The birth of Misaki starts with a child.
A child with eyes of glaciers and a smile of ice. A child with the breath of frost and a voice encased in wintriness. A child grown bitter in the merciless clutches of a lonesome storm, searching for whatever it was that made her feel so empty.
The awakening of Misaki starts with the child's death.
"Who are you?"
Such a simply complicated question to ask. A riddle difficult to solve. A mystery almost impossible to reveal. Who was I?
"I used to know," I can only say.
The girl nods, her orbs of blue digging into my dying stare. She can see herself inside. She can almost drown into my gaze. It is the closest to a mirror she has. It is the nearest to a reflection I see. I wonder if I cry, if I could cry, there would be a ripple effect. A dancing tremor to disturb what I hope to be a dream or maybe just a bad memory.
I did not wish to be like this girl of white. I did not wish to be trapped in an endless winter, frozen by the hopelessness of ever finding the sun.
"I'm cold," she says shivering.
Sighing, I slide out of my pack, dropping it to the warm ground. My hands dig wearily inside the contents, riffling through the trapped heat, clutching at a soft bundle of cloth. My jacket. In a swift, smooth fashion, I wrap the clothing around her bare shoulders, zipping her up snuggly inside. She exhales weakly, rests her head upon my chest. Immediately where her forehead touches, I go hot.
Funny how the girl of white searches for something that is so close yet impossible to claim.
"Fujiin," I breathe against her hair, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I think that was my name."
"Fu…jiin," the girl echoes, going limp. "Wind…Goddess…"
She went silent and still. Motionless.
Wordlessly, I lower to the ground, flipping her to her back. For a while I allow her to stay like this, in my arms, staring up with those intensely blue eyes, so empty and deprived of life. Reflected in them is me.
Who are you?
I had told her Fujiin. She had gone straight for the meaning behind the name. But no one knew. No one knew my name never had a second title. My name was never intended to offer up a holy demeanor. My name was never meant to have people ponder my place in this world. I am not special. Therefore I deserve no meaning. I am simply just. I am me.
"I'm cold, too," I whisper to her. She makes no reply and so I gently lay her upon the earth. I tug away my precious cloak; a piece of the past. I cover her body, snapping the buttons in place behind her neck to keep it in place. Then without really thinking about it, I drift forward and plant my lips sweetly upon her cooling cheek.
The day continues. I go up to my feet and begin walking away.
I leave the jacket and cloak behind.