Disclaimer: You know it, I don't own it. FY is Watase-sensei's alone.

Warning: This chapter is generally safe. No violence, gore or 'mature situations'. I'm writing this to Vietnamese music; it's so beautiful it's making me sad. It reminds me of Chichiri *sob*. From Chichiri's POV.

Here, in this place I have found hidden from men, there is undying peace. The air is richly adorned with the magic of the spirits, swirling through the misty green leaves of the highlands; I feel it permeate my body, entrancing me in this eternity of tranquility. What utter happiness I have here, amongst the creatures of the air, unseen by common men.

My life has been one devoted to nature. After many years in a monastery as a botanist, I grew tired of the rituals and the condemnation of man, the pathetic explanations of decrepit humans attempting to rationalize, in their own twisted minds, why there can be no peace on this earth without their wearisome rules and punishments. I listened intently, all those years, a mere boy trying to allow myself to understand their way of thinking. It was then that I began to see them.

Dancing, patterns of a prism, exquisite beauty glimmering on the edges of reality, whispers softly through the night air. They dazzled my eyes, I tried to grasp at them, to comprehend them; wings, iridescent streams of lightning tearing apart the darkness, flames glittering on the surface of a shattering lake, reflected in my mahogany eye. I recall breathing in deeply the cool breeze scented of lilies, these otherworldly creatures meant themselves to be seen…even if it was only by my one deteriorating eye. I wept at the sheer radiance of such splendor, hands wiping away liquid admiration.

I had spread my arms wide, moving around and around, praying in silence that they take me to their unknown realm, away from this ugly reality, dancing in their dance, moving my hands to their silent music.

By morning, it had all dissipated like morning dew on the blades of grass; but the memory could not be brought to rest in my young mind. They spoke of tranquility; but I now held the meaning of the word, in a passing memory.

Speaking of my experience to the older, wizened monks, my hands reenacting the movements of their emotion based wings, fluttering through a non-existent time, a sea of space infinite. Grim faces, hands clasped in a distortion of anger and fear, they punished me. Punished me for finding something beautiful, and trying to be a part of it.

Dragged me out into a field of seemingly endless wildflowers, tied my hands together with a splintering rope before they beat me with their fists, chanting obscenities to remove the spirits possessing me from within. As the sobs wrenched from my bleeding throat, I heard them sigh in pain, cry out in my agony, share my burden. They were with me then, beside me, alleviating my pain as they revealed themselves before me again, transparent bodies with large, penetrating eyes, orbs that shone through me.

I suffered this turmoil several times throughout my period served as a monk; but it was worth it, worth every bit of anguish I had to endure, to glimpse these magnificent creatures of light and air. I felt nothing but absolute serenity, even as he blood ran freely down my body, even as they burned me with hot ashes.

I have something…they have not.

Although I do not understand why such precious beings would permit a foul human to catch sight of them. I do not know why they allow me such wonderment.

Eventually, I left the monastery, so I could watch these unearthly ones in solitude. Not able to bear the constant reproving and condemnation from my fellow monks, I began dabbling in the ways forbidden to holy men; the way of magic. I wanted to become a mystic, not so much as for the power, but so I might possibly be able to…communicate with these things who danced in the still moonlight. My thirst for knowledge of them could not be satiated; I read the hundred, no, thousands of explanations , the myths, legends. Yet there was no satisfaction; none of them saw these visions as reality. None of them believed it to be true.

Having retreated into a wood deep within the highlands, I have succeeded in discovering immensely potent magic abilities, what I had thought at one point was impossible. It was because of these beings.

They favored me.

In the spring, on bright, sunlit mornings they would rest about my garden, tiny manikins with delicate, paper-like wings folded, tiny bodies curled up in the center of the flowers I grow; In the winter, they leap in and out of the orange flames on my hearth, invade my inner chamber, spinning around my head teasingly as I would attempt to question them. Laughing, they fly to and fro, stirring up a faint wind to rock gently the wind chimes hanging from my window.

The harmonic tinkling sound causes them to shine, glow with happiness. They are always around me, beside me, near me or in my dreams. And although I do not understand them, they know me, have memorized my every mannerism in both speech and movement. They imitate my singing, small, thin, flute sounds, tiny voices making sound but no words.

I know there is more of them, not in this form but in many others, as well. Once, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman, taller perhaps, than myself, clothed in what appeared to be silk spun from a spider, her hair a blinding white, her lips colorless. Eyes holding a cold fire, much like that of a star, she disappeared into the deep wood. It seemed that she had been watching me for a long time; when I finally took notice of her, she dematerialized.

I can only wonder if she still watches me. If she is like the others.

I have read that not all of these creatures are beneficent or harmless. Some of them are dangerous.

It's late. Night brings a distant haze lining the mountain paths, pearls floating in the clouds of mist. I make my way toward my abode, carrying my staff and a pail of water from the stream; tiny beings are lighting my path, fluttering gossamer wings against my face in adoration. I believe they think they have stolen me from mankind, and made me one of their own. This morning the had left a pair of butterfly wings on my bed, as if inviting me to take flight with them into a realm unknown. It is their type of gift, for their adopted child of an imperfect race.

The light has grown dim as the candle in near it's demise; I quickly light another one, slipping off my robes in the cool quiet, laying down upon the soft comfort of my bed. The creatures have been drawn towards the small flame, dancing around it briefly before they take their leave, the darkness enveloping the entire room.

I think back upon the monastery; my mind fluctuates between sweet sleep and anxiety, my sole eye fighting to keep awake. Right outside my window, pine trees bend in the wind, brushing against the chimes like slender black fingers.

I see two ruby-colored eyes, penetrating the shadows, glittering as jewels would in the hollow light. Startled, I sit up, drawing aside the curtains enough to get a better look.

I see…darkness. Nothing more.

I have seen them before, those jewels outside my window. Perhaps it is an illusion. Perhaps…

*^-^* Oi, I'm back!! No, our beloved monk thing is not nutters in this story. Just keep reading, it will unfold. Review for me too, if it suits your fancy.