Author's Note: I did throw in an element or two of Mary's personality/belongings from HM64, so don't be alarmed if there's a reference in there. Thanks for reading. 3
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Tomorrow
Mary sighed, her brow creasing as she expelled her agitated air. Nibbling on her lower lip, she titled her moon-pale face upward from the pile of books in which she found herself and glanced toward the top shelf, wondering if she'd missed anything on its newly bared surface. With a sea of books undulating about her and the shelves lining the walls of the library, Mary had just about lost hope. She had spent the entire day scouring the shelves of her library for her seven-hundred-page manuscript, unable to find it, and, as a result, growing more and more anxious as the minutes flew by. After five hours of careful searching, Mary had concluded that her precious manuscript was not, in fact, present in her library.
Hoisting herself off the ground, Mary smoothed over her pleated, navy-blue skirt, eliminating all traces of dust that had collected there from the ancient books she had un-shelved. The only probable place her manuscript could be if it was not in the library was in her room, for she hardly took it anywhere else. She plodded through the comfortingly silent library, the wooden planks beneath her feet creaking in the sweet melody Mary had so come to love, and headed, in defeat, toward the door. Mary decided to leave her massive heap of books on the ground till tomorrow; the library was closed for the day anyway. She pushed back a stray lock of ebony hair and reached for the shiny, brass doorknob, its cold shock sending shivers down her spine. She twisted it, regardless of its chill, and opened the door to a sparkling winter scene engulfing the whole of Mineral Town. She adored winter. She stepped out into the brisk environment, reveling in the cold that nipped at her nose. Wheeling around, she shut the door behind her, locking it for the night. Her quaint house, with its white surface and sage green shutters, positioned conveniently beside her library, gently puffed out plumes of smoke from the chimney. The smell filled Mary's nostrils, pleasing her to no end. It elicited a small smile from her, for a crackling fire to look forward to after a long day at work was a customary pleasure of hers. However, this small joy did not deter her from the fact that her manuscript was still MIA.
She trudged through the snow for a few moments before reaching her house, entering it, the rush of warmth welcoming her. She kicked off her shoes at the door, doffed her coat, and climbed the short stairwell to her room, passing her mother on the way and choosing to ignore her for the moment. She entered her room hastily and slid onto the floor to look under her bed. Much to her dismay, it was not there.
"Mary," came the bell-like voice of her mother, "what are you doing?"
"I can't find my manuscript," Mary said, a scowl clouding her face. She pulled herself off the floor and stood to greet her mother, brushing her bangs from her glasses. Upon facing her, she smiled lightly. "Sorry I forgot to say hello, mom."
"It's fine," her mother replied, stepping out of the doorway and into her daughter's painfully tidy room. "Did you look in the library?" she suggested, folding her gloved arms.
"All day," Mary sighed, allowing her voice to take on a rather pathetic tone.
"What about the forest?" her mother offered, shrugging.
"I haven't checked there..." Mary gasped, newfound hope sowed within her as she realized she'd forgotten to check her favorite day-time hideout. "Thanks, mom! I'll be right back." With her last words hanging in the air, she sped out of the room and back into the cold, winter air, nervous anxiety sending her into a wild run. She sprinted past the blacksmith's and Lillia's chicken farm, turning a sharp corner by Barley's ranch. Dashing into the deep forest surrounded Gotz's small cabin, Mary slowed her pace at the sight of the familiar pathway leading to the deeper part of the woods. She caught her breath and began to walk, in a steady pace, toward her destination. Upon hearing the distant bark of a wild dog, however, Mary quickened her pace until she reached the tree on which she'd spent many lazy afternoons. She hoisted herself into its branches heavy with snow, and frantically brushed the crystallized water from the bark until her fingers were bright red and dripping with wetness. The manuscript was not there, either. Utterly hopeless and defeated, Mary began the long walk back home, her footfalls slowed to a dull rhythm. Upon passing the path to the Goddess Pond, Mary paused. Though she knew it would be a fruitless attempt, she turned down the snow-laden path and dropped on her knees before the glowing water, silent tears streaming down her wind-whipped cheeks as she offered whispered prayers to the Goddess she had praised since she was a child.
"What're you crying about now?" came the familiar voice of Karen, the vendor's, Jeff's, daughter. She hopped down from the tree behind Mary and stood beside her, flipping her nut-brown hair behind her shoulders. "Why aren't you wearing a coat? It's twenty-five below zero. You got a death wish?"
"N-n-no," Mary responded, stuttering both with the cold and with the idea that she was being spoken to by a woman she'd been socially dwarfed by since infancy. "I w-was in-n a h-h-hurry," she explained, curling her fingers into her cotton sleeves.
"Take this, you look pathetic," Karen groaned, tossing Mary her tan parka.
"W-won't you-u get c-cold, K-Karen?" the dark-haired girl asked, abstaining from pulling on the inviting coat.
"I've got a sweater," Karen responded, gesturing to her woolen covering. "What are you doing here so late, Mary?"
"I was searching for my manuscript," she said, shyly glancing at the quixotic, emerald eyes of her new companion. Reluctant to divulge her entire story for fear of further humiliation, Mary remained silent.
"You thought it was here?"
Mary nodded timidly.
"And it isn't."
She nodded again.
"And you thought you would pray to the Harvest Goddess in the hopes she'd magically appear and tell you where it is?"
Mary nodded once more, defeated, the utter shame of her naivety forcing more tears down her face. Karen plopped down beside her and repressed the urge to burst into laughter.
"You sure are something, Mary," the honey-brown-haired girl admitted, her lips cracking into one of her famous half-smiles. Mary pushed her glasses farther up the ridge of her nose and willed herself to stop her tears, eyeing Karen curiously.
"Yeah," Mary said monotonously.
"This book of yours is this big of a deal?"
"Yeah," she replied, the same blank tone now fraught with the wavering induced by a fresh bout of tears.
Karen waited for Mary to calm herself, then queried, "What's it about?"
"Nothing important," she mumbled, drawing her knees up to her chest and burrowing her face between them.
"It must be something important if you're so worked up about it," Karen offered, shrugging.
"It's a novel revolving around my personal theories on what should have happened in the Arthurian Legends," Mary began rambling, her face heating despite the cold.
"This is what you do all day?" Karen whistled, patting Mary brusquely on the back. "I'd have never thought you would write about such a bleak topic."
"Yeah," Mary voiced, weakly, the sound muffled by her knees, "I have a lot of free time."
"And you choose to dwell on that?"
"I do," she sighed, raising her face from her legs.
"Well, if you ever find it, I want to read it."
"You care about mythology?" Mary asked, oggling at her.
"I want to see if your theories are plausible," Karen replied.
Silence ensued, and Mary shifted uncomfortably. Filled with blind hope, she stood and walked over to the shimmering pond.
"I don't think that will work," Karen said, appearing at Mary's side. Mary chose to ignore her and focused her energy on the gentle ripples radiating from the golden locket she'd just tossed in.
And nothing happened.
"Your mom is probably worried," Karen reminded Mary, who was looking rather dejected.
"Okay," she whispered. Karen patted Mary uncharacteristically on the shoulder and started toward the path home, Mary in tow. Along the way home, Mary found herself uttering, comfortingly, to herself, "Maybe I'll find it tomorrow. At least there's that."