AN: Spirited Away is one of the coolest movies ever. I'm not even kidding. The first time I saw this several years back, I had rented it from Blockbuster out of pure boredom. I watched it three times in a row, and that was just the first day I got it. I used to pretend all sorts of stuff when I was little, and at least half of it involved river spirits and bath houses and binding contracts. Spirited Away, this one's for you. Thanks for being awesome. I own nothing. Enjoy!
He sees her, all alone on a fading wooden bridge, standing where she should never stand in a place she should never be. Her chestnut hair flits in the dancing wind. Her equally mahogany eyes sparkle like two gems set in a face framed by innocence.
Sunlight pours in voluminous waves, twisting and curling around its onlookers. The sky carries a hue saturated with water and tears and the crystal fragments of glass.
He gasps when he first spies her, leaning over crimson railing to watch the train disappear into the night. She is a human. She is a real and true human, an outcast in his eyes, a threat in everyone else's.
He gasps not only because her species should never meet his, but also because she is, in her own way, absolutely beautiful. She is so very young, but she is so very wonderful. She gives off an aura so vast and deep that the highest cliffs pale in comparison.
Momentarily distracted, he doesn't realize what's going on until it's too late.
The sun begins to dip below the horizon. Shadows start to lengthen, silhouettes morph just a bit. The sky becomes a canvas of gold and orange and violet. The sun will die, and the moon will live.
Dusk.
"You shouldn't be here," he states as he steps forward. Hair the color of a storm bobs girlishly, haloing about his face. His eyes are wild and untamed, the eyes of a dragon held captive for far too long.
"Get out of here now!" the dragon within him bellows.
If only she knew the truth. If she had known the consequences of what she is doing, perhaps she wouldn't have hesitated when he had spoken to her. But she does. For a single second, she is frozen, peering upon the stranger who blooms out of nowhere but here and speaks out of nothing but helpfulness.
"It's almost night." He knows night well. She has no idea of the true pain that the stars cry constantly. She does not know the creatures that fade into existence only when the sun cannot burn them. Night shows what truly is of the world. Night brings out what the world really is.
Day is blinding. Day hides the world under a cover of glowing radiance. Daytime serves as the masquerade, the velvet curtains whose opening to a dark stage signal for the real play to begin. Daytime is the era that strikes down men and nighttime is the era that raises them up on pedestals of hope.
Humans may never witness the reality that lurks within the hours of darkness. It is the law they hold. Long ago, when spirits and humans had existed as one, it was the humans who turned mad by the power of inky atmosphere. Spirits had fed on its power, and it is because of night that they continue to live now.
It is because of night that humans are fading. Society is built on a foundation of lies, a network of feuds and a chalkboard of blackmail. Truth is something they simply cannot handle.
"Leave before it gets dark."
She still does not move, still does not distinguish what is happening.
He sighs and his brows furrow. He is going to have to convince her the hard way. He grabs her arm and jerks her from where she is standing.
Something dawns behind her eyes. A faintest sliver of knowledge spreads behind her features. She turns on yellow sneakers, spins around to leave.
The light is slipping, the good is fading. The darkness threatens to swallow them whole. The human, at least. He is safe from the secrets darkness keeps, for he is as good as night's acquaintance. The shadows are almost gone, and the sun will not be able to keep its head above water much longer.
Tinder meets flint meets spark. Spark flies through the air and hits its mark. The cool, lonely wick absorbs the warmth, and life flourishes in a desert of wax and wood. Candle light flickers into view, muffled behind layers of paper and metal, magnified behind layers of glass.
He can feel the darkness now. It chills him to the bone.
"They're lighting the lamps."
It's now or never. She has to go. She senses this and starts to run.
It is too late.
The remnants of what was once an empty field is now flooded over. Past and present and future collide into one, and water bubbles up from the ground. It is clear, almost as clear as the sky, almost as deep and as vast.
"Get out of here." He shoves her forward, and she takes off down cobblestone steps to a world covered in shadow. Night has already fallen, but neither of them cares. All they want is for her to reach what she considers normal before what she considers abnormal devours her.
By the look on his face, he is more concerned than she is.
"You've gotta get across the river," are the last words she discerns before the sun completely falls and she is down the road.
She does, however, catch the last echoes of what he utters when the sun is gone completely.
"Go! I'll distract them!"
He leans forward. Magic gathers at the ends of his fingertips, and from calloused hands, flakes of scales fly at the mere force of his breath. He gathers the wind and it spews in a haze. The spell dances from the crevices of his soul. Chapped lips crack at the effort, but the distraction is complete. It will work, if only for the moment.
Had she not been scared out of her mind, Chihiro would have smiled.
Haku is always chivalrous.