The Act Of
by Tin Mandigma
____________________________________________________________________________________
Fushigi Yuugi is copyrighted to Yuu Watase and related enterprises. Standard
disclaimers apply.
____________________________________________________________________________________
NOTE: This is my version of a Fushigi Yuugi blanket scenario (read: a cold winter
night, one blanket and two characters 0_o). Spoilers for episode 31 onwards.
Mostly just short (and prolly pointless -_-;;) character introspection.
**rough draft** (for revision - July)
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
-Pablo Neruda
Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
He fell down the stairs.
In my defense, I did try to grab him but my hand must have slipped somewhere because
I ended up shoving him instead, and quite successfully at that.
He was a magnificent sight, lying sprawled on the floor like a sacrificial boar to
Suzaku.
A drunk sacrificial boar.
"You pushed me!" he scowled, hurt pride written all over his flushed features.
I caught myself just in time from bursting out into rude unsympathetic laughter.
"Here," I said as I rushed down the stairs in a more leisurely and dignified
pace--just to irritate him--and held out a hand. "Come on."
Predictably, he swatted it away. "I don't need your help," he countered in
a petulant tone of voice.
He looked so much like a child then that I had to smile. "Stop acting so prissy,"
I teased. "It was your idea."
He glared up at me mutinously for a few more moments before taking my hand
and gripping it tightly. My smile widened. "Fine. Help me up."
I made a show of hauling him to his feet, huffing and puffing all the while,
he standing up with the slow haughtiness of an aging emperor. I waited until
he was halfway up before applying a final and quite unnecessary degree of
pressure on his arm. I grinned as he nearly flew over my head--his agonized
scream told me as much--but I yanked back at the last moment and he slumped
against me instead.
His face was only inches away from mine when he landed. "Feeling better now?"
I asked.
"You... idiot!" he rasped.
"You brat," I intoned.
I thought he was going to hit me. I tensed instantly. "Don't even try it,"
I threatened. He stared at me for a moment and then rested his head on my shoulder,
his free arm sliding around my waist.
I froze. "What--"
"Can we go to bed now?" he whined.
I didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry. "Why you..." I growled.
He blinked innocently. "It was your idea."
We both laughed then, arms around each other for support as we made our
way--more unsteadily this time--up the stairs. He smelled of alcohol, of
course, as I did, but I caught another faint lingering and oddly familiar
scent.
Hers.
I smiled and hiccuped at the same breath.
"You're drunk too, y'know," he accused.
"I can handle it," I jeered.
He frowned as he tried to come up with a denial to that truism. It was obviously
a painful process, one that he finally surrendered to with a child-like "I'm hurt!"
I sighed. "Uh-huh."
He decided to press the point further. "Look," he said indicating his forehead.
"I cut myself."
We paused in the middle step, right underneath a small alcove window. Moonlight
shone directly over our heads, providing startling illumination to the presently
dark and abandoned hallway. I turned my face up to the strange white light for a
moment, imagining its warmth and seeing in my mind the glorious winterscape
to which it more truly belongs. It would be nice to ride out, to really see that
beautiful moon, I thought wistfully. But I had more important things to do,
I reminded myself. Memories I could not afford to miss. People I could not
afford to lose.
Here and now.
"Let me see," I said.
"Here," he groused, pointing to his forehead.
I had to squint to see 'it.' "You're such a wuss. It's just a very *small*
scratch."
"But it hurts!" he protested.
It felt like I was living out a familiar and yet long-forgotten sequence. I
smiled bemusedly as my hands reached out, as if without volition, and held
his head, brought it closer to my mouth.
"What are you--"
"Hold still," I ordered and blew gently on the invisible wound. I felt him
relax beneath my grasp. "Feel better now?"
He sighed. "I remember... remember Yuren... It's just the same... like now,
you know... I've always taken... care... she... cared... my family..."
I remembered, too. "I know," I said softly.
"Now, there's no one," he said painfully. "Except for Miaka, but I have to
be--to be strong--for her..."
To be strong for her.
To be strong for everyone, except for yourself.
"I'll take care of you," I said softly.
His arm tightened around me. "I know you will."
He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. It has always been like that,
between the two of us. Between all of us. I meant what I said to him earlier,
when we first talked, that I was glad that I was a seishi because, otherwise,
I would not have met him--them--and I wouldn't have such good friends. But
I didn't tell him everything. Like about that afternoon right before we left
Konan, when all of us went outside to the palace gardens; to watch the sunset, she
said with a strangely sad smile, and that we did, among other things. Mostly,
though, I remember a great deal of laughter and holding hands and beautiful words.
And how happy I was then, that if I'd tried to hold myself back less, I would
have cried instead. An inconsequential event, perhaps, and trivial as well
but I have never cried since Kourin died. I nearly did when I first saw Hotohori-sama
because he was so beautiful even a plant would have been reduced to tears...
And a while ago, when I told him I loved her. . .
How could you render such moments into words without losing that precious
quality which makes them so achingly real, like dreams come gloriously true?
"You gonna put me to bed?" he demanded in a slurred sort of way.
Maybe he did understand, after all.
"You bet, idiot," I whispered.
A pause.
"Thank you," he whispered back. And then teasingly, "Oniichan."
Something wet trickled down my face. I thought for a moment that he had
inadvertently drooled over me--I was quite ready to give him an upward swing--
but the moisture tasted salty, warm, nostalgic, like a memory.
"You're welcome," I choked out.
Just another one of those moments.
He was snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. I suppose I should not
have flung him down so hard but, really, he was heavy and I was sleepy, too.
I spread a woolen blanket over him carefully. He groaned, murmured something.
I paused to listen. It was instinct, and I should have known better than
to follow it, especially since...
"Miaka," he whispered.
I smiled and brushed the hair away from his forehead. He should put a bandage
on that non-existent cut, I reminded myself to tell him so tomorrow.
And one more thing...
I looked in on her before I went to sleep. Routine, I told myself, and I had
promised her, too, that I would protect her, didn't I? Besides, it was
such a small comfort on my part that to deny myself would be the greater
crime.
Unforgivable.
She was sound asleep. Peacefully, I noted with satisfaction. I sat on the
edge of the bed and gazed at her in my solitary self-imposed watch. The moon
was bright here, still, though the room was cold. She shifted slightly and
the blanket slid down. I reached out to adjust it and paused as I really
looked at her for the first time.
She *was* pretty, I thought critically as I ran my gaze up and down her body.
Surprising, considering how much she ate everyday. I smiled, and was surprised
when my lips started to tremble instead.
I edged closer to her, blanket still gripped in my hands. She lay on her
back, her face turned towards me. I rested my head gingerly on the pillow
beside hers, sliding the thick warm cloth over us unconsciously as I did so.
This close, I could see faint marks on her skin. Dried blood, I thought.
She must have hit the ground hard when that monster attacked her--us--this
afternoon. Damn bastard. I clenched my fingers to keep them from reaching out and
touching that pale smooth face. She might wake up and I didn't want that
just now. I wanted to look at her, and think, and maybe remember more, as
I did, with him in the staircase. I wanted to create another moment, here
where she lay, where *I* lay, within and yet beyond the grasp of other
comforting shadows.
Here and now, where I know who I am.
I rested my forehead against hers. Moisture, again. Surprised, I looked
closer and discerned colorless stains on her skin, stains which dissolved,
then unfolded like liquid-laden curtains. Slowly, carefully, I traced her
tears, first with my eyes, then with my fingertips.
She stirred. I felt a rush of panic, and then all too familiar paralysis.
A moment later and I could discern her eyes, glinting a bright emerald in
the darkness, staring at me.
"Nuriko?" she whispered.
I tried to smile. "Hey, did--did I wake you?" The moon had retreated and
the room was dark, I noted gratefully. I didn't think I could bear it
if she saw me crying. It would be too embarrassing, considering how manly
I'm trying to act these days. "Sorry..." I moved to sit up, entangling
myself more with the blanket in the process. I cursed.
"Wait," she said.
She put out a hand and caressed my cheek gently. Her fingers felt soft and
cool on my skin. I lay quiescent under her touch, helpless.
"You've been crying," she observed, a hint of accusation and something
undefinable in her still drowsy voice.
"You think so?" I questioned in mock-surprise.
"Are you thinking about Hotohori?"
Always. She's always been such a child.
I used to wonder before what Kourin would say if she met her. What Kourin
would feel, how Kourin would act. Would Kourin love her, too? The old
familiar resentment swelled for a moment, but gently this time, like a faded
fading reminder of another time, another place, another person.
Maybe Kourin would have loved her as well. Maybe my sister would have loved
her enough for both of us, when it came to that. But did that matter
now?
I knew then that *I* did love her, and that I loved her, not for Kourin,
but for myself.
That I loved her enough for both of us.
I loved them enough.
It was a heartbreaking--and edifying--realization.
"No," I answered. "Well, yes."
She smiled. "I understand."
"You do?" I said, feeling a rush of indulgence and affection. Unable to
deny the temptation longer, I caught her hand in mine. Such small small
comfort, I thought. My shoulders started to shake.
Something warm enfolded me, softness brushing my skin in a tender caress.
My chest felt inexplicably tight, and I couldn't breathe. Well, I could,
but then my breath would leave me in a series of sobs and tears and...
"Kourin," I whispered. "Kourin..."
"It's all right," she soothed. "It's all right."
'I love you.'
I didn't say it aloud, but I felt her embrace tighten around me and I knew
then...
I knew then that she really did understand.
"You were with her last night."
It was a statement in its truest form. "Are you jealous?" I said as I
tied my bag shut. I didn't look at him.
"No," he answered.
His tone was so certain I had to smile. "Really?"
"I think she needs you, too."
"I told you if you weren't careful, I'd take her away from you," I retorted.
"I know," he said smoothly. "And I'm not worried. Because she's not."
I shot him a bemused glance. He was perched on a stool, watching me intently.
"What do you mean by that?"
He smiled. "Well, it's like... if by taking away means loving you... I don't
really care about that. In fact, I'm glad."
I stared at him. "What--"
"Because if that's so, then I'm guilty, too," he continued. The smile did not
leave his face but his gaze was watchful, serious and yet oddly unsure.
"Of being taken away," I said hoarsely. "Or..."
"Both," he retorted cheerfully.
And because I couldn't think of anything else to say, "Idiot."
"Quite," he agreed and stood up, flinging his cloak around his shoulders.
"Come on. She's probably waiting for us downstairs."
"She's eating," I answered blankly. "Not waiting."
He laughed softly. I gave a violent start when he hugged me all of a sudden.
It was an awkward fumbling movement, but I didn't care. "Thanks again for
last night," he whispered, laughter still in his voice.
I poked him in the ribs. Hard. "You're welcome," I answered huskily.
And he was out of the door in a swirl of red and blue. "Don't be too long! We
still need to find the others." His voice faded as he started down the hallway.
"And, damn, my head is aching... Too much drink... Your fault..."
I shook my head and hefted the bag on my shoulder. I could hear her shouting
downstairs. Maybe he's decided to sell her breakfast, I thought amusedly. I looked
around the room, just in case I forgot something. A flash of red caught my gaze
and I paused. It lay in the middle of my unused bed, where it must have slid out
of my half-unpacked bags last night. Instinctively, my hand went to the nape of
my neck.
My hair.
No.
Kourin's hair.
I held the bundle in my hand reflectively, reverently, wondering... Weak sunlight
streamed into the room, drawing my attention to the unshuttered windows. I drew
closer, and smiled when a sprawling pristine vista of snow met my gaze, clothing
both rooftops and streets, and beyond the town, beyond the wide white bordering
fields lay hazy peaks of snow-clothed towers of land.
Kourin, I thought distantly. Towers of land, indeed.
I'll bury it--her--in the mountains then, I decided, closing my eyes as the
morning breeze hit my face with a refreshing gust. And in the midst of that
strange free space, I saw my sister laughing. I have never seen her laugh.
Not since she died. "I love you, Kourin," I whispered.
And then...?
I turned away, walked out of the room and shut the door behind me.
"Hey, Nuriko! Hurry up!"
"I'm coming!" I shouted back.
And then...
I smiled.
'Goodbye.'
Goodbye.
End Untitled
And afterwards... ;_;
Ahem. Anyway, this is my first--and probably only--Fushigi Yuugi fic ^^;;.
I like Nuriko (hell, that's the understatement of the year, methinks) and
I figured I might as well aim for closure in a fic, while I'm still in
that heartbroken-and-in-denial stage, if you know what I mean ^_~. I'm
sorry if my first-person rendering is a bit uneven and dodgy. I wrote this
while my brother and cousins were playing Resident Evil III in PS, and
blood-curling screams and icky squishy sound effects do not exactly contribute
positively to the writing process, eh? ^^;;;. Will revise.
This is a sort of episode 31 rewrite, right before Nuriko proceeds to the
mountain to retrieve the (in the English dub) Sacred Jewel and confronts
Ashitare.
As for the title... I wanted to make it something like "The Act of
Forgetting and Loving" but, hello? 0_o. I think the act itself is unnameable
anyway, hence "The Act Of" ^^;;. Besides, I like weird titles.
by Tin Mandigma
____________________________________________________________________________________
Fushigi Yuugi is copyrighted to Yuu Watase and related enterprises. Standard
disclaimers apply.
____________________________________________________________________________________
NOTE: This is my version of a Fushigi Yuugi blanket scenario (read: a cold winter
night, one blanket and two characters 0_o). Spoilers for episode 31 onwards.
Mostly just short (and prolly pointless -_-;;) character introspection.
**rough draft** (for revision - July)
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
-Pablo Neruda
Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
He fell down the stairs.
In my defense, I did try to grab him but my hand must have slipped somewhere because
I ended up shoving him instead, and quite successfully at that.
He was a magnificent sight, lying sprawled on the floor like a sacrificial boar to
Suzaku.
A drunk sacrificial boar.
"You pushed me!" he scowled, hurt pride written all over his flushed features.
I caught myself just in time from bursting out into rude unsympathetic laughter.
"Here," I said as I rushed down the stairs in a more leisurely and dignified
pace--just to irritate him--and held out a hand. "Come on."
Predictably, he swatted it away. "I don't need your help," he countered in
a petulant tone of voice.
He looked so much like a child then that I had to smile. "Stop acting so prissy,"
I teased. "It was your idea."
He glared up at me mutinously for a few more moments before taking my hand
and gripping it tightly. My smile widened. "Fine. Help me up."
I made a show of hauling him to his feet, huffing and puffing all the while,
he standing up with the slow haughtiness of an aging emperor. I waited until
he was halfway up before applying a final and quite unnecessary degree of
pressure on his arm. I grinned as he nearly flew over my head--his agonized
scream told me as much--but I yanked back at the last moment and he slumped
against me instead.
His face was only inches away from mine when he landed. "Feeling better now?"
I asked.
"You... idiot!" he rasped.
"You brat," I intoned.
I thought he was going to hit me. I tensed instantly. "Don't even try it,"
I threatened. He stared at me for a moment and then rested his head on my shoulder,
his free arm sliding around my waist.
I froze. "What--"
"Can we go to bed now?" he whined.
I didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry. "Why you..." I growled.
He blinked innocently. "It was your idea."
We both laughed then, arms around each other for support as we made our
way--more unsteadily this time--up the stairs. He smelled of alcohol, of
course, as I did, but I caught another faint lingering and oddly familiar
scent.
Hers.
I smiled and hiccuped at the same breath.
"You're drunk too, y'know," he accused.
"I can handle it," I jeered.
He frowned as he tried to come up with a denial to that truism. It was obviously
a painful process, one that he finally surrendered to with a child-like "I'm hurt!"
I sighed. "Uh-huh."
He decided to press the point further. "Look," he said indicating his forehead.
"I cut myself."
We paused in the middle step, right underneath a small alcove window. Moonlight
shone directly over our heads, providing startling illumination to the presently
dark and abandoned hallway. I turned my face up to the strange white light for a
moment, imagining its warmth and seeing in my mind the glorious winterscape
to which it more truly belongs. It would be nice to ride out, to really see that
beautiful moon, I thought wistfully. But I had more important things to do,
I reminded myself. Memories I could not afford to miss. People I could not
afford to lose.
Here and now.
"Let me see," I said.
"Here," he groused, pointing to his forehead.
I had to squint to see 'it.' "You're such a wuss. It's just a very *small*
scratch."
"But it hurts!" he protested.
It felt like I was living out a familiar and yet long-forgotten sequence. I
smiled bemusedly as my hands reached out, as if without volition, and held
his head, brought it closer to my mouth.
"What are you--"
"Hold still," I ordered and blew gently on the invisible wound. I felt him
relax beneath my grasp. "Feel better now?"
He sighed. "I remember... remember Yuren... It's just the same... like now,
you know... I've always taken... care... she... cared... my family..."
I remembered, too. "I know," I said softly.
"Now, there's no one," he said painfully. "Except for Miaka, but I have to
be--to be strong--for her..."
To be strong for her.
To be strong for everyone, except for yourself.
"I'll take care of you," I said softly.
His arm tightened around me. "I know you will."
He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. It has always been like that,
between the two of us. Between all of us. I meant what I said to him earlier,
when we first talked, that I was glad that I was a seishi because, otherwise,
I would not have met him--them--and I wouldn't have such good friends. But
I didn't tell him everything. Like about that afternoon right before we left
Konan, when all of us went outside to the palace gardens; to watch the sunset, she
said with a strangely sad smile, and that we did, among other things. Mostly,
though, I remember a great deal of laughter and holding hands and beautiful words.
And how happy I was then, that if I'd tried to hold myself back less, I would
have cried instead. An inconsequential event, perhaps, and trivial as well
but I have never cried since Kourin died. I nearly did when I first saw Hotohori-sama
because he was so beautiful even a plant would have been reduced to tears...
And a while ago, when I told him I loved her. . .
How could you render such moments into words without losing that precious
quality which makes them so achingly real, like dreams come gloriously true?
"You gonna put me to bed?" he demanded in a slurred sort of way.
Maybe he did understand, after all.
"You bet, idiot," I whispered.
A pause.
"Thank you," he whispered back. And then teasingly, "Oniichan."
Something wet trickled down my face. I thought for a moment that he had
inadvertently drooled over me--I was quite ready to give him an upward swing--
but the moisture tasted salty, warm, nostalgic, like a memory.
"You're welcome," I choked out.
Just another one of those moments.
He was snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. I suppose I should not
have flung him down so hard but, really, he was heavy and I was sleepy, too.
I spread a woolen blanket over him carefully. He groaned, murmured something.
I paused to listen. It was instinct, and I should have known better than
to follow it, especially since...
"Miaka," he whispered.
I smiled and brushed the hair away from his forehead. He should put a bandage
on that non-existent cut, I reminded myself to tell him so tomorrow.
And one more thing...
I looked in on her before I went to sleep. Routine, I told myself, and I had
promised her, too, that I would protect her, didn't I? Besides, it was
such a small comfort on my part that to deny myself would be the greater
crime.
Unforgivable.
She was sound asleep. Peacefully, I noted with satisfaction. I sat on the
edge of the bed and gazed at her in my solitary self-imposed watch. The moon
was bright here, still, though the room was cold. She shifted slightly and
the blanket slid down. I reached out to adjust it and paused as I really
looked at her for the first time.
She *was* pretty, I thought critically as I ran my gaze up and down her body.
Surprising, considering how much she ate everyday. I smiled, and was surprised
when my lips started to tremble instead.
I edged closer to her, blanket still gripped in my hands. She lay on her
back, her face turned towards me. I rested my head gingerly on the pillow
beside hers, sliding the thick warm cloth over us unconsciously as I did so.
This close, I could see faint marks on her skin. Dried blood, I thought.
She must have hit the ground hard when that monster attacked her--us--this
afternoon. Damn bastard. I clenched my fingers to keep them from reaching out and
touching that pale smooth face. She might wake up and I didn't want that
just now. I wanted to look at her, and think, and maybe remember more, as
I did, with him in the staircase. I wanted to create another moment, here
where she lay, where *I* lay, within and yet beyond the grasp of other
comforting shadows.
Here and now, where I know who I am.
I rested my forehead against hers. Moisture, again. Surprised, I looked
closer and discerned colorless stains on her skin, stains which dissolved,
then unfolded like liquid-laden curtains. Slowly, carefully, I traced her
tears, first with my eyes, then with my fingertips.
She stirred. I felt a rush of panic, and then all too familiar paralysis.
A moment later and I could discern her eyes, glinting a bright emerald in
the darkness, staring at me.
"Nuriko?" she whispered.
I tried to smile. "Hey, did--did I wake you?" The moon had retreated and
the room was dark, I noted gratefully. I didn't think I could bear it
if she saw me crying. It would be too embarrassing, considering how manly
I'm trying to act these days. "Sorry..." I moved to sit up, entangling
myself more with the blanket in the process. I cursed.
"Wait," she said.
She put out a hand and caressed my cheek gently. Her fingers felt soft and
cool on my skin. I lay quiescent under her touch, helpless.
"You've been crying," she observed, a hint of accusation and something
undefinable in her still drowsy voice.
"You think so?" I questioned in mock-surprise.
"Are you thinking about Hotohori?"
Always. She's always been such a child.
I used to wonder before what Kourin would say if she met her. What Kourin
would feel, how Kourin would act. Would Kourin love her, too? The old
familiar resentment swelled for a moment, but gently this time, like a faded
fading reminder of another time, another place, another person.
Maybe Kourin would have loved her as well. Maybe my sister would have loved
her enough for both of us, when it came to that. But did that matter
now?
I knew then that *I* did love her, and that I loved her, not for Kourin,
but for myself.
That I loved her enough for both of us.
I loved them enough.
It was a heartbreaking--and edifying--realization.
"No," I answered. "Well, yes."
She smiled. "I understand."
"You do?" I said, feeling a rush of indulgence and affection. Unable to
deny the temptation longer, I caught her hand in mine. Such small small
comfort, I thought. My shoulders started to shake.
Something warm enfolded me, softness brushing my skin in a tender caress.
My chest felt inexplicably tight, and I couldn't breathe. Well, I could,
but then my breath would leave me in a series of sobs and tears and...
"Kourin," I whispered. "Kourin..."
"It's all right," she soothed. "It's all right."
'I love you.'
I didn't say it aloud, but I felt her embrace tighten around me and I knew
then...
I knew then that she really did understand.
"You were with her last night."
It was a statement in its truest form. "Are you jealous?" I said as I
tied my bag shut. I didn't look at him.
"No," he answered.
His tone was so certain I had to smile. "Really?"
"I think she needs you, too."
"I told you if you weren't careful, I'd take her away from you," I retorted.
"I know," he said smoothly. "And I'm not worried. Because she's not."
I shot him a bemused glance. He was perched on a stool, watching me intently.
"What do you mean by that?"
He smiled. "Well, it's like... if by taking away means loving you... I don't
really care about that. In fact, I'm glad."
I stared at him. "What--"
"Because if that's so, then I'm guilty, too," he continued. The smile did not
leave his face but his gaze was watchful, serious and yet oddly unsure.
"Of being taken away," I said hoarsely. "Or..."
"Both," he retorted cheerfully.
And because I couldn't think of anything else to say, "Idiot."
"Quite," he agreed and stood up, flinging his cloak around his shoulders.
"Come on. She's probably waiting for us downstairs."
"She's eating," I answered blankly. "Not waiting."
He laughed softly. I gave a violent start when he hugged me all of a sudden.
It was an awkward fumbling movement, but I didn't care. "Thanks again for
last night," he whispered, laughter still in his voice.
I poked him in the ribs. Hard. "You're welcome," I answered huskily.
And he was out of the door in a swirl of red and blue. "Don't be too long! We
still need to find the others." His voice faded as he started down the hallway.
"And, damn, my head is aching... Too much drink... Your fault..."
I shook my head and hefted the bag on my shoulder. I could hear her shouting
downstairs. Maybe he's decided to sell her breakfast, I thought amusedly. I looked
around the room, just in case I forgot something. A flash of red caught my gaze
and I paused. It lay in the middle of my unused bed, where it must have slid out
of my half-unpacked bags last night. Instinctively, my hand went to the nape of
my neck.
My hair.
No.
Kourin's hair.
I held the bundle in my hand reflectively, reverently, wondering... Weak sunlight
streamed into the room, drawing my attention to the unshuttered windows. I drew
closer, and smiled when a sprawling pristine vista of snow met my gaze, clothing
both rooftops and streets, and beyond the town, beyond the wide white bordering
fields lay hazy peaks of snow-clothed towers of land.
Kourin, I thought distantly. Towers of land, indeed.
I'll bury it--her--in the mountains then, I decided, closing my eyes as the
morning breeze hit my face with a refreshing gust. And in the midst of that
strange free space, I saw my sister laughing. I have never seen her laugh.
Not since she died. "I love you, Kourin," I whispered.
And then...?
I turned away, walked out of the room and shut the door behind me.
"Hey, Nuriko! Hurry up!"
"I'm coming!" I shouted back.
And then...
I smiled.
'Goodbye.'
Goodbye.
End Untitled
And afterwards... ;_;
Ahem. Anyway, this is my first--and probably only--Fushigi Yuugi fic ^^;;.
I like Nuriko (hell, that's the understatement of the year, methinks) and
I figured I might as well aim for closure in a fic, while I'm still in
that heartbroken-and-in-denial stage, if you know what I mean ^_~. I'm
sorry if my first-person rendering is a bit uneven and dodgy. I wrote this
while my brother and cousins were playing Resident Evil III in PS, and
blood-curling screams and icky squishy sound effects do not exactly contribute
positively to the writing process, eh? ^^;;;. Will revise.
This is a sort of episode 31 rewrite, right before Nuriko proceeds to the
mountain to retrieve the (in the English dub) Sacred Jewel and confronts
Ashitare.
As for the title... I wanted to make it something like "The Act of
Forgetting and Loving" but, hello? 0_o. I think the act itself is unnameable
anyway, hence "The Act Of" ^^;;. Besides, I like weird titles.