Disclaimer: All characters belong to Revo (Sound Horizon). As this is for Meishu's birthday, Aohigeko's name was chosen on courtesy of her roleplay presentation. Noted, lyric translation by Defade.
[ And your birthday present will be… ]
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She remembers this white room, the same room where she got prepared for the wedding. Something seems different from what is relived in her head. She is on a white chair with little decoration in the same white gown given for this occasion, facing a white door laced by silver detailed texture. Her mind is too blank to lift herself off the chair, so she stays instead, anticipating.
Knock, knock. She holds her breath, trying to keep her calm.
- Please come in.
The door dissolves, and a young man appears, well dressed in black and red. His face looks so familiar. His hand takes in a book, its title too smudged.
- How is it going, Agnethe?
- …Brother, I'm doing well.
Of course that is how it is. Today must be her wedding day, she must be ready to meet her husband. She trusts in the hand offered to her, leaving the room obediently.
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It has been a long walk to the hall. Peaceful silence is between them, filling her with both ease and anxiety. She wants to say something, ask something, although not even once he turns to her.
It dawns to her that their shared memories are never written, but she believes him and this strange familiarity warming her heart.
They soon arrive at the hall's main door. He pushes it open listlessly. People are waiting. Her husband is waiting. He must have been displeased, she thought, nervously biting her lips. Her brother tightens his hold, whispering words of encouragement before letting her go.
Music is hummed in the air, commencing the dance. Her feet tremble, stumble here and there. She cannot find it in herself to look at him in the eyes; a small stop from him will be her excuse to give up and cry. By contraries, he slows his pace, leads her gently into the lost rhythm. He doesn't give up on her.
Cheeks dyed with red, Agnethe gathers courage and looks up to her husband. It is her sight reflected in his dark eyes, it is her small hand held dear in his rough palm, it is her and him in the same waltz. Smile returns to her face, beat flows into her steps.
This time, be happy, [_].
When Agnethe turns around, her brother is no longer there. The dance ends gaily, and she buries her face in her husband's chest.