She had always dreamed of living in a white beach house, right after her retirement. After a long, successful career as a concert violinist, she'd move to the coast with a loved one. She'd bring her violin out to the beach and play, accompanied not by the usual grand orchestras but by the sounds of the waves surging back and forth. The sea breeze would play with her hair and the fresh smell of the ocean would settle into her very bones.
How ironic that the beach house of her dreams had become her own gilded cage.
But no longer.
Gingerly placing one foot after the other, unsteady after a long period of unuse, Michiru slowly left the confines of her room and went down the stairs, the bannister supporting her weight. As she crossed the threshold of the house for the first time since her arrival, Michiru did not look back. Her belongings were all organised and her will was ready as well.
Immediately, the exceptionally refreshing aroma that so characterised the sea hit her nose and the sea breeze caressed her face. She absorbed the vast expanses of the beach and as she stepped into the sand, it was as if she could feel each individual grain of the ivory sand swarming her feet. The warmth of sunlight, a touch of the breeze...
What was she doing?
She would no longer belong to this world. However, the ticklish touch of the wind, lingering on her face, bothered her. She found everything a nuisance. All of them no longer mattered to her...
But the wind was persistent. It swirled around her, attempting to hold her in its warm embrace and pull her away from her destination. It was a bother. Whenever and wherever she stood, the wind would follow and surround her with an all consuming breeze, as if trying to compel her still form to action.
Today, tomorrow, the day after her death... The wind would continue to roam the world, it would never cease to blow and bother her.
Just why?
The wind had bothered her ever since she was stuck in her room. It found its way through closed windows to annoy her. Nobody, not even her husband had ever visited her bedroom, but the wind never stopped visiting.
No one, not a soul in this world cared about her existence but the wind, the wind alone stayed to annoy her, to care for her.
She felt a surge of emotions gradually soaking her heart and drowning her chest before she opened her eyes, which had traitorously closed so she could revel in the wind even as she decried it, and clamped down on her feelings.
She stared resolutely at the sea whose waves were stagnant in protest to the blowing of the wind, with only small ripples at the surface visible. With slow but determined steps, she walked to the edge of the sand, only allowing herself to close her eyes when she felt the brisk waves lapping at her feet.
A feeling of tranquillity enveloped her for the first time even as the wind began to furiously howl, and she walked into the open arms of the waiting sea.
Haruka clutched the driving wheel, eyes on the road but her mind entirely elsewhere.
"...cannot be considered art..." "...glaringly obvious lack of depth..." "...despite having undeniable technical skills and a discerning eye for the aesthetically pleasing, Tenoh has only breached the very surface of true photography..."
It had been a long time since she'd faced such scathing reviews. She was Tenoh Haruka, Europe's youngest, most celebrated, premiere photographer, whose pictures received only the most lauded praise and fetched exorbitant sums of money. She was only in Japan to take photographs that would expand her portfolio and potentially be used for the upcoming international competition. The exhibit had just been shown as a courtesy before she went off to explore the country but now, the Oshiro Arts Foundation, whose chairman, Oshiro Kunzite, had personally reached out to her to talk about a potential patronship, had sent a formal letter basically saying the patronship wasn't going to happen.
Her agent had assured her that the reviews didn't matter; Japan was a small, unimportant country and it was much more important that she was loved in Europe. The patronship would have been nice but unnecessary due to the numerous wealthy patrons in Europe who were more than willing to shower her with money to support her photography.
Still, the reviews were more than just a bit disgruntling. Underneath the anger, worry bloomed in her chest in response to the rejection. The opinions of the critics were law to photographers whose very livelihood depended on receiving good reviews so that the wealthy would want to spend money on their photographs. Even if the Japanese critics were unimportant, it stung.
Her photos were shallow? Then she'd photograph the deepest thing and show them. She'd receive their praise before returning to Europe as an internationally recognised photographer and preparing for the competition.
Seeing a scenic beachside from her vantage point as she drove on the cliff side, Haruka decided to stop at the beach and take photos there. Small, unimportant towns were one of the best places to take photographs at because they were unknown, meaning there probably weren't photographs of the place yet. She'd be the first photographer (at least the first modern, professional one) and her pictures would be all the more special for it.
She pulled to a stop, noticing the large gate that closed off the beach.
"NO TRESPASSING. PRIVATE PROPERTY."
Taking her camera out from its bag in the passenger seat, Haruka smirked. This was even better. A private beach meant there'd be almost no pictures of this place, and her photos would almost assuredly be unique. Swiftly climbing her way over the fence, she landed with a soft swoomp as her feet sunk into the sand. She quickly started snapping pictures of the scenery, pure excitement filling her at the thought of being the only photographer to step foot into this new territory. She could already hear the imminent praise from the critics.
Suddenly seeing a vivid aquamarine splotch on her viewfinder, disrupting the background, Haruka lowered the camera from her eyes and squinted in concentration in the direction of the disturbance. She just made out the slender figure of a woman with bright aquamarine hair walking on the sand. A sudden thought struck her. If she were to be caught by the owner of the beach, she could get into a lot of legal trouble. Silently backing away and readying herself to run back to her car, Haruka paused. The woman, wearing a long gauzy white skirt that swayed in the breeze, was slowly walking towards the almost unmoving waves of the sea. As the figure walked into the sea, Haruka found herself unconsciously getting closer as well, curiosity welling up inside her. Ignoring her instinct to run and save herself, she tentatively called out, "Hey miss, what are you doing?"
The woman didn't respond as she continued to be slowly swallowed up by the sea. Haruka felt an alarming sense of urgency grip her for some reason, and she called out louder, "Miss, what are you doing?"
The woman was so far into the sea that now her head slowly disappeared into the waves, and after a few moments passed without her resurfacing, Haruka placed her camera down and burst into a sprint.
"Miss!"
She shot into the suddenly roiling waves of the sea, fighting against the tide as she tried to reach the aqua haired woman. Eyes open despite the sharp stinging of the seawater, she saw an almost ethereal figure, her gauzy white clothes floating around her. Looking at the almost tranquil expression on her face, Haruka almost wouldn't have believed the woman was drowning. Reaching her arms out, Haruka tightly grasped the woman to her, fighting to rise to the surface of the sea, which seemed hellbent on containing the two women.
Breaking the surface and taking a hasty gulp of air, Haruka quickly swam back to the sand of the beach, laying the woman down carefully. Placing her head by the unconscious woman's mouth and feeling no breath, Haruka wasted no time and began chest compressions.
"Come on, come on, come on!"
Within a short amount of time, the woman seemed to gasp back to life, sputtering out the water that had been blocking her airway. Haruka dropped back with a sigh of relief, feeling the adrenaline leave her body. Shaking her wet hair, Haruka looked at the woman who had coughed out all of the water.
"Miss, you really need to be careful. If it weren't for me, you could have die-."
Haruka found her voice dying at the expression on the woman's face. For someone who had just been granted another chance at life, she looked utterly desolate, and a tear fell from her startlingly cobalt eyes. Petal pink lips trembled and with a lot of struggle, one hoarse word managed to escape from her mouth.
"Why."
A/N: Hello! Once again, I'm surrounded by an overwhelming amount of things I need to do, so I decided to write fanfiction instead. This is deeply inspired by the story of V's mother in Mystic Messenger, and I've included some quotes from it. If you don't know the story, then please stay tuned for the next chapter, which will (probably) reveal why Michiru's turned this way!