Deep Submerge
Midnight curled through my open window cooling my flushed skin. I should have been accustomed to waking up at this hour, the same dream occurred every night. A ripple of red shaking the oceans into obliterating all that I knew, leaving the Earth as a blemish in the universe. It ended with a beckon to find Her, a woman encased with butterfly wings spanning down the length of her figure and extending beyond the ripples of her hair. Her face hidden in shadow as the brilliance of the heavens bathes her nakedness from behind, haloing her above the destruction of Tokyo like a savior appearing before the final curtain falls. But what haunted me every night was the vision of a woman dressed in navy blue reaching out to me as she races towards the light.
My palm felt heavy under the weight of her imaginary hand and my body ached to feel more than air as I awoke each night to following her. Each night I would find myself staring at my bedside table, the stars twinkling off a gold encrusted aqua wand; its shine reminding me of the burden I accepted the night I finally had the courage to take her hand and accept my fate of finding the winged woman of souls.
I heaved myself out of bed and wandered towards my easel beside my window. Instinctively I reached for my paintbrush, dabbing it slightly with Pearl Pink, and set up finishing the curves of the bottom wing. I called this painting "The Messiah," and I couldn't wait to finish it so I could rip the canvas to shreds.
In the morning I locked my apartment door, gathered my school satchel and violin case from the floor, and breezed towards the elevator like an ordinary girl. I strove to adopt the grace I had longed for in every action, bitterly biting back the urge to loosen my demeanor. A month ago I would have chastised myself for such a thought, but a month ago I hadn't been Sailor Neptune.
Once I had been a normal junior high girl with dreams as wide as the ocean and the passion to match that depth. My ambition to be a concert violinist and painter, and need for perfection awarded me the recognition I had wanted since a little girl. My wide circle of friends encouraged me to continue practicing and painting and filled the void created by living alone. I refused admirers citing them as interferences for my goals. In truth I had already set my sights on someone, and I was determined to win their heart like they had won mine.
But that was a month ago. My classmates now greet me with polite bows before meeting their friends in the hallways as I enter the school building. I had distanced myself from them as my nights turned to restless painting. I told myself it was because nobody or thing could be spared if they stood in the way of saving the Earth. I had to harden my heart to this reality, but the real reality was I couldn't bear not being able to save them. Their decaying faces replaced their smiles on sight. Eventually I became Michiru Kaioh the Ocean Princess; enough ambition to fill the seven seas, the grace and divinity of the swirling waves, and the frigidness of the Arctic waters.
I didn't need them, though, only the woman in navy blue. I could endure everything, even the end of the world, if I could have her look at me the way I looked at her. If I could ride beside her in her yellow convertible along the beach where the ocean is at its calmest. I had to have her beside me, to fight with me, even if it was only begrudgingly, and today I was going to make that happen.
After classes ended I met with a childhood friend, Elza Gray, to watch her track meet. She knew me well enough to understand I came to watch for another purpose, to which she said she couldn't help but look at Haruka Tenou, too. Haruka had made a name for herself within the circle of rising Japanese youth, though I could see she cared very little for the attention. She eased into her stretches, giving only enough notice to her admirers to placate them. Echoes of their love chirped through the field while Haruka gave her male classmates a cheeky grin. She ran for her own satisfaction, which was one of the reasons why I couldn't pull away from her. I spent my entire life vying to be noticed, and she did it with such ease- it only took a wink for her charm to take hold.
I envied her. Her effortlessness drove my own ambitious and helped me revert back to being Michiru for the few precious moments I couldn't control myself. I wanted my violin, I wanted my brush. I strummed my fingers against my knees hoping the movement would satisfy them. She brought back the real me in the midst of the coming Silence.
The girls took to the track and I recognized Elza's expression immediately. It was the look of defeat. She hid it wonderfully with a mask of smugness and ego, though I knew better as I observed her eyes darting at Haruka's tall and lean figure, frantic in finding reassurance. I had seen that expression before as I had worn it only a month ago when I was still Michiru looking to prove myself to the world.
The gun blasted and a dozen slender legs pushed off the ground. Even if Elza had been confident in her abilities I don't believe she could have ever overtaken Haruka. The androgynous blonde had Elza at the first stride, melting into the air and allowing the wind to carry her across the finish line.
No, Elza never had a chance, nor did the other girls racing that day. No one could surpass a woman racing away from her very existence, except for maybe a woman wishing to do the same.
After the meet Elza brought me down to the track to meet Haruka. I clutch my large drawing pad to steady my nerves as I descended to the field. Elza graciously introduced me, Haruka responded by straightening her shoulders. I don't recall what exactly I had said at our first meeting, though her vocal and physical rejection haunted me for nights to come. The beat of my heart drove me to see if she knew about the Silence, her flinch the only recognition I had to my remarks as she swiftly shouldered her duffel bag and shrugged me off.
"I'm sorry, Michiru-chan," Elza apologized as Haruka walked off the field, I could already feel the loneliness swell inside of me, "I'm sure she would have modeled a beautiful painting."
I shrugged, "I can always find another."
Elza laughed as she picked up her belongings pretending to accept my dismissal. "But really, 'The sound of the wind?' What were you talking about?"
"Just light conversation," I answered, the painted Messiah flickering through my head.
AN: I've wanted to write the third season from Michiru's POV for a long time despite her being my least favorite character. I suppose doing so would have helped me like her better as she's quite a compelling contradiction. Alas, I don't think I'll ever write beyond these few thousand words, but maybe sometime in the future I'll pick it up again. In the meantime, consider this a companion piece to episode 106: Bonds in Destiny! The far-reaching day of Uranus. Also thanks to DavisJes who initially looked over this for me so many months ago.