Tape Recorder
Cleaning the old attic in the middle of the night was not exactly a brilliant idea.
Moonlight washed in from the dusty bay windows. A full moon peeked at him. His dark hair gleamed with mingled silver and bluish sheen. Pale skin seemed to glow under the milky light. The years were kind to him- he was still as handsome as ever.
He was older now. So much older than the day he had gone up here with her.
Eriol Hiiragizawa carried a huge box out of the way. The room was deserted and messy. Sealed boxes, old furniture, broken mirrors, heavy trunks and closed cabinets seemed to stare at him. The room smelled of dust and age. It was filled with things that he'd collected over the years while living in this old house.
This was the house of his previous incarnation. It was his house now. But before that, it was their house.
He sat down on a ratty red high-backed armchair and sighed. Too many memories still lingered in this old house. But he wouldn't erase them, not for anything, not for nothing.
Blue eyes landed on a small and old-fashioned wooden trunk in the darkest corner. His heartbeats accelerated. The old man smiled; he should be dying now if it gets any faster. He heaved himself out of the chair to go towards the mysterious object.
Thirty years ago since she had placed it there.
He almost smiled to himself. How clever of her to hide it up in the attic. She must have known how it would hurt him, tear him apart. His bones creaked; his knees weren't as strong as before. Wherever she was, she might have been laughing at the sight that he made while he walked up the rickety old stairs.
Written on that letter given to him after she was gone-
"Look for me, my love. I'm still here though you read this while I've gone."
Eriol in his grief burst out laughing. He had lifted his head up towards the blue summer sky and bellowed, "Are we still playing hide and seek, love?"
He grasped the handle and pulled. Layers and layers of fine dust covered the finely carved lid. A faded saffron ribbon was tied with the antiquated padlock. He conjured what was left of his magic and unlocked the trunk.
Footsteps up the stairs. He paused and turned to see the eternally young Ruby Moon in Nakuru's old body. (His guardians can die too. They have limits. He was not God. His powers were not enough. Without a magic Book or a purpose, they would perish without him. So they will die.) She carried Spinel Sun in her arms. The brightest of smiles lay in her face.
"Are we interrupting?" she asked gently. The red-haired woman let go. Spinel Sun, released at last, flew to him. "Can we watch?"
"Of course you may," Eriol replied, smiling. "You love her too."
They pulled the trunk towards the ratty red armchair with sighs and groans. It was heavy and old; it smelled like incense and smoke. Nakuru smiled at the fanciful carvings and the beautiful woodwork. It was her master's mistress through and through.
Eriol yanked at the lock. It came away. With held breath, he lifted the lid. Peered inside the trunk and smiled. "I've found you, my love."
His trembling fingertips caressed its contents lovingly. Spinel Sun nestled on his shoulder purred. The faintest smell- her scent, lavender sachets, mothballs it was- permeated the room.
He saw a collection of envelopes, a picture frame, and a lock of hair in a vial, a scrapbook, a doll and tape recorder. With a smile he untied the faded purple ribbon to see the dates on the envelopes. Early days, it was. Going backwards in time when they were young, beautiful and in love.
The scrapbook contained pictures of her first love. Her beloved, she used to tease. The brown-haired girl was young, carefree and sparkling with life in those photos. They were different facets of her. It was all caught, stilled, captured. He couldn't help but laugh when he thought that the girl in question was still the same timeless beauty.
He shifted through it just to glimpse its contents. (There was plenty of time to read and see.) Fourth grade, fifth grade, and sixth grade- he knew them all. Nakuru laughed when a picture fell out.
Eriol picked it up and smiled. It was him. Behind it read daintily written words: "A mystery."
Then he saw pictures of the last elementary school play production. Princess and prince getting together after all those years. After that was them.
The lock of hair was perfectly preserved. It was dark-colored like twilight or dusk, tightly coiled like springs, commas for eternity. He knew that if he opened it, he would be bewitched again. The smell of her would fill his nostrils, ensnaring him.
Her doll when she was young. It was a precious possession. He wondered where it had gone when she said that she was leaving her childhood. She had stopped being a child when they met. That was when they finally grew up. (But she also always said that when the time comes, it would go to their child. So that their offspring would know how it was to be protected by a gentler and stronger magic like her love.)
The picture frame contained a magnificent photograph. It was their wedding picture. They were smiling, laughing then. She was a radiant beauty with her hair piled up, wrapped in lace and silk and velvet, ribbons swaying in the breeze. Her lips were so wide, so pretty. His arms were around her; he was wearing a dark suit. They were so happy, so young. He'd never forgotten the beautiful moment.
"She kept a lot, didn't she?" Nakuru said quietly.
"Her memories are still here," Spine added. "She's as much a part of you as we are."
Eriol nodded. He picked up the tape recorder and opened it. There was a small tape- labeled neatly, waiting. Wondering what was inside the obsolete tape recorder, he pressed play.
He who never cried after she died got sobs caught in his throat. For the first time in thirty years since his beloved wife died, he heard her voice.
The same crystal clear and haunting beauty of Tomoyo Hiiragizawa nee Daidouji's melodic singing filled the still evening air.
Tears ran down his cheeks. Nakuru squeezed his hand, choking back sobs. Spinel Sun rubbed into his cheek soothingly.
It was so beautiful. Her love washed over him. It was truly her doing. Without even realizing it, he had learned to let her go.
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