Hold on
One more time with feeling
Try it again, breathing's just a rhythm
Say it in your mind until you know that the words are right
This is why we fight

One More Time With Feeling - Regina Spektor

Chapter 1: Set the Stage

It's over ninety degrees in the middle of winter, and Emiko Oyama can do nothing about it but glare at her cellphone. A minute goes by. Then another. She stabs the refresh button on her screen, and the temperature rises.

Perfect, she thinks, absolutely perfect.

With a huff, she tosses her phone aside and redirects her glare to the open window.

There isn't a single cloud in the too blue sky, and the sun seems to be shining especially bright. The trees in her view ruffle their leaves in a synchronized dance, and if she focuses, she can just make out the sound of birds as they call to each other and flit from branch to branch. It's a beautiful day.

She slams the window down, yanks her curtains closed and flops back down on her bed before scowling at the smooth ceiling above her.

It should be raining.

If her life was a movie, it would be. The clouds would block out the sun and color the world gray. Her family and friends would gather at the cemetery and hold matching black umbrellas as a priest or minister or whatever waxed poetic about the "dearly departed." Amazing Grace would swell in the background, and the caskets would be lovingly lowered into the ground. She would cry pretty little tears into a pretty white handkerchief, and when it was over, everyone would leave feeling cleansed and ready to move on.

What a load of bullshit.

Someone knocks on her door, drawing a moan from Emiko as she buries her face in her pillow.

"Go awaaaaay." She calls, but whoever it is simply knocks louder in response.

With a sigh, Emiko swings her legs off her bed. She opens the door prepared to fight whoever dares disturb her brooding, but finds herself rendered speechless.

Her older sister, Miyuki, stands before her, arms crossed and head tilted to the side. She wears a black dress that clings to her body like a second skin. Its short hem and fitted sleeves make her limbs look longer, and thanks to her black stiletto boots she towers over Emiko. Her eyes are heavily lined with black, making the blue of her irises pop, and her hair falls in platinum blonde waves to her shoulders.

"You dyed your hair?!" Is the first thing Emiko blurts, and Miyuki's right brow lifts, practically screaming obviously. "I mean, when?"

"Last night," Miyuki says, giving her sister a once over. "Grandmother wants everyone ready and in the parlor in twenty minutes."

"And she's okay with you going to the funeral dressed like… that?"

Miyuki smirks a bit.

"She hasn't seen me yet. By the time she does, it will be too late to change. Turn around."

Emiko naturally obeys, holding still as Miyuki starts unpinning her bun with an overdramatic sigh.

"You were moping on your bed, weren't you? You should show more respect for Rochelle's hard work."

Emiko scoffs.

"Forgive me for not caring much about my appearance toda- OW!" Emiko cries out as Miyuki pulls too hard on her hair.

"You should care immensely." Miyuki's fingers swiftly twist Emiko's waist long black hair into a braid. "We need to put on a good show today. We're being watched."

"That's bullshit. This whole thing is bullsh- OW! Can you stop?!"

"Language." Miyuki gives Emiko's hair one final, gentle tug before releasing her. "Come on. I want to make sure Yukio hasn't talked Hibiki into doing something stupid."

Miyuki's face is smooth and tranquil as she starts walking away. Blank, really. Not for the first time, Emiko wonders where her sister learned such a skill. Their mother was known for wearing her heart on her sleeve and encouraged her children to do the same. Emiko doubts her own poker face would hold up to any scrutiny.

But other than that...

"You look so much like Mom right now, it's downright creepy," Emiko says.

Miyuki's eyes flash with something triumphant and bitter.

"Good. Let's hope Father thinks so as well."

"Hold still or I'll poke your eye out." Yukio commands, wielding his eyeliner pencil like a knife.

Hibiki stops squirming, but his fingers flutter against the hem of his too-long sleeves.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Won't Grandmother get mad?"

"That's kind of the point dude. Close your eyes." Yukio uses his finger to smudge the edges of Hibiki's eyeliner and then leans back to examine his handiwork.

"I wish you weren't so blond. It really ruins the effect." Yukio sighs, running his hand through his own shaggy black, red-streaked hair. "Hold on. I probably have some leftover dye in my room."

Yukio goes to open the door, but he doesn't leave. Hibiki watches as his older brother's back tenses before Yukio seems to catch his reaction, leaning a hip against the door frame and crossing his arms instead.

"You have got to be kidding me!" He barks out a laugh, the sound of it so bitter Hibiki can almost taste it. "Now don't you look absolutely stunning as a blonde! Mommy dearest would be so proud!"

Hibiki is about to ask who Yukio is talking to when the ghost of their mother glides into his room.

His hand flies to his throat, gasping for air as his vision starts to swim and his heart tries to beat its way out of his chest. The apparition kneels before him, gripping his shoulders and Hibiki is certain she must have come to take him with her because he feels like he's dying and all he can do is close his eyes tight as tears start stinging his eyes and he's probably ruining his eyeliner and Yukio's going to be upset but he can't-

"Hibiki. It's okay." Miyuki's voice breaks through his spiraling thoughts, her hands squeezing his shoulders. "Open your eyes."

Hibiki obeys, his eyes immediately locking onto his sister's steady gaze.

"Good boy," she says. Her hand rises to cup his cheek. "Now breath with me. In-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four."

Hibiki struggles to match his sister's counting but eventually manages it. They breathe together until his heartbeat returns to normal. Miyuki smiles, running her thumbs over his cheeks.

"Good job. You handled that very well, Hibiki. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes. Thank you," he leans forward, wrapping his arms around his oldest sister. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Miyuki rubs his back before pulling back. "Now why don't you change into something more appropriate, and then we'll wipe this makeup off. Okay?"

"Not okay." Yukio sidles up to them. "Hibiki and I are protesting. He's not changing."

Miyuki sighs as if she's about to deal with a difficult child, standing so that she's level with her brother. Even in heels, she doesn't reach Yukio's height and has to tilt her head up slightly.

"And what exactly are you protesting?" She asks, her voice as sharp and cold as an icicle.

"The exploitation of our grief," Yukio responds in a tone just as frigid. "I don't care what that old bat thinks, the funeral shouldn't be broadcasted live for the entire world to see!"

"It'll hardly be the entire world." Miyuki scoffs.

"Miyuki. Don't argue technicalities with me." Yukio growls. "You know that's not the point."

"He's right," Emiko speaks up for the first time since she arrived. "All of this is hard enough to deal with on its own. I don't want to have to constantly worry about what other people are thinking."

Miyuki frowns, plucking imaginary lint off the front of her dress. "I do get it. I hate this just as much as the rest of you, but a blatant rebellion is just going to hurt us. We need to pick out battles. We need to be smart about all of this."

She looks back and forth between them, her gaze settling on Hibiki before she lets out another sigh and rubs her temples.

"Alright. Alright! If you want to join the protest, stay here Emiko. Hibiki, you need to change. He looks like he's drowning in your shirt, Yukio."

"I guess there's no reason why he can't wear something of his own." Yukio allows.

Miyuki nods. "I'll try to buy you all some more time, but I can only promise thirty minutes max. No hair dye, and no drastic makeup. Try to keep it subtle."

Hibiki thinks that's the end of it, and he lets out a breath of relief. He should've known better, though. Yukio would never let Miyuki get the last word.

"So what time is Byren coming?" Yukio asks, and his tone sounds like an accusation.

To Miyuki's credit, she doesn't even flinch, and the smile she flashes is almost genuine.

"He's not. He has a very important concert tonight. I couldn't possibly ask him to miss it."

Yukio laughs. "That's the story you're going with? You have a massive audience at your disposal, and you're just going to let him get away with it?"

"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about Yukio."

"You really are just like her, aren't you?"

Miyuki doesn't answer him.

Hello. Thanks for reading.

I honestly shouldn't be starting a new story, but this one has been haunting me lately. We'll see how it goes.