I had my playlist on shuffle, and it started playing the Piko and Miki cover of Tsugai Kogarashi. I didn't know what the song was about, but the music gave me this idea. And then I looked up the lyrics, and I kinda expanded on it a bit. Hope you enjoy! I certainly loved writing it!
Currently Listening to: "Tsugai Kogarashi" by Utatane Piko and SF-A2 Miki.
Time: 3:50 p.m.
No one has seen her in the years prior.
Or perhaps they have and just never noticed.
But now that she's caught everyone's eye, they watch her carefully, suspicious of her behavior. Everyone thinks that she's a curse, that she walks along the bank of the river in her flowing mahogany robes and murmurs evil spells that will bring harm to the helpless villagers. They accuse her not only because she's beautiful - she has rich, crimson hair that hangs down to the small of her back in subtle waves while the bangs curl around her blood-red eyes, and her skin is a soft, faded tan - but also because they don't understand her actions.
She stands next to the rushing river every day and every night, at a fair distance from the riverside village that feels so threatened by her presence. Her mornings are spent with her arm extended into the air to catch the gold-and-brown leaves that flutter in the breeze, while she gazes up to watch the silver stars as they appear in a navy sky during the evenings. People sometimes step outside their huts in the middle of the night to see if she's still there, and indeed the redhead is, perched on a rock with her legs swinging and toes dipping in the ice cold water.
When they speak to each other about her, they simply call her The Witch.
It doesn't bother her. She can only feel certain emotions, so hate no longer hurts her after so many years. It's one of those feelings she's become accustomed to; the only sentiments that can weigh in her heart now are things as rare as love and sadness. She brushes off their hatred as though it's only dust clinging to her silky kimono, and her eyelids flutter closed as she tilts her head up towards the sky as the wind howls in her ears, allowing herself to get lost in nature instead of the village full of people who wrongly accuse her of nasty things.
For just over three weeks, they've watched her from a safe distance, and she knows. She can feel their stares and hear the whispers; the crisp breeze carries their spiteful words in her direction, but she doesn't shiver when they reach her ears, and she doesn't even cast a glance towards them to show that she knows the cruel things they've said.
It isn't long after those initial twenty-one days that they have a new visitor. The crisp air she'd been living in turns to an icy chill the moment he sets foot in the village, and that's how she knows that he's there before she even lays her eyes on him. His presence snatches her attention away from the foaming water of the river, and she snaps her head in the direction of the village, her crimson eyes betraying no emotion; her lips are set in a line, and she straightens up where she sits on the rock as he comes into view.
The villagers are overrun with relief, and she can feel it washing over her like a powerful wave. She knows what they're thinking, what they're feeling. They feel protected by this man of white. Perhaps his heterochromatic eyes are not only persuasive to her. He has silvery hair the color of snow, and his gaze glitters like a morning frost on the lush grass; he's clothed in a kimono similar to her own, a pattern of icy-blue and white trailing from the waist to the ankles. And even though he's flocked by the people of the village like he's their guardian angel and even though they're begging him to get rid of her, he focuses all of his attention on the redhead sitting next to the river.
She stares blankly at him, their gazes meeting even from such a distance, and after a moment, she gives the faintest of nods.
The people don't seem to notice their exchange, and they continue to spit out nasty words, to beg the man of white for his assistance in casting out The Witch. They blame her for everything; they say that her curses are what's causing their crops to fail and some of the women and children to get sick. They tell the man that she makes the water unsafe for bathing or for drinking just by being near it.
He holds up one hand to silence them, and he drags his gaze from hers to look into the eyes of the oldest man who stands next to him. He gives a soft smile, his pale lips twitching upward while his differently-colored eyes twinkle. "Give me one week," he tells them.
They must trust the stranger, because they immediately erupt into hoots and howls at what seems like a promise to get rid of The Witch once and for all. He doesn't stick around for the congratulations, however; instead, he begins taking slow steps in the direction of the river. As he reaches the bank, his sandals sink in the mix of mud and sand.
She had turned back to stare out at the river, humming a soft tune as her toes get splashed with the rushing water below. Her shoulders are arched, her head tilted so that her right cheek rests on one of them. A gentle breeze sends her silken crimson locks fluttering, and he catches the delectable scent of cherries as he climbs up onto the rock and sits down next to her. He crosses his legs, placing his hands on his knees and letting his back slump as he leans forward.
"You've caught up quickly," she says quietly.
"I have." His voice is a smoky, youthful one. He only blinks, staring off at the sun as it sets in the distance, turning the sky brilliant colors of golds and reds and pinks.
"I knew it would happen soon; I could smell you on the breeze." There's a pause as she straightens up and brings her feet up to press their pads against the cold, flat surface of the rock. Her kimono is loose, and it parts below her waist, showing off her long, slender legs. She sends him a quick sidelong glance. "You enjoy chasing, don't you?" she queries, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.
"I do."
Neither speaks for the rest of the night. Their faces are lit with moonlight, their eyes glowing and reflecting the silver color as they stare up at the vast stretch of darkness dotted with tiny bright lights. An occasional sigh from the girl would break the silence, but he never once reacts to it, never once sends a glance in her direction.
And for six days, words are rarely exchanged.
The villagers watch from a safe distance; they don't understand what's going on between The Witch and the man of white whom they'd thought to be a guardian angel sent from heaven to protect them. Sometimes throughout the week, the girl would stand up from her place on the rock and pace back and forth along the shore as the icy water lapped at her feet, and they thought they could see her lips moving even from so far away. The man would look in her direction and give the occasional nod.
The people thought that, perhaps, he was trying to coax The Witch into leaving with his gentle words. They all agreed that he seemed like the kind of person who could convince others easily, and they figured that was what was going on between the pair until she leaned against his shoulder on the sixth evening.
Rage rides on the wind that night, and she knows that he can feel it when he scoffs lightly as he brings his hand over to a place just behind her as though to help keep himself propped up while he leans towards her. An icy feeling engulfs her whole body when he places his chin atop her head and puffs out air in a sigh. She's accustomed to a cool, crisp atmosphere - the wintry feeling always catches her by surprise, no matter how often she lets herself drown in his presence. She doesn't have a single doubt in her mind that he experiences the same things - he must be sweating; the warmth she gives off can sometimes be too much for someone of his nature.
They sleep together that night, her body leaning against his chest while he drifts off sitting up. His cheek rests against the top of her head, his lips parted slightly as he breathes softly, and her heat, as unsettling as it can sometimes feel, helps him to sleep better.
He wakes up at the first sign of dawn as the golden rays of sun pierce through the darkening clouds that cover the expanse of the sky, and after a yawn, he bends to kiss her softly on the forehead. The redhead stirs, and her crimson eyes flutter open, and the moment she realizes that he's looking down at her, she feels the sleep leaving her mind and body. She sits up quickly, moving away from him to sit at a respectful distance.
"Seven," she mumbles quietly. Each morning, she would say the number days that he'd been with her.
The white-haired boy watches her thoughtfully and nods. "Yes."
She turns to look at him and catches his reassuring smile. She tugs on the sleeve of her kimono, her red fingernails picking absent-mindedly at the seams. The times she spends with him are always so precious, and she desperately wishes that it could last longer - they both do - but she knows it can't happen. They both have duties, have jobs that they must carry out to keep the world functioning, to keep it spinning. With a soft sigh, she drops her gaze to her lap.
"You are ready for the things you must do to the people of this village?" she asks him, although she knows the answer already. She can tell it by the look in his eyes, and it rolls off him in waves that catch the breeze and travel directly to her.
"I am." He curls his right hand into a fist. They may have treated him nicely at first, but they would surely be cursing him by the time he leaves them. Every person has duties, he's often told himself, and that means some will end up getting hurt. He won't feel their hate, either, just like she couldn't. They've grown used to such negative feelings. They have to. It's part of their life.
"It is not easy," she admits with a sigh, turning back to stare off at the sky. When she shivers at the cold air, he drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him before he murmurs his agreement to her statement.
That's the last word spoken until the evening, when she stands up and leaps off the rock, her toes barely squishing in the mud. (It's gotten harder since his visit; the chill he brings with him has already begun to freeze the ground.) He joins her, his tight robes barely fluttering in the icy wind that swirls around them.
She knows exactly how this will end; without a single word passing through her lips or emotion glimmering in her eyes, she takes a step forward to stand directly in front of him. Her hands are clasped together in front of herself.
He reaches forward to place a cold hand against her cheek, and she doesn't flinch away. She can only stare up at him in silence; he captures a lock of her hair and tucks it behind her ear, letting his fingers ghost across her skin as he leans forward. His lips touch hers, but only barely, and he pulls back to meet her half-lidded gaze once again.
"We'll be together soon," he promises, just as he did the last time, and the time before, and the time before that - each time, he's kept to it. So she doesn't doubt him, and she nods before rising onto her tiptoes and kissing him again, a little harder than the first.
As he pulls his hand back, hers rise up to cup his face and pull him down so she can peck him on the nose.
"I know," she murmurs.
When she lets him go, she turns away and extends her arm in his direction. The breeze picks up as she moves away from him, her hair fluttering like a flag while her silky robes dance around her legs. He offers her a small smile, and once he blinks, she's gone in a flurry of colored leaves and watery-pink petals.
He takes a spot there on the freezing ground, and as he crosses his legs, the first snow of the season begins to fall.
For those who didn't understand, Miki brings fall, and Piko brings winter!
Currently listening to: "Secret" by Oliver.
Time: 5:18 p.m.
Reviews are appreciated!
(:Mizune