A/N

So this is a story by WhenAnxietyKicksIn and Kajskk. We have the story fairly planned out, be aware though. It will be a bit different from what you might be used to. Things won't be rushed and updates will come whenever we have to to work on it, seeing as we both can be fairly busy.

There will be Shiznat EVENTUALLY in this story, but that's not what we focus on first. Please remember this as you read the story.

With that said, we would appreciate reviews and comments, we appreciate them even more if there's more than a single statement. Please feel free to provide some constructive criticism and don't be shy.

Now, let the reading begin!

Disclaimer: We don't own Mai Hime as far as we're aware

17th of May

It had been just been over a month since my maternal grandmother had sent me a letter, requesting for me to come to her hometown of Fuuka. She had written that she was dying and wished to see me to talk about the past and sort out her will. I had been torn about going there. Fuuka had been where I was born, yet I had moved from there with my father as a small child. I had wished to ask for his advice on this matter. He never got along with my grandmother and would never really speak of her to me when I grew up. But ever since he passed away when I was 15, I had been pretty much on my own. Sure the government looked after me and the will my dad left for me had my future with the current boarding school secured. But without his advice on how I should react to this letter from a grandmother I barely knew let alone struggled to remember I ended up acting on instinct. I packed some of my essentials, such as my laptop, a few notebooks and a bag of clothes into my car and started the almost three day long drive to get there. The village was so remote that even with atrain it would take the better part of two days to get there.

As I had driven away from Zipang, the city I grew up in, I noted how different the landscaped turned. Skyscrapers turned into small houses in suburbs and suburbs eventually turned into fields and after a good five hours of driving, that turned to a forest that became denser as I kept driving. I had to stop several times to check with my TomTom to make sure I was on the right way and despite that I ended up having to turn back a few times. It wasn't until the evening on my third day that I finally reached the edge of the village with an old wooden sign saying "Welcome to Fuuka" that I knew that I've come the right way. But even as I finally was in the right area the buildings seem to be scarce and it took yet another half an hour of driving before I arrived to what seemed to be the main street of the village. It was a small open space between a few buildings. No cars where in sigh and it felt like I had stepped into an 18th century film. When I finally parked my car and turned off the engine, I took a moment to take it all in. All of it felt foreign yet a small familiarity at the sight grew in my chest.

Without wasting any more time I opened my car door. The thing creaked as I swung it open, used to the sound I ignored it and quickly shut the door before locking it.

The streets appeared to be empty but a small sign above a door said "The Rabid Dog Inn" on it and I figured that was the best place to find someone to point me in the right direction for my grandmother's house, as she had not informed how to get there. Nor had she provided any contact number to reach her on. With a few quick strides I reached the door and just as I was about to push it open I hesitated again. What if it wasn't open? What if they didn't know my grandmother? What if she already passed away? I quickly shrugged these questions of my shoulders as I entered the establishment. Inside the smell of old wood and beer hit my nose. One smell was far more familiar to me than the other. The place seemed fairly empty but sure enough there was a few people sitting at the tables and around the bar.

Ignoring the looks I received as I had entered I went straight up the bar waiting for the bartender, a young man in is early 20s if I could guess. He put down whatever he had in his hands and smiled at me.

"What can I do for ya, luv?"

Luv? God, is this how all locals talk? If so the feeling of stepping back in time had just increased. I hadn't heard such talk since the old films dad and me used to watch. Ignoring the accent and the comment I decided to get it quickly over and done with.

"I'm looking for Alyssa Searrs? You know where she lives? I've gotten lost and can't find the way."

The man looked at me, as if to see if my intentions were genuine before smiling again and nodding. But before I could ask him if he could point me out in the right direction he ducked under the bar counter and appeared to get something. When he got up he had an old map with him that he spread out in front of him.

"Ol' granny Ally lives out here." He pointed on the map but his eyes remained on me. I met them for another moment before looking down. His other finger then pointed out where we currently were in relation to where I needed to go.

"Right… are there any decent roads along the way?" I asked, sceptical about this map that seemed just as old as everything else in this village thus far.

"There're roads all right, but you might wanna drive carefully, could be bumpy," and with that he went back to work ignoring my questioning stare. Yes okay, so there were roads but how do I get to them? As far as I can see there's only a walking path between here and my grandmother's house. Deciding against trying to ask for more help I quickly took a pen out of my pocket and doodled down the route on my hand before heading out, without saying thank you or good-bye. I was too tired at the moment to care about hospitality.

Once back in my own car I quickly took out my own, far more modern map to try to locate where I needed to go. It took me awhile but eventually I found it. As I had suspected earlier my grandmother's house was in the middle of nowhere and there was a small line to indicate that some type of path went there. Keeping a frustrated sigh to myself I went ahead and started the ignition on my car. It took a few times before it roared to life. I gotta love my old Volvo. It wouldn't win any beauty contests but it had been faithful to me and was my very first car—one that I had bought with my dad just before he passed away.

Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I put on the full light again to be able to see in the darkness. Checking the time quickly on the dashboard, it showed me it was just after nine in the evening. Good, not too late to knock on someone's door.

When the guy told me the road would be bumpy I thought it might be slightly uneven. But this road appeared to be made out of soil and boulders made for tractors or something. I was afraid as I drove along that I would injure my already sore back. Not only had it taken me ages to find the road but once I did it had started to rain, which made it all the harder to drive. It took me a good 30 minutes before I finally could spot a house in the distance. It wasn't big but it was just big enough to see through the rain.

Alas after a few more bumps here and there, expecting a couple of bruises and scratches tomorrow morning, I arrived at my destination. Or at least, I should be according to the young man's direction. I looked outside, trying to make out the house a few yards uphill in front. Maybe I've got it wrong? Or maybe I was tricked? Do I really believe that my grandmother whose face I could barely remember can live in such a modest home? Maybe. Yes. Possibly. Why not? But I was also aware that my grandmother was at least 80 years old and there was no way a woman of that age can stroll casually from that height. Then again I must be overanalysing these things and there must be another way—a less bumpy and friendlier path I was not let on.

Wonderful.

The obvious trickery dawned to me. This is how they must have welcomed naive new comers in these parts. Just great. Was the Southern hospitality that I was always hearing about just a myth? Where are the welcoming band, parties and such? I shrugged my shoulders in dismay. I really am a writer at heart if I think of such fantasies. For all I know this could be a Witchville.

"Witchville."

I laughed despite my current situation. Here I am in the middle of nowhere (okay, maybe not exactly nowhere but more of at a foot of the hill where my grandmother's house is supposedly located), knackered through my bones and boggled through my wits' ends and I'm laughing like a loon. This is exactly why I don't go on a fancy trip to somewhere exotic; this is exactly why I hate going to the country side; this is exactly why I don't go anywhere that is not a city. Everything is wrong. The fresh air, the accommodating local folks (whose kindness I'm now wary about), the greens of Mother Nature and the horrendous uncivilized terrains… everything here is just wrong. Why can't people see that something is wrong here? How could anyone willingly choose to live here? Now, I'm very grateful to my deceased father that he made a smart move to live in Zipang. I was estranged to my father but if he was still alive I reckon I'd give him a nice pen or a jacket as a sign of gratitude.

After mulling over my past and present after a few minutes or so, I decided to get over it and see if the future was as bleak as I envisioned it would be. I opened my car with a forceful shove. See, the thing is this Volvo needs a good amount of force and precision to even open. I've lost count to the days I've found myself coming out of the window because all the doors won't open as I will them to be. In my defence, it can be cooperative when it wants to, like a while ago when the sun was still visible, the sky was clear and the weather was good. Yes, it was a moody cow but what can I do? I can't afford another car that would function normally as I did not grew up with money loosely hanging out of my pocket nor won't be having in the near future because of my chosen profession, and (from the looks of it) my only living kin. Plus, I wouldn't dare exchange it for something new and sparkly. It was the only constant that I've had since the death of my father, save for this little star pendant I apparently inherited from my mother.

Before I start another set of ruminations about the people in my life, I rummaged at the back for my poncho. Yes, there are still people who own them…cough…me. Once I've secured that my few essentials were safely tucked inside the poncho, I stepped out of the car and right into a pile of muddy soil. My sneakers soaked within seconds. Great. That's another thing to add to the list. Buy shoes that can stand this environment. I should have probably been nicer to the people at the inn, was what I thought first followed by a series of curses I'd rather keep inside my head. I looked at my muddy legs, to my literally soiled feet, then next to my old car that appeared clean because of the rain and then to the little bungalow house up the hill. I may not be good at math but I'm fairly sure what the logical step to do here is go to the house and hope that it's my grandmother's house.

Twisting the knots of my poncho even tighter, I ran up the hill, although technically it was not running, but more of like dragging my feet off the ground. Mind you, I was not exactly pretty to look at. The mud, as it should be, was fairly heavy making me tumble a couple of times and more. Luckily there was a little stoned pathway up ahead for I was not really keen to completely embody myself with Mother Nature. Even with the help of my slowly dying torch, I was still on guard. I focussed and secured each and every step that I took for I could never tell if the pavement I'm going to walk into was stable. Never mind its stability, I could easily slip and crack my neck.

Finally after what it feels like a year and a half, I was in front of the house. Suddenly I hear a loud growl from afar. Thankfully it was not my stomach but when I saw the origin of the growl, I find myself wishing it was my stomach. There, on a simple porch was a dog that can be mistaken for a breed between a lion and Satan. It was robust, black, and clearly not happy to see me. I searched myself stupidly for any dog treats to present as peace offering. Coming up empty, it growled some more. Apprehensive and scared were not the words I could describe what I'm feeling right now. I was terrified. I found little comfort in the small white picket fence that was separating us knowing full well that the animal could easily jumped over it if it wanted to. It made me chuckle when I remember the little inn I'd gone into to ask for direction, they must have this mutt in mind when they named the establishment. And once again, I admonished myself for making light of the situation.

"Good boy…" I began but that made the devil angrier and now it stood, ears perked up, full teeth showing.

"Grandma?"

Another growl.

"GRANDMA ALYSSA!" I ignored the barking that soon followed. I've had enough of this little trip. This was supposed to be a chance for me to reunite with my last relative, to somehow fill in the dots of my questionable childhood and hopefully shatter my writer's block.

I shouted in my frustration, "Grandma! This is Natsuki, your granddaughter! Let me in!"

My voice was drowned by the dog's bark and the heavy pellets of rain but I continued my tired tirade, "I came all the way from Zipang City because of a letter you sent me. You said it was urgent!"

The house remained silent and looked empty. The only sign of life, apart from the devil-dog, was the two porch overhead lights. By this time, I had the distinct gruesome sensation in my stomach that this was a ruse of the villagers. But the letter came with an old photo of the house I'm shouting at. Perhaps I was at the correct address but my grandmother was not living here anymore?

I did not have patience or the strength to stand outside in this blasted weather. I took my chances and jumped over the fence as gracefully as I could in my current state, landing with a squeak on the wet but soft lawn. Relieved that I was not pounded by the guard from hell, I continued my not so stealthy walk towards the back. My eyes still trained on the dog, thanking the gods that it wore a collar and chain on a bolted post. Although I knew I was safe I still felt extremely nervous and scared in front of the guard dog. While he no longer felt the need to bark at me, he was now sitting comfortably next to a wooden chair. No matter how innocent it may seem, his eyes filled with abhor told me otherwise.

"The feeling is mutual, buddy," I muttered as I dashed my way out of its view.

I didn't dare to act adventurous and so I paved my way to the nearest door I could find. I was surprised to learn that the back door was open but I didn't linger to mull over it. Once inside the house, I released a much needed sigh. Took off my drenched poncho and soiled sneakers, then dragged my body to the nearest sofa and fell asleep, hoping that tomorrow is better than today.