"He had said that they would meet again. And they did. But she never realized it."
The girl would sit waiting. He had told to her to go, and never look back. Her woven hair bow had twinkled in the sun as she had walked away, and his eyes remained stony as he sealed the entrance that her kind had come through. He couldn't risk her again. He had tried to keep her safe. He had tried to be her hero. And it had seemed he had been; though not for the right reasons.
She thought a person who saves someone from water was a hero. Someone who fights off a witch is a hero. But she was wrong. He saved her from the water because he had too. The will of his spirit had sensed it, empowered him to do it. He wouldn't have even realized. The witch wasn't after her. She was after him. Chihiro had been her bait. The thing she knew he would come for.
She had stolen his name, his identity, and his memories. She knew, though he didn't. And that was what made it hurt most.
She had escaped, and with that all the spirits roamed through her world, but she couldn't tell, though he knew she wanted to. Every day, she would return to the place of the wall, and the arch, and the tunnel. She would travel through slowly at first, still a child afraid of the chilling sounds and breezes that blew by mysteriously, whipping her hair and making her eyes water.
She would exit the tunnel, singing to herself as she would hop across the rocks as she once had. She would go into the town that still lies there, though there were no smells to decipher from the sweet air. She would wander aimlessly at first, trying to find the bridge again, but now she knew. She would stand over the edge, staring down into the fields that no longer contained rushing trains. Standing in front of the building that no longer had smoke escaping from it. No longer a bathhouse, and the spirits were now free, so there was no one to hear her cries and mumbling of Rin, Yubaba, but most commonly, Haku.
She would feel the wind brush her bare shoulders and shoot her gaze in that direction, mumbling his name, her eyes widening, as she thought that perhaps he would be flying by. She would cry for him. She would cry for them. And it hurt him most that she thought she was alone. That she was wrong.
But she wasn't the one that was wrong.
She would stand on the bridge, her feet stepping onto the wood, an emotionless face staring into the distance. And he would stand beside her. He would silently, motionlessly, and undetectably wipe the tears from her eyes. She would simply think she had stopped crying.
Every day she had the hair bow. Its color had faded over the two years it had been, but it still twinkled and shone bright as ever. I had now gotten into the habit of following her. He went with her everywhere. He couldn't stand the pain he had given her. The sorrow that filled her delicate features. He wished more than anything he had never sealed the passage. But wishes don't happen. Only magic. And those are two different things.
The day the hair bow broke, he lost it. She had pulled up her now long, reaching her back hair, and tried looping it through once again, tightening it. And then, the worn fabric snapped. The shimmer faded, the color drowned, and the magic was lost. She couldn't handle it. The one piece of proof that her memories were real; shattered at her own fingertips. And it seems, it broke her as well. The fabric fell gently from her fragile fingers and hit the ground as the tears overflowed her eyes and slipped out over her lashes.
And then, it seemed that magic didn't matter anymore. And neither did wishes, let alone spiritual bonds. So with that, he hugged her, and something happened. She stopped crying, and she froze. She looked up, and stared at him, his black hair still cut short, hanging around his face, a small smile there as it always was. And with that, she wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him back.
She wasn't crazy. He was real. He was there. Or maybe she was crazy. Maybe he wasn't there. But she didn't care.
At least now it was believable.
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-Vix.