rest into words would actively trigger… something. But Giselle could easily guess what he was about to say even without hearing it.

We are not really that much of a servant and master.

That was true. Even if Giselle was the one doing all the cooking and taking care of most of the chores — although Michel still helped with some of those like cleaning — and that she did call him ‘Master,’ that was pretty much were it stopped.

Most of time, they simply… acted like friends. And, to say the truth, that was how Giselle liked to think of Michel.

As her friend, more than her master.

She wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good thing, but at least it certainly wasn’t a bad one.

Still, she could understand Michel’s hesitation to actually put their relationship into words — there was something that felt not entirely… appropriate about the entire thing.

That was why she didn’t press him any further and simply continued on the topic at hand: “Well! If you really want to try learning cooking, then sure, we can do that. Cooking is really fun, you know? What do you want to try first? We’ll have to wait until next month for the ingredients if you want something in particular though…”

Michel paused, frowning. “I… don’t know, actually. I haven’t really thought much about it. Something simple to start with?”

“Hmm… Simple, huh? Then how about something sweet? Oh, I know! What about fairy fingers?”

“Fairy…?”

“Geez, you’ve never heard of it? Those are cookies! Mom used to make these all the time. When my sister and I were kids, she would tell us they were originally offered to fairies who ate children. To trick them, a woman from the village made cookies that looked like fingers and gave them to the fairies telling them those were real children’s fingers. She would leave them under the trees and…”

As she kept talking, her smile suddenly waned. Michel looked at her with a concerned gaze.

“Giselle?”

“Ah… Sorry. I was just thinking about my mom and sister back at home. You know…”

Giselle couldn’t tell if Michel really ‘knew,’ but he nodded with an understanding look regardless.

Cooking was, to her, inherently linked to her family — her mother had been a very talented cook and it was a primordial thing to her to teach her children how to handle the kitchen. Though her sister didn’t like cooking unlike Giselle, so in the end it had more been a privileged time only between her and mother, and to this day those were part of the memories she cherished the most.

Would she ever be able to cook like this with her mom again?

The thought brought on a pang of loneliness and sorrow, so she did her best to chase it away and instead smiled at Michel.

“Anyway! I think it’s definitely a good start for a beginner. We should try it!”

Michel stared at her quietly for a moment, probably still worried about her melancholic fit from earlier, then finally opened back his mouth tentatively.

“Well… it sounds nice, but the point in me learning was so that I could make proper meals, not just cookies—”

“You have to start somewhere, right? We can make more complicated things later. Plus, don’t think of it in such a practical way! You have to learn how to love cooking, not just cooking because you have to eat. Hmm, I think we already have flour and butter, but we’ll still need almonds, egg white, orange blossoms…”

She started enumerating all the ingredients needed out loud, already getting excited at the prospect — it would in fact be the first time she’d bake sweets here, as she’d only made relatively simple meals since she’d arrived at the mansion. Michel tried to protest again, but all of his arguments were in vain; now that he had put the idea into her head, there was no way she’d let it go. Thus it was decided they would put a message for the Bollinger main house next time to command the missing ingredients… Giselle nodded to herself, satisfied of her planning.

“All right.” She suddenly turned around towards Michel, a wide smile splitting her face. “Listen up, Master. I accept to teach you how to cook… but under one condition.”

The man arched an eyebrow, a clear suspicious — and a bit worried — glint shining in his eyes.

“Yes…?”

“I might usually be your servant, but right now, in this kitchen, I will be the master. You’ll have to follow every order I give you, without protesting. Got it?”

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“Very well, Master, now you have to mix the flour, almonds and the salt. Then we’ll add the butter in cubes, the eggs and orange blossom… Oh god, right, there’s the sugar too! I still can’t believe your family was able to get hold of sugar so easily. The Bollinger house is truly something else, huh…”

Giselle kept talking, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs cheerfully as Michel struggled with a large bowl he in front of him, agitating a wooden spatula inside it. He had tied his long, white hair in a messy bun — all on his own, as he’d specifically refused to let her touch his hair for some reason — and was wearing an improvised apron they’d made out of some unused sheet.

They’d only just started, but he was already very focused on his task; eyebrows knitted together, nose scrunched and eyes narrowed as he clumsily stirred the utensil in its recipient. Giselle watched him in the corner of her eyes, trying her best to not giggle.

She felt it would be mean to laugh at him when he was obviously trying his best and follow her instructions to the letter, but… she just couldn’t help how cute she found him like this. It felt like a sudden whole new Michel in front of her, one she knew nothing about, and it just was so thrilling and heartwarming all at the same time — discovering all kinds of new things like this, especially when it concerned him, always put her in a peculiar, happy and exhilarated type of mood she couldn’t get tired of.

It reminded her of all the fond memories she had spent cooking with her mother, but still with its own unique feel and experience to it.

Oddly enough, cooking like this with him didn’t make her miss her family as much as she’d originally expected. The first time she’d found herself in the mansion’s kitchen all by herself when she first arrived made her feel really depressed, but now it wasn’t the case anymore; maybe Michel’s presence was simply enough to soothe a little the loneliness in her heart left by her mother and sister.

“I’m… I’m not sure it works, Gi— I mean, Master.”

“It works, it works! Trust me, you just have to be patient. Keep on mixing it. You won’t be able to achieve anything in cooking if you’re impatient, Master.”

He sighted, and put down the bowl momentarily to wipe his forehead. Then he suddenly threw a curious look at her that Giselle couldn’t quite describe.

“What is it?” She asked.

“It’s just… You said before that in the kitchen you’ll be the master from now on, but you still haven’t called me Michel once. You only keep using ‘Master.’”

“Huh? O-Oh… Yes, that’s true…”

Truth be told, what she’d told him about ‘being the master in the kitchen’ had been mostly in jest; she hadn’t expected him to take it so seriously.

And… there was just a part of her who couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.

There was just something too… intimate, about it. It felt like if she were to call him ‘Michel’ now… it would be like admitting that their relationship went besides the normal servant-master dynamic they were supposed to have.

It would be like saying they were, genuinely, officially, friends.

Which wouldn’t be wrong or bad, but… that felt like a step she just couldn’t take right now.

So she decided to brush him off, smiling and shaking her head casually. “Well, it’s just hard to break the habit, you know. Plus, I was mostly joking! It’s kind of nice to be called a ‘master’ and all, but you can just keep on calling me Giselle if you want.”

She laughed, trying to quickly move on from the topic — but Michel didn’t seem to share her amusement. At the contrary, a strange frown crossed his face as he let out a soft ‘Oh,’ and it made Giselle pause.

Wait, was he… was he actually disappointed? Did he want her to call him Michel?

Was she overthinking stuff?

She shook her head, pushing away the thoughts. “A-Anyway, let’s keep on! We can’t spend the night on this.”

“R-Right…”

“You know, you actually need to hold the spatula better if you want to mix in a more effective way. Look, I’ll show you—” All while talking, she jumped off the counter and grabbed his wrist from behind. “If you bent your hand like that it’ll be better to move quickly.”

She instinctively let her fingers ran across Michel’s hands, her fingertips palpating his skin. It was kind of amazing how slender his hand and fingers were, like spider legs; she was almost sure she could feel the bones behind it. Even though she’d made sure to make him healthy, well-balanced meals for the past few months, he was still as meager as an emaciated sick man on his death bed. Maybe she should try to ask  ingredients with more butterfat…

“See?” She added, raising her head towards him. “That way is much more—”

But the moment she saw his face, she stopped. Michel was looking at her with wide eyes, lips tight, and a very distinct, very red blush spread across his cheeks. It was even more visible than when he’d asked her for this cooking lesson a month ago.

She wasn’t sure what had caused this — well, sure, she was holding his hand and suddenly their faces were really close, but it was just a cooking lesson, nothing more! — however he looked so embarrassed that suddenly Giselle started to feel the same, pink flowing to her own cheeks.

Having the urge to hastily step aside from the awkward moment, she let go of his hand and almost jumped away from him — which also meant that in her hurry she’d completely forgot all about the flour sack she’d left on her side, and before she could comprehend what was happening her hand bumped into it; she lost balance, squeaked, and vaguely heard a worried ‘Giselle!’ before her vision turned upside down and she hit the floor.

The next thing she was able to distinguish was white. Pure white dust flying around the kitchen, falling all around her like thin snow. She would probably think of it as kind of pretty, if it weren’t for how much her bottom and head started hurting.

“Giselle! Giselle, are you all right?”

A pair of red eyes came over her field of view, as Michel sat down next to her and stared at her worriedly. Giselle raised a hand in an attempt to placate him.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m hurting a bit but it’s not a big deal—”

“You got hurt? Where?” He asked in a panicked voice.

“I’m fine, I said! Geez, no need to look like I’m dying—” She straightened up, making some more bits of flour fly around, and she almost sneezed.

Well. Somehow, it wasn’t surprising that their first cooking attempt together ended up like this.

“…I-If you say so, then that’s fine, but…”

Giselle arched an eyebrow and looked at Michel. He still looked a bit concerned about her, but more than that, there was… a bit of an odd expression on his face. Like he was trying very hard not to look at her, and—

“Wh-What is it?”

“No, nothing, it’s just…”

“What? You’re worrying me here!”

Michel seemed to hesitate a little. And then, to her utmost surprised, he actually… started to chuckle.

“Your hair—” he said in between two laughs. “—just look… very white, now.”

Giselle blinked, and then run a hand in her short hair — effectively, what she got out of it was a bunch of flour stuck on her hand; so much of it, in fact, that her entire palm was now completely white, as if she’d dived it into a paint bucket. She sighed in an exasperated, fond way.

“Oh well.” She looked up at him, then smirked. “Do I look good with white hair?”

“…Not at all, actually. You’re much better with dark one.”

“Geez, why do you always have to be so mean?! You know you have flour on your face, too!”

But even with her complaints she was smiling despite herself, and by instinct, she reached for his cheek and the tip of his nose, wiping the flour dwelling there with her thumb affectionately.

This time, Michel didn’t seem embarrassed at all; he just laughed some more. A new wave of warmth washed over Giselle — and in that instant, she found herself wishing she could make him laugh like that as often as possible.

They likely wouldn’t have enough flour anymore to make any more cooking — but it was okay.

Michel’s laugh had been more than worth it on its own, and they had all the time in the world to try again, after all.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Gischel #GischelWeek #Gischel Week #Giselle FataMoru #MisheJize #More than a millennium #Gischel Week 2022 #Michel Bollinger #Giselle Bollinger #GischelWeek2022 #Novect #Fanfiction #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Connan's Fanfics #Connan's Posts #House in Fata Morgana #TheHouseinFataMorgana

[connan-l]

Crossing the Milky Way

Fandom: Ciconia: When They Cry

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Lingji Liu/Aysha

Summary: Lingji cannot sleep because of some old pictures of the stars making some bittersweet feelings resurfaces, but thankfully she doesn’t have to be all alone with them.

[Femslash February 2022 Day 8: Constellations]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Trying to make a new tradition of writing a F/F Ciconia ship for every FemFeb lol. This is for Day 8: Constellations, from those prompts! Though as it is often the case with my FemFeb stuff I don’t like it much orz. But I’m still glad to have been able to write anything at all given how little energy and motivation I have lately! So yay

Anyway, it’s going to be almost 2 years since I last played the VN now (cry) and I don’t remember if they ever mention anything about the state of the stars or of the sky in Cico-verse so sorry if there’s inconsistencies, but given how bad the climate and the pollution is after WW3, I’m guessing it… must not be great. I wanted to make more references to Chinese astrology/constellations initially, but then I don’t know THAT much about it and it can be a bit complicated so I didn’t want to make mistakes.

This takes place somewhere within Phase 1 after Miyao & co creates the chivalry order (but before everything goes to hell, obviously), sooo brief spoilers if you haven't finished it I guess? And there's no particular content warnings except for vague mentions of war/child soldiers, which is kind of obligatory par with this story anyway.

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Her eyes were starting to grow weak.

It was way too late, and Lingji had been staring at those old photographs for much longer than she’d planned. She really should just go to bed now — but her mind refused to let it go. Her fingers gently traced the speckles of lights and white on the decrepit glossy paper, frozen sparkles of a time forgotten, and as she did so a strange feeling blossomed in her heart.

She looked behind her, towards the large windows that harbored the hall she’d been resting in. Outside the military base, it was completely dark — and while the lights of the faraway city illuminated the surrounding well enough, there was no sign of stars in the sky above. Well, it wasn’t like she had expected it to be otherwise. It was how it had always been, since even before she was born — since even before her parents, her grandparents were born.

Being able to see the stars at night had become a rarity in this world. It was possible only in a very few specific, key isolated places, completely cut from all civilization, that had managed to be slightly spared from the pollution and the environment damage of World War III. But Lingji had never visited such a place, so she couldn’t attest of its veracity.

The only stars she’d ever seen were on pictures, sparse remnants of the past from before the war, such as the ones she was holding in her hands. It made her feel odd and melancholic, like she was in possession of something incredibly precious and common at the same time.

“Princess?”

A voice she knew intimately well got her out of her thoughts, and when she raised her head she saw Aysha walking down the corridor towards her. She was wearing casual clothes, a pretty elegant nightgown long enough to brush her feet, as if she was about to go to sleep… or maybe had been sleeping and had just woken up. Lingji had been the same a few hours prior; ready to go to bed, brown braids undone and golden nightgown put on, but in the end she hadn’t been able to close her eyes, not since her grandfather had given her this box full of ancient photographs. She didn’t know how late it was now exactly, but she knew it must’ve been quite bad if Aysha were staring at her with this much surprise.

“My, that’s really you,” her teammate continued, as if she had thought her sight had been tricking her. “What on earth are you doing so late outside your room?”

“I was… well, I got busy with something and couldn’t concentrate in my room.”

Aysha’s eyes narrowed in a malicious or teasing way; Lingji was never really able to tell with her. “Is that so? If a supervisor were to see you out there like this, you’d be badly scolded. Is our princess starting to become a delinquent?”

Lingji chuckled softly, but she didn’t really feel in a mood where she could humor Aysha’s teasing, her eyes still clinging to the photos between her hands.

The other girl stopped in front of her, and stayed silent for a moment. Then her gaze fell on the pictures Lingji was holding, and she tilted her head.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, not particularly…”

“Then what are these?”

“Ah, they’re… pictures my grandfather lend to me. Pictures of constellations, that dates from before the war.”

Aysha’s turquoise eyes widened, in a way that was very unusual to see on her face. “Wait, you mean these things are at least one hundred years old?”

“Apparently, yes. Grandfather told me they have been carefully conserved by our family for decades. He recently found them back and thought I’d appreciate to look at them.”

“Huh. Well, if they’re from the Liu family, no wonder they were able to get preserved for such a long time.”

There were thorns hidden in Aysha’s words. There almost always were thorns hidden in every single one of her words; Lingji was well-aware of that. A needle soaked in poison — not to kill or even hurt, but bitter enough to make you wince as if you’d just drink vinegar.

Lingji knew that most of the time, Aysha didn’t like her very much. From time to time, when she looked at her, when their gaze crossed, she could see a myriad of conflicted feelings shine in her eyes; jealousy, annoyance, resentment, grudge.  

Lingji wasn’t the best at reading others, but even she had been able to realize this after a while.

But she didn’t know how to deal with that, so she just kept coming back to her ignoring the issue.

“Are you knowledgeable about stars and constellations, Aysha?”

“Hah. Not for the life of me, Princess. The only thing I could tell you is if they look pretty or not.”

Lingji’s expression softened, and she smiled. “So? Are they pretty?”

She turned the pictures towards her friend, and Aysha arched one eyebrow. For once, she seemed to hesitate a little; a rare sight to behold. “I… suppose so. But it is hard to tell with only this old picture.”

“It is, isn’t it…”

Lingji sighed, then let her gaze fell once more on the old, dead immortalized sparkles that had shined a century ago. She heard a faint sigh, then suddenly the cushion on the bank next to her flattened before she realized Aysha had just sat to her left. She was so close that Lingji could feel their shoulders brush each other.

“Grandfather Tiankai once told me… that in ancient China, my people held constellations in very high regard. They considered that someone who could read the stars could read the future. That they could rule China.”

“Hmm… then what about you?”

“Huh?”

“Can you? Read the stars.”

Lingji lifted her head, golden eyes crossing turquoise ones. Aysha was staring straight at her with a strange mischievous expression, and she felt as if she was being tested.

As if she was asking her if she was worthy to lead them, to lead Baibao, to be a Gauntlet Knights, a master of the chivalry order Miyao had just created.

Lingji had been raised to be a leader; that had been decided, drilled into her from even before she was born. She never doubted it, and was confident in her abilities. That was how others had always saw her too, be it her parents and grandparents, Momotake, the other Gauntlet Knights, the other soldiers — she was at the very top, and all respected her as such.

All but Aysha. She would never voice it out loud, would never show it openly, but she’d learned, through little hints and gestures, that the other girl refused and challenged her birth-bestowed authority at every turn.

And somehow, while under every other circumstances, in front of any other person, Lingji never wavered in who she was and what she was capable of, she did in front of Aysha.

“I…” She swallowed. “I cannot. I can… maybe recognize two or three of them, but…”

“Hm. Well, yes, that makes sense. It’s not like we can practice a lot over there, huh.”

As she spoke, Aysha turned around and looked at the complete darkness of the sky through the window, like Lingji had just done a little while ago. For a moment, a heavy silence installed itself between the two of them, and finally Lingji hesitantly moved her lips.

“Do you wish we could still see the stars?”

Aysha didn’t look away from the sky as she answered: “No.”

“No…?”

“I mean… I guess it’d be nice, cause it’d mean our world wouldn’t be as polluted as it is currently. But… I don’t really care for the stars myself. No offense, Princess, but I think your people of ancient China were a little silly. Someone reading the stars can in no way rule over anything.”

Lingji stared at her for a while, then smiled, even if Aysha still couldn’t see it.

“I… wish we could. I wish we could still see the stars and the constellations.”

Aysha snorted. “Of course you do. That’s just like you. Always dreaming.”

“Is that a bad thing? I just wish… You know, I just wish we could’ve gotten to admire the stars in the sky, just like our ancestors did. I wish we’d be able to fly as high as those stars, too. Our gauntlets can only go so far.”

“And what would you do then, all up there? It’d be boring as hell, if you ask me.”

Lingji laughed out loud at this, and Aysha looked up at her curiously.

“Well, that is just a dream, after all.”

She reached out her hand, and took Aysha’s in hers. That seemed to take her teammate off guard, as she widened her eyes with a start. She was usually always putting on this meticulous, cunning joker facet contrasting Momotake’s earnest and open personality, so that wasn’t often Lingji was able to surprise Aysha and get a reaction like this out of her. However, in this instant, just for a second, she looked very vulnerable; and she couldn’t really tell because of the dim light, but she could’ve sworn she even saw her blush.

More importantly, she didn’t try to disentangle her hand away.

“I’m… not saying I don’t completely understand that,” Aysha suddenly said, frowning slightly and looking back at the window. “It would nice, to fly to the stars and… maybe be able to start again in another, completely new planet. A completely new world.”

But that’s just not realistic. She didn’t say that part out loud, but Lingji could hear it all the same. Because, unlike her, Aysha wasn’t a dreamer.

“Heheh. Does that mean you’d come with me, then? Across the Milky Way?”

“If you find a way to do it, who knows. Maybe. Maybe not.”

Lingji wasn’t as much of a dreamer to think that something like that was actually possible. But, sometimes, impossible dreams were the only thing that was able to keep you alive.

Without saying a word, she let her head fall on Aysha’s shoulder. She could feel her body tense at her contact; feel her breath on her forehead; feel her fingers intertwined with her own.

There was still no sound and no other people in the corridor, just the two of them, in the middle of the night with pictures of dead constellations in their hands, in front of a black, starless sky.

Even so, the Milky Way must still be somewhere out there, hidden deeper and farer, concealed from their eyes. It must still exist, even if it was inaccessible to their broken world.

Lingji felt at peace thinking like this. No matter how much Aysha might dislikes her, she loved her and felt safe by her side, more than with anybody, and that was enough for now. Aysha helped the dreamer she was to stay grounded, helped her be the leader she wasn’t in her eyes. She wondered if she was aware of how much she was irreplaceable to her.

Still, she said nothing about it. A part of her felt Aysha wouldn’t take it well if she were to say this to her right now.

Reaching Aysha’s feelings felt as difficult as crossing the Milky Way and be able to see those hidden stars, but at least Lingji could keep dreaming about it.

#Ciconia When They Cry #Ciconia no Naku Koro ni #Liu Lingji #Aysha #LingAy #FemslashFeb2022 #Lingsha #Femslash February #Lingji Liu #AyLing #Femslash February 2022 #Lingji #Fanfiction #Aysha Ciconia #Connan's Fanfics #Lingji x Aysha #Femslash #Aysha (Ciconia: When THey Cry) #Aysha x Lingji #Aysha Ciconia When They Cry #Ciconia: When They Cry #Connan's Posts #07th Expansion #When They Cry #CiconiaWhenTheyCry #Lingji Ciconia #Aysha (Ciconia) #Aysha (Ciconia When They Cry #Ciconia Aysha

[connan-l]

Feverish

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Morgana & Nellie Rhodes, Morgana & Mell Rhodes

Summary: Morgana was only going to give her blood to Mell’s sister, as usual. But when the boy has to go out for an emergency, she find herself all alone in his home, for only company the heavily sick Nellie…

Takes place during Requiem before Morgana get kidnapped.

Content Warnings: Mentions of self-harm/cutting, blood, brief past child abuse, and vague codependent sibling incest because of the mess that is Nellie and Mell.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Hi, no I did not give up writing fanfics, I’ve just been kinda busy and in a sort-of writer block for the past few months lol. But anyhow, I’ve had this in my drafts since like January and thought it was time to finally complete it!

This is kind of a “I’m curious about what a relationship between Morg and Nellie would looks like” and “I wanna see Morgana be friends with other girls her age” mixed story lol. Nellie in Door 8 sounded so intrigued and grateful towards the “saint” who saved her and was so determined to help her that I wanted to experiment a little with this…

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The flaxen-haired boy opened the door, and politely let her enter his small house before him. He was just as gallant as ever, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, staring instead at the floor distractedly. It was obvious how nervous he was around her — just as it was obvious that he really wanted to quickly get this over.

Morgana didn’t mind. He had been acting this way for weeks now, so she was pretty used to it. And really, she had no reason to mind at all. It was perfectly normal for him to be nervous (afraid) of her — to be distant and uneasy.

It was how things should be. She was fine with it.

(It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt at all.)

“Uh, Nellie is still sleeping,” Mell said hesitantly, and Morgana simply nodded as she stepped into the young girl’s room. His sister was generally always sleeping whenever she came, and even when she wasn’t, with such a high fever, she was barely aware of her surroundings at all.

She was lay down on a small bed, her round face flushed and sore, and her chest heaving with difficulty in the spasmodic rhythm of her painful, guttural breathing. Her fever was still going strong, and her dull blonde curls stuck to her sweaty skin.

Morgana had only ever seen her in this state. A barely awake, deteriorated body, that sometimes even seemed at the gates of death. According to Mell, she was but a shadow of her usual self; a very bright, smiling, energetic child, which was hard to imagine upon witnessing her current corpse-like condition. A selfish part of Morgana felt relieved to not have to encounter the normal Rhodes sister, though — as she had never been really good at dealing with bubbly people.

Nellie was fourteen, only two years younger than her. Now that she thought about it… that was probably the first time she hanged out with another girl her age (as much as she could call this ‘hanging out.’) In her village, the other children never approached her, their parents always making sure they didn’t — “Do not importunate the saint!” — and at the brothel, the prostitutes had all been older than her by at least a few years. There were other kids in the slums of course, but most of them didn’t want to have anything to do with her because of her face, and even when some rare courageous ones dared to speak to her Morgana just turned cold and chased them away. The slave man would reprimand her for that, but she didn’t need friends and she didn’t see why she had to make such an effort.

Morgana faintly shook her head. Mell’s sister herself didn’t matter much to her — she was only here to heal her, after all, and as long she could recover without any issue, then the rest was without importance. So she did like usual, lifting her long sleeve and starting to recite her prayer in a soft voice.

“This body was created not in a mortal womb; this flesh is not the flesh of man; this blood is not the blood of man…”

She could feel Mell’s wary gaze on her during the whole process — he was standing at the very end of the room, as if trying to stay as far away from them as possible, while she cut her scarred wrist and let blood trickle down Nellie’s lips. His presence was distracting to her — he looked at the ritual with such intense, uncomfortable emotions that it made Morgana herself uneasy. He was giving her the impression she was doing something wrong when she was just trying to save his sister’s life — and, frankly, it felt almost offensive to her.

She didn’t want to keep doing this any more than him, and she had no idea why it seemed her Father was in such a whimsical mood when it came to this girl and refused to let her heal completely but also to let her die, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She thought about asking the boy to leave the room altogether more than once, but she could never bring herself to.

Once she was finally done, Mell quickly brought her a towel with trembling hands — despite the fact she had told him a thousand times it was unnecessary, he kept doing it — and as Morgana started to slowly swab her wound, the boy suddenly let out an odd squeak.

“Oh no!” He exclaimed. “I completely forgot!”

“What is it?” Morgana inquired, although to be honest she didn’t care much about the matter now that her task was finished.

Mell bit his lip. “I… I’ve been short on money ever since… Nellie got ill, so it’s been getting harder to buy healthy food. But the other day I told my situation to the fishmonger, and he kindly proposed to give me some leftovers he’d keep for me if I could come before six in the evening…”

“I believe it is not yet that time, so you could still make it?”

“P-Probably, but…” He looked over at Nellie, then around him, and then finally at the ground, before murmuring: “Could I… Could I ask you a favor?”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. She thought about refusing — because their relationship had definitely become extremely fraught ever since she started giving blood to his sister… but at the same time, her duty as a saint tugged at her, preventing her from ignoring a person in need.

“Depends on what that is,” she finally concluded.

“I-I really need to go, but… I don’t want to leave Nellie all alone right now… Uh, would you mind keeping an eye on her while I’m gone?”

“That’s…”

“It’ll just be for an hour, at most! I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Morgana sighed. She looked back at the sleeping girl snuggled under her blanket. Certainly, it wouldn’t cost her much to stay while Mell was away and keep watch on an unconscious sick child… Even so, she still hesitated. She didn’t want to do any more service for Mell than what she was already doing, and she wanted even less to stay in his home, even for a short while. But… the boy was looking at her with pleading honey eyes, and despite herself, Morgana still found herself fond of him. Surely, an hour in this house wouldn’t cost her much.

“All right,” she surrendered.

“Oh, th-thank you very much!”

Mell smiled brightly at her — in that genuine, sweet way he hadn’t used since she had started giving blood to Nellie — and for a brief moment, Morgana’s heart skipped a beat and she hated herself for that.

It was as if, in that instance, they were back to before — before she could remember her true identity, before things turn out wrong and twisted. When she could just enjoy his presence and share small, casual conversations with him as if they were friends. As if they were two normal teenagers hanging out and having fun together.

But they weren’t, and they never were, and up until now their relationship had just been her fooling herself.

She looked away, hoping to camouflage the way she had briefly gotten flustered, but Mell didn’t even seem to notice as he was already grabbing a satchel and running towards the door.

“It’ll be very quick! I promise!”

Before Morgana could reply, the door closed brusquely and suddenly no sound resonated in the house anymore.

No sound, except for her and the fair haired girl’s breathing.

Morgana let out another sigh and ran her fingers through her red bangs. Admittedly, she now felt pretty lost as to how she should spend time for an hour. Despite having come to this place more than a dozen of times, she still didn’t feel that familiar with it, and she didn’t really felt comfortable trying to do anything in it either. This was a really modest, small house; only a few basic furniture here and there, a chimney that was soon going to be lit up in wait of the winter, a few colorful fabrics and curtains that she supposed Nellie had hang up to decorate. Richer than where she’d lived in the slums, but poorer than someone living downtown. However, while it looked like a residence any average peasant would have, a few elements were standing out; three or four pretty books posed on the table, or some sophisticated clothes and dresses dangling around that must’ve been quite expansive. Morgana remembered Mell telling her their backgrounds; about how they were originally two kids from a wealthy, noble family, and so she guessed those were things they had taken with them after getting exiled.

She slowly headed towards the table, and let her fingers run across the pages of one of the books. The paper was old, thick, and alien under her digits. Except for the few small, handmade scrapbooks detailing botanic and medicine that had belonged to the original lake witch, she never had the occasion to get her hands on such things. The words seemed to be in a language she was unfamiliar with, probably the siblings’ mother tongue. Although Morgana had never actually learned how to read, so she wasn’t really able to tell and even if it was in this country’s language it would still mean nothing to her.

“Mell…”

Suddenly, she heard a shifting of clothes from behind her and a moan, and in her surprise she almost let the book fall down on the ground. She whirled around and saw the girl in the bed move slightly, rubbing her red and irritated eyes. Morgana bit her lip nervously and held back her breath, trying to make herself as small as she could. Damn it, she hadn’t thought about the possibility of Nellie waking up while Mell was still gone. She really didn’t want to have to talk to her.

Please, just go back to sleep, she prayed quietly. Come on…

But unfortunately, her prayer went unanswered. Instead, the girl weakly lifted herself on her elbows, looked around the place with a vacant gaze… and finally stopped her eyes on Morgana’s silhouette. For a moment, none of them talked, just staring at each other in silence.

“Mell…?” Nellie murmured, her voice hoarse and painful. Her eyes narrowed, as if she couldn’t see well the person in front of her, and maybe she really couldn’t.

Morgana winced, and tilted down her hood as much as possible, hoping it was enough to dissimulate her face entirely. She wasn’t great at interacting with people in general, but it felt worse with a girl around her age somehow, and even more so with Mell’s sister.

“Sorry, I’m… I’m not Mell,” she finally blurted out as the girl was still staring at her, expectantly.

It seemed it took a long time for her to understand the sentence, but finally she saw her massage her eyes again before she opened back her mouth:

“Where is he…?”

“Out. He had some shopping to do… He asked me to look after you in the meantime…”

“Who are you…?”

“I’m…”

She stopped and hesitated. She wasn’t sure what to answer — mostly because she didn’t think Nellie would be really apt to understand the truth in her current state. But in the end she didn’t have to, because the girl then added:

“Oh… Are you the saint…?”

Morgana bit her lip again, hesitated, then finally feebly nodded. Even while burning and half-awake, Nellie seemed to caught it, and surprisingly enough, she smiled.

Her smile looked so pure and bright in spite of how sick she was, just like her brother’s. Maybe even brighter.

“Mell told me… You’re the one who’s been healing me… right? With your blood… Ah…”

“Y-You should stay in bed…”

All while talking, Mell’s sister tried to stand up but Morgana rushed towards her to lay her back and put the blanket on her. Clumsily hovering over the bed, she tried to think of something to say or do, but she actually didn’t really know how to take care of someone when they were sick. If Nellie had stayed asleep, it would’ve been one thing, but now that she was awake she felt lost. She vaguely remembered the times where some of the girls at the brothel would fell ill, but… it wasn’t helping as she generally wasn’t the one watching over them, and she barely had any memories of this period anymore anyway.

“Do you, um… do you want to drink something?” She finally asked awkwardly instead.

Without waiting for an answer, she turned around to seek a cup of water, but at the last moment Nellie grabbed her sleeve. Her grip was very meek, but it was enough to make Morgana stop in her momentum.

“Stay,” the blonde girl mumbled.

“But…”

“I don’t wanna be alone… Stay.”

Her voice was a wisp of glass, fragile and imploring, and her eyes were brimming with sadness and limpidity that made her appear so small, as if she was much younger than her actual age — and as she stared straight at her, Morgana realized she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She quietly sat down next to the bed, and looked down on her hands. Nellie finally let go of the sleeve once she appeared certain the other girl wouldn’t leave.

“Is that true… about the blood…?”

Morgana assumed she meant if it was true she was giving her her blood to heal, so she nodded.

“Yes.”

“That’s gross…”

“My blood is different from normal humans. It is not filthy like yours.”

“Hmmm…”

Nellie hummed absentmindedly in a way that made Morgana thought she didn’t really understand what she meant by that, and suddenly the girl’s hand raised from under the blanket and reached out towards her. At first, Morgana wasn’t really sure what she intended to do, until she flinched a little when she felt Nellie’s tiny, plump hand grab hers.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

Alien fingers ran across Morgana’s skin on her hand — softly brushing the scars and the cuts, the rough patches of mangled and ugly flesh. Her reflex at this was to want to snap her hand away — and that was what she would’ve done usually after such a breach and invasion of her boundaries.

Not even Mell had dared to touch her in such a way. He had brushed her arm two or three times; had intended to maybe hold her hand once, but in the end he never was able to gather the courage to actually do so.

(Morgana couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been too intimidated by her or because he thought her too disgusting, but either way she was glad he hadn’t.

She didn’t want to think about the warmth and comfort the embrace of someone bright and kind like Mell could bring her.)

But Nellie had no hesitation to caress her wounds and hold her hand.

For some reason, Morgana’s entire body froze under her touch, and she couldn’t do anything but look until she realized the other girl’s eyes were stuck on her, expecting an answer. She looked away away distractedly, before muttering:

“I’m used to it.”

Nellie kept staring at her for quite some time, to the point where Morgana began to wonder if she had understood what she had just said, but then finally let go of her hand and stared blankly at the ceiling. Coldness gained back her fingers and palm, normality retrieved its way. Morgana felt relieved.

Nellie closed her eyes, and stayed quiet. For a moment, Morgana hoped she was going to drift back to sleep, but unfortunately for her it wasn’t the case.

“When will Mell come back?”

“He said it shouldn’t take more than an hour, and that he’ll do as quickly as possible.”

“Oh…” She let out. Paused. “I thought he might’ve been gone for good.”

There was… something very fragile, in her voice. Like a glass fragment about to break into a hundred pieces, and somehow it made Morgana’s chest tighten. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. She didn’t want to get involved with this girl — had no need for that, would get no benefit out of it. But even so, the words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.

“Why is that?” She asked in a very soft, shy voice, as if she hoped the sick girl wouldn’t hear her.

And for an instant, she really thought she hadn’t, because Nellie didn’t answer — didn’t even move or flinch or made anything that would indicate she’d heard her. Morgana risked herself to throw a glance at her, and saw that she was simply motionless in her bed,  staring at the ceiling with unfocused amber eyes. There was no expression on her round, flushed face, and something about this and her silence made Morgana uncomfortable.

“I will die, right?”

“Wh-What?”

“You… are a saint… aren’t you? So… you must know.” She turned her head towards Morgana, and plunged her eyes into hers. “I will die.”

This was not a question anymore, and Morgana’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as she felt trapped by the other’s gaze. She might technically be the saint here, but it felt like it was Nellie who had just declared a prophecy. She sounded so certain that Morgana couldn’t even bring herself to try to contradict her.

“Why do you think so?”

Nellie looked away, her eyes fixing themselves on the window this time, though from where she was she doubted she could see much of the scenery.

“I don’t wanna die,” she muttered. “It’s scary. I don’t wanna die, but… It’s painful for Mell to take care of me… and the idea of him hating me because of this… is much scarier than dying.”

Morgana looked down on her knees and began to pull at the hem of her long sleeve. There was a lump in her throat, and she couldn’t tell why. The silence fell in the room again, and as she felt she ought to say something, she finally gathered her thoughts and muttered:

“If… he truly care about you…” she tried tentatively. “Then surely… he wouldn’t hate you just because he has to take care of you… You cannot help being sick.”

These words obviously didn’t convince Nellie, as it would’ve been too easy, and much to Morgana’s despair, she continued to talk.

“But this is my fault,” she hiccuped. “Mell was the one who got banned by our uncle… I could’ve stayed home. But I insisted to go with him… because… I didn’t want to be all alone… Mell is the only one… the only one who truly loves me… so I can’t live without him… that’s what I always thought, but…”

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with her hands, and Morgana knew she was crying now.

“A-And I know… that he’ll hate me if he learns the truth about my feelings for him… Cause it’s wrong… And gross… And you think I’m wrong and gross, too, right…?”

“I…”

Morgana looked away, biting her lip and praying Mell could just hurry up and save her from this disaster already. She almost had the instinct to reply to Nellie she did think she was gross — what on earth was she saying, after all? She couldn’t possibly mean she had feelings that way for her brother, right? — but she managed to hold in her sharp tongue. She was certain that love for her brother truly seemed… a bit too excessive. That couldn’t be ordinary behavior for siblings, could it? It wasn’t like Morgana knew much about normal human relationships in general, but even she could feel something a bit off from what Nellie was telling her.

Wonderful. How was she supposed to deal with this? She couldn’t even deal with normal crying people in the best of circumstances. How had she ended up in such an awkward situation? Was that some twisted trial from her Father? Why was Nellie telling her all of this to start with, anyway?

Well, maybe it was because of the delirious state she was in, and the fact she was in presence of the saint who was (trying to) saving her life, was putting her at ease… But that didn’t mean it was any less unpleasant for Morgana.

Muffled sobs kept sprinkling the room. Sniffling, rubbing sounds and ragged breathing.

Morgana was not human; she couldn’t empathize with such raw emotions and painful state. She couldn’t heal them. Only watch, observe, from behind a windowpane, imagining she was much further away and not just sat next to the bed.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” the broken, barely audible voice murmured. “B-But Mell’s the only thing I have… I don’t want to be left alone.”

She wanted to pretend she couldn’t relate, that she was only there to watch — but at this a rock fell in her stomach, one too heavy to ignore anymore.

It was like a scene from a long time ago played in front of her eyes; and the child in the bed wasn’t the flaxen-haired girl, but a much younger version of herself.

An ugly little girl with red plaits who had lost everything dear to her and who was crying desperately in the middle of an abandoned shack, scared to be left all by herself. Begging to God to not be left all alone.

She couldn’t precisely understand Mell’s sister feelings or why she was crying, but that deep fear of abandonment and loneliness, she could relate. She could feel that deep in her bone and heart.

So, her saint mask be damned, not caring anymore whether or not Nellie was able to see her horrendous face, she extended her arm and, with timid fingers, gently took the sobbing girl’s hand in hers. She clutched at it awkwardly, revealing how inexperienced in this kind of human contact she was, then brushed Nellie’s smooth skin like the other had done to her earlier.

Their hands were so different in so many aspects it was almost amusing, but their sizes were practically a perfect fit.

Nellie threw a questioning glance at her, honey eyes still shimmering with tears, and Morgana fought the instinct of looking away with all she had in her body.

She couldn’t reassure Nellie that she knew her brother cared about her. She couldn’t affirm to her that she wasn’t a burden to him. She couldn’t guarantee her that she would never be left alone. After all, in the end she barely knew anything at all about these siblings.

But there was still something she felt the need to say with as much conviction as she could:

“I will not let you die.”

Nellie’s eyes widened as more tears rolled down her round, red cheeks. It was likely a conceited thing of Morgana to say. The only one able to decide whether a human was going to live or die was God. Even as His daughter, it was not her place to even just speculate of such a thing. But despite knowing this, she repeated it yet again.

“I will not let you die. My Father will make sure to save you. You can believe me.”

Nellie stared blankly at her, as if she could not register the words that were told to her. However, the next moment her features softened, her eyelids half-closed and a smile blossomed on her cracked lips. She didn’t say anything, but Morgana could read her thoughts on her face without any issue. Nellie weakly clutched her hand back, and she had no idea why seeing such a simple gesture managed to put her heart at ease or why seeing the girl’s peaceful expression relieved her, but somehow it did.

“Your voice…” Nellie muttered, slowly closing her eyes. “Your voice is really pretty…”

Morgana blinked with surprise at her, as that was the last thing she thought she’d hear at this moment. “Oh… Um…”

“Could you… sing for me?” Nellie continued. “I wanna hear you sing…”

Her brother had told her the same, Morgana noted. That she had a beautiful voice and that she should sing. In fact, multiple people had told her so in the past. She herself never found her voice all that special, though. But… she did love singing.

For a moment, she hesitated — she didn’t know if it was the pleading or the solitude in the girl’s voice that made her feel this way, or if it was the small hand clutching at her desperately as if she was afraid she’d suddenly vanish, but a surge to listen to the request crossed her.

She tentatively opened her mouth, took in a deep breath… however, at the last minute she felt unable to produce a single sound. An image from the past flashed through her mind; of an isolated, makeshift graveyard, a young man with kind eyes, a hand gently brushing her scars — and instantly her throat was dry and her tongue tied. Her body trembled a little, and she quickly did her best to bury the memory as deep she could in her heart.

She didn’t need that anymore. That warmth and kindness… She’d already thrown everything away. Or she’d had no other choice than to throw it away, rather. Either way, there was no need for her to reminisce them.

“I’m sorry,” she articulated softly, “But I won’t sing…”

However, Nellie didn’t seem in the least disappointed or disturbed, as she was quietly snoring, bundled up in her blanket. Well, given how sick she was it wasn’t a surprise she’d fall back asleep so quickly. Although her hand was still holding Morgana’s, surprisingly firmly.

Morgana had already thrown away everything. She had no need for human warmth and feelings — as she was, after all, not human. She’d made that mistake with Mell, taking complaisance in the brightness of his smile and the gentleness of his words, but she’d brutally realized how much of a mistake it had been as soon as she revealed her miracle blood and he’d turned cold on her.

So she really shouldn’t make the same mistake with the sister, or with anyone else. But, even so… watching Nellie sleep so tenderly, with a soft smile on her pink lips, made something odd and warm birth in her chest. A feeling of satisfaction — the same one she’d had when she first thought she’d healed the girl.

A feeling that… maybe, for once, she hadn’t been so completely useless. That even if she still hadn’t entirely saved her yet, she at least managed to fill in her saintly duty of helping others a little.

That was a ridiculous, childish, earthly emotion — one she knew a being like her shouldn’t let herself indulge in — but her wretched heart felt too tired to fight it right now, and against all logic she simply closed her eyes and let her mind get lulled by Nellie’s feeble breathing.

She only let go of the other girl’s hand when Mell came back with a bag filled with fishes — quickly hiding it under her sleeve, making it as if this brief slip-up of hers never happened.

With the flaxen-haired boy back, she had to return to being a saint, return to building up her walls and steel her weaknesses.

She could pretend the warmth in her hand never existed, lock it up at the same place she’d locked up her makeshift graveyard memories— and surely in two days or so, when she’ll come back to this house, it would flow away at the same time as her blood would spill from her skin.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #Nellie Rhodes #Morgana FataMoru #Fata Morgana #Fata Morgana no Yakata #Novectacle #Morgana (FataMoru) #Morgana (The House in Fata Morgana) #NelliMoru #It's platonic but I still tag them cause why not #NeriMoru #Connan's Fanfics #A Requiem for Innocence #FataMoru Fanfiction #Connan's Posts #The House in Fata Morgana Fanfiction #House in Fata Morgana #Text #Long Post

[connan-l]

Acidulous

Fandom: Natsume’s Book of Friends

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Tooru Taki/Jun Sasada

Summary: Tooru thought it was a good idea to use her extra oranges as a pretext to invite her crush over, until she found out said crush didn’t like them. [Femslash February 2021 Day 5: Orange]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Written for Femslash February 2021 Day 5: Orange, from those prompts.

I really wasn't much inspired with this one, but I dunno. I tried?

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The round fruits looked huge and shiny and juicy, and under the warm sun of the afternoon they almost seemed like big jewels.

Oranges weren’t Tooru’s favorite fruit, but even she couldn’t help but salivate while staring at them. Her neighbor, a sweet old lady with soft eyes who’d always taken good care of her since she was little, had told her she’d gotten extra oranges this summer and had came to give some to her. It was still a little too much for her alone though — as neither her parents nor her brother would be home before a while — but she couldn’t bring herself to refuse the woman’s kindhearted gift so she took them anyway, thinking she’d share some with her friends.

As she walked towards the kitchen, she considered calling Natsume and Tanuma, but suddenly another opportunity popped up in her mind: what if she invited the pretty class president Sasada? This would be a unique chance to see her with a good excuse!

It wasn’t like she and Sasada didn’t have much occasion to talk — they were pretty much friends, and Tooru had even invited her to her home a few times under some basic pretexts. But they still weren’t excessively close, not like she was to Natsume or Tanuma. Despite the fact it had been a while now since her youkai situation had been resolved, Tooru still struggled to get closer to others at school, or to  anyone  , really — she was fine with Natsume because he was  Natsume , and Tanuma was his close friend so they’d instantly gotten along without issues.

And that was quite a shame when Tooru might have developed sort of a crush on Sasada. She wasn’t sure why or how it happened, but somehow despite her bossy and serious exterior, Sasada had a very kind heart and Tooru liked hanging out with her and couldn’t help but feel attracted to her. It was quite funny, in a way, that she’d instantly felt comfortable inviting Sasada in her home despite the fact it took Natsume and Tanuma to accidentally stumbles on her house for her to finally make them enter the place.

In any case, eating oranges together didn’t seem so bad an excuse for once, so she’d called her and her friend showed up on her porch twenty minutes later in casual clothes, brown hair falling on her shoulders, blue hairpin in place and glasses straight on her nose. Tooru’s face instantly lit up and she smiled brightly at her.

“So what was that surprise you were talking about?” Sasada asked upon sitting down the table.

“It’s nothing much, really! But I wouldn’t be able to take care of it by myself, so…” She entered the room with her arms full with the oranges basket, a wide smile on her face. “Tada!”

She put her charge on the table proudly, but when she lifted her eyes on her friend her smile almost vanished instantly. Sasada was staring at the big, round fruits with a wary expression and… practically a grimace — a far cry from the cute, reserved smile Tooru had hoped for.

“S-Something’s wrong?” She asked with hesitation, wishing she hadn’t done anything to upset the other girl — she was still so bad at relationships, and her anxiety was already screaming at her that  of course  she was going to screw this one up and that it had been a bad idea to invite her in the first place—

“Uh, no, it’s just… I don’t like oranges.”

“Oh…”

Tooru sat down in front of Sasada, falling quiet. Somehow, it had been less worse than what she’d first thought, but now she felt really silly. The entire reason why she’d invited her was to eat those oranges, but if she didn’t like them, then…

“W-Why?” was the only thing her brain managed to come up with to dilute the weird tension.

“H-Huh? Um… uh, I don’t know, I just… I don’t like sour things…”

Tooru blinked at her, then couldn’t help but laugh, which got her a dubious glare from Sasada.

“Oranges aren’t all that sour, though! But, you don’t like bitter food? Somehow, it doesn’t fit your character.”

Sasada frowned in an unusual way — she frowned a lot at school, but this time she looked more flustered than angry or strict — and suddenly blushed at her comment. Cute.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Tooru giggled again. “It’s just, you’re always so sharp and mature. So I didn’t picture you not liking bitter things.”

“W-Well, that’s just how it is. I haven’t eaten oranges since I was six because of this.”

“Eh? You’ve only eaten it once when you were a child? That’s not good! Perhaps your tastes changed between then! You should try again.”

All while talking, Tooru took one of the oranges and started to peel it, her brow furrowing with concentration.

“Th-That’s not necessary,” she heard Sasada argue from in front of her. “I already know that I won’t like it—”

“But it was so long ago! You never know!”

Honestly, Tooru didn’t know why she insisted so much. It wasn’t like she cared about whether or not Sasada ate those oranges or not. But somehow seeing the girl getting so embarrassed over something like this made it worth it, in a way. At some point, it seemed Sasada had resigned herself to her fate, and she fell quiet while Tooru worked thoroughly on her orange. She was very careful to peel it properly, not making any smudges or scratches on the fruit, then cut it in small quarters properly. She even disposed the orange bits on a small plate in a circle before extending it to Sasada, a big, proud smile on her face.

“Here it is!”

Sasada narrowed her eyes and stared at the plate suspiciously, as if it was some kind of animal that was going to jump at her and attack her. But finally, a fond smile spread on her face as she looked up at Tooru and tentatively grabbed one of the quarters with a pout.

“You’re a strange one. I’m going to start thinking you have a grudge against me or something.”

“That’s not true!” Tooru replied cheerfully. “I actually like you.”

Sasada turned red at her declaration, her eyes widening, but upon seeing Tooru’s smile it seemed she took this as a lighthearted comment.

“All right… I’ll do this but just for you, then,” she declared before finally biting into the orange.

It wasn’t just a lighthearted comment though, as Tooru truly did like her. But she thought now was not yet the time to make such a big love confession.

For now, she just looked Sasada tastes the orange and make a grimace as the juice spread on her lips and that the both of them ended up laughing and laughing.

Sasada still hated oranges once their afternoon together came to an end, but Tooru thought it wasn’t that big of a deal, after all.

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