It's been forever, everyone. Writing has been difficult for me, so I've decided to jump back into things and to stop waiting for some magical fairy to make things better. I missed this bunch of nerd characters way too much, and I decided to do a couple of little character studies like this one to get back into the swing of things. This is my favorite so far, so enjoy!
Warnings: Depression, implied emotional neglect, a lot of repetition of the word "wonder."
Spoilers: if you haven't seen the series, I'm not sure why you're here
Quick note: As stated above, this is just one in a couple character studies, so you can pair this with Hallowed and Heaving if you'd like. Enjoy!
She wondered, really, if the reason why so many eyes followed her when she walked past had more to do with her walk than her face. She wondered, always, how long she'd floated by, no more than so much colored air, swirling lilacs and silks of periwinkle with all the ephemeral presence of fog. She wondered if it was her gifts, or her mother, or just something about her that made her feel much more ghost than human.
She wondered how long she could spend with her feet straddling the line before she'd slip to one side. If the rioting, pulsating, fleeting, suffocating—wonderful—overwhelming forces of life could keep their hold on her, or if those quiet voices that followed her everywhere would win for once. If she could help them. If she could free them. If she could escape them.
She wondered why he didn't notice her. Then didn't. Then felt petulant jealousy and wondered again. Then answered her own inquiry and hated the answer. Because both of them waded too much in death and loss and madness, and he was looking for life.
Not a ghost like her.
She wondered why she couldn't hate her. Why she still felt the miniscule weight of that worn, filthy, useless key in her palm when fear spiked in her chest. Why she felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward when her brown eyes glittered with righteous indignation, or when her finger loomed dangerously close to his nearly passive face and threatened him with a single, menacing shake. Why she looked forward to random afternoons, skies cluttered with rainclouds and arms heavy laden with bags, nonstop chatter and flittering down the streets of Shibuya center, struggling to keep up in tightly bound silk and zori.
She wondered when she'd started thinking manager instead of mother, sister instead of miko, silly instead of monk, brother instead of priest, peaceful instead of foreign, intelligent instead of glasses, Naru instead of Davis. Best friend instead of why her?
Me instead of ghost.
She wondered how a handful of strangers who had no claim to her beyond their own will, no reason to call her little sister, no obligation to protect her, no business loving her could do it anyway.
She wondered if she loved them too.
So short, but still, I love writing for Masako. She's far more complex than I can give her credit, but I wanted to try exploring her development through the series as the cold-hearted pretty girl to a member of the SPR family anyway.
As always, I hope you enjoyed, and if I've made any ridiculous mistakes, shoot me a line. I've missed you all so much.
-NHC