I have made a point to go through and edit all of my previous works on this story and delete and rearrange some of the key elements as this story has developed for me. I would like to remind readers that I am working without a beta, am not a seasoned writer of fan-fiction. I write because I enjoy it. Any likeness that this fiction takes on to another is not intentional working within a fixed fandom creates parallels. Feel free to leave reviews they are welcome and so is criticism, Thank you for reading!
(Reading Guide can be found at the bottom of the page and each section that needs further explanation will be marked with a series of stars in the appendix. For further questions feel free to ask in the comments, I will address them as necessary.)
In effort to keep this story following Japanese shinto beliefs in a Chinese setting I will be using Chinese Characters and Japanese Kanji. Mostly Chinese characters when referring to Chinese mythology and physical location. Japanese when in reference to the different yokai/monsters and cultural aspects. I want to create a world that could function within what is real by being true to the places that it comes from. This extra attention to these social and religious ideals have reference in the appendix. I will attempt to keep them as accurate as possible while still playing in a fictional world.
All rights to Spirited Away and its affiliates belong to studio Ghibli. Though I am using its fantasy and worldview in order to create a work of fiction. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter 1:
She dreamed of dragons...slithering in the deep, liquid movements twisting in the abyss. Undulating under the surface, rippling the water tendrils of whiskered mouth grinning the sharp glint of white teeth his eyes fierce knowing; patient. She was slowly waking...it had been too long.
"Chihiro.."
She snapped awake like dry weeds in her mother's garden sudden and alarmed. The blaring wail of the alarm clock face screaming her eight am summons. Slapping one tired hand clumsily on the silence Chihiro collapsed back into the heaping blanket pile. Another day, another dream. The same dream she had had since her ten year old self dreamed of an impossible place. Where legends roamed and spirits danced the tune of the seasons.
It was always the same, the feel of cold flesh slithering around in the dark. The smooth texture of scales in the blackness, fur tickling her nose as she floated. In what she wasn't sure, but intuitively she remembered water, breathing like a fish the fresh exhilaration before opening her eyes to the speckled stained ceiling of her studio apartment. Drenched in sweat, her hair soaked and skin raw. She pulled her thick damp chocolate hair into a messy ponytail, winding the old purple band tight.
Only her sheets were saved from the night sweats. The experience always left her raw for the first few hours of the day she didn't want to face reality. The pounding of her skull still echoed the last few seconds of her dream, feeling hot damp breath on the base her neck.
"Chihiro.."
Shuddering under the trembling timber she shook off the at her tired eyes Chihiro pulled her dead limbs from the bed. While shrugging into her salmon pink robe she placed one unsteady foot in front of the other. Eight am meant coffee a tooth brush and nine am classes. Finding her way into the shabby single bedroom apartment with a similar single minded intent to brew coffee. The dream still heavy on her waking mind.
But this time it was different. He was different. He it, the thing she wasn't really sure what to call it, this floating specter in the back of her fantasy. But whatever it was; it was a he, she could feel it in her gut. That burning pit churned even now. This time she opened her eyes in the blue he was suspended the smooth feel of scales, hot against her skin and those eyes lit from his skull pulling her in. She had never drowned before. Always the water bubbled up around her but never choking. Instead of scales and fur in inky black void he spoke. Only one word in the quiet but that one word was a jolt to her system, electric stealing her breath and shaking her core. She knew this dragon though years of early childhood therapy would speak differently.
"Why can't dreams stay a dream…" she huffed
Where they belonged instead of leaving a hollow ache in her chest as if she was choking on air. The small bedroom opened up into a large open space vaulted ceilings keeping the lingering chill of late autumn, trapping all the heat from the little unit next to the wall in its rafters. The open floor plan boasted a corner kitchen, large bay windows with an even more ancient fireplace outdated by the more expensive modern convenience of a small heating unit but still the most accurate method of heating the spacious yet small space. Around the charming pit sat a rather large but soft leather recliner. Where Chihiro found herself more than once asleep. Next to an octagon side table still littered with manuscripts and calligraphy utensils from the previous night sat a medium esil with a still drying canvas boasting brilliant and vibrant works of fiction.
This time the once blank face depicted a generous sized lighthouse sitting on a floating island way above the ground. Its bright blue light reaching far out over the green blue night sky. The clouds rolled like a great foaming sea both turbulent black and soft grey in the light of the moon. On the small island sat a lone figure, under the yellow glow of a swinging lamp post. His dark hair emerald, tunic white, and travel cloak gathered close around his shoulders; his waiting feet in the cloudy sea. The wind from the tossing clouds lifting his hair obscuring his face, on his lap sat a medium sized package wrapped in plain paper.
Each little detail of the painting from its wispy upper atmosphere, to the turbulent movement of the cloud sea, and the glinting wink of eyes in the lighthouse window was painted in such detail it mimicked the glossy completeness of a photo. Not the dreams of a twenty five year old part time yoga coach and writer. But dreams they were, vivid and frightening, creating a driving need to rid herself of these images. Chihiro would paint, write, or drown herself in strenuous activities such as extreme hot yoga. Though the most expedient means of getting rid of the persistent imagery was oil and canvas.
The steaming whistle of coffee woke Chihiro from her stupor. Gazing at the painting maelstrom from the night before she wondered idly if maybe she should clean the tornado of greens, blues, and blacks from its over-spill on the drop cloth and the unintentionally colorful table where brushes, half opened paints, and yesterday's coffee still lingered. Taking the cauldron of hot water off the small grey stove Chihiro poured the water into her french press before depressing the handle several times to get the desired level of inky blackness. Writers were only picky about a few things, such as the color and blend of their coffee, and the tip of their pen. Well ok maybe it was a bit more than a few, Chihiro could list at least twenty herself off the top of her head. Alright maybe she was picky…
Wrapping her morning chilled hands around her favorite purple mug Chihiro moved from the kitchen counter into her breakfast table snatching a ripe banana from the bowl on the counter as she passed. Sitting in her customary chair at the head of the little breakfast nook dinette, she placed her mug on the empty surface next to her half finished manuscript. The mug fit directly inside the ring of coffee from the day before. Chihiro opened her laptop to check her emails and scheduled classes while opening her banana with her teeth like an exuberant chimpanzee.
The morning routine like any other day was in full swing. Finishing her breakfast Chihiro tossed the peel behind her back to land perfectly in the open topped bin by the kitchen bar. Emails from her editor had Chihiro sighing in trepidation having lost her muse. Chihiro had no inspiration to create sequel to her master work title loosely Spirited Away. The story of her journey into the spirit world, deemed a record breaking work of fiction and later put into a famous movie Chihiro has been hard pressed to create something with that much acclaim ever since. While she did produces several children's short stories and picture books such as The Radish Spirit's Friend, and Curious Bakeneko she has yet to produce something as awe inspiring as that of her adventures at the bath house.
But one would have to have had something of equal experience in order to create something of that caliber. Even years of childhood therapy and many diagnosed drugs Chihiro did not lose sight of the evidence and lessons that the spirit world had to teach the rather vapid girl. After her adventure's Chihiro felt fundamentally changed. Not that she wasn't a rather strange girl to begin with saying and seeing things that were not there at an early age. But after her tenth birthday she was expected to grow out of make believe and fantasy not step further into the unknown. Directly after moving into their new house Chihiro would never feel like a normal girl, person, or individual ever again and it wasn't because she didn't try. After pills and drugs and therapy alike Chihiro did not feel any more normal than before. Something about her was fundamentally off, her hair was brighter, nails and skin seemed to glow, not a blemish or spot could be found it was as if the girl had dipped herself in gold. But the most striking of all was the slow changing of bark to cobalt blue, the eyes of a stranger stared back in the mirror. But these transformations like all things did not happen from the start, no it all started with the discovery of a large white scale and dreams of dragons.
With all these thoughts, Chihiro signed. Today was going to long indeed, and it wasn't even 8:30.