"A thousand years of solitude,
Each longer than the last.
Two maidens live in neighborhood,
A friendship growing fast.
The magic that they conjure,
Is fiery and bright.
Their love they do ensure,
To never bring to light."
The wind whistles loudly through the trees, singing their song in the early morning, lauding the coming of a new day… but she cannot hear them over the pounding of her own heart.
The viridescent leaves flutter in the breeze, then, detaching from their branches, they sail in the crisp morning air, dancing and twirling merrily in the sparkling rays of the sun… but she cannot see them past the silhouette before her.
Throughout the house wafts an aroma of peppermint and lemongrass, of citrus and lavender, of old oak and new leather… but she cannot smell them past the faint perfume worn by her latest visitor.
The young dollmaker pulls her stuffed toy close to her, peering over the head of the humanoid figure bound tightly in her clutches.
"What do you want?" she murmurs, squinting at the door as though she were tired. In truth, she is more awake than she has been in recent memory. "It's still early."
A black-and-white dress fills her view, causing her to blink hard and clear the dew from her eyes. When her vision clears, she sees the face that gives her such angst on a regular basis.
Angst, anxiety, concern… and an unwanted desire that constantly threatens to bubble out of her body.
Her chest leaps into her ears; her lungs cease to move, freezing her breath in timeless suspension. She coughs and pulls her head away, turning her gaze towards the wall and hoping the person behind her will leave. But not being able to see her guest only serves to strike more trepidation in herself.
"Yeah, it's morning," trills the voice of the intruder. "Wakey wakey."
The dollmaker grunts, but remains unmoved. "Go away."
"Aw. That's not very nice." A rustling sound from behind her almost causes her to leap out of the comfortable confines of her bed and run, barefoot and panicked, down the corridor. She knows what's coming next, even if she is powerless to stop it. Powerless, and maybe just a little unwilling.
Her entire back is immediately bathed in a warm, soft sensation. It is so sweet as to be cloying, a fountain of chocolate and treacle that she wishes she could melt into forever, subsumed into its embrace, indulging in a taste that fills the mouth, lingering in the throat, wrapping around the tongue. A snake slithers under her torso, coiling around her chest, stopping just under her chin.
At this point, the dollmaker is paralyzed. The arm holding her is loosely placed, though it may as well be an iron chain.
"What are you doing?" she croaks.
"Hm?"
"Doesn't it… hurt? Your arm."
"Come on, Alice. What are you saying?" The sensation on her back grows warmer still. "Of course it doesn't. You're so light, it feels like I'm hugging a doll."
That ticks her off, though she isn't exactly sure why. "Sorry for being so doll-like."
"Sorry for what? I like you this way." Something pokes the back of her head, and the gust of moist breath that seeps down the back of her neck instantly tells her what it is. "Dolls are cute."
"I'm… I'm not cute." Her cheeks puff out, and in their incandescent redness, they look like cherry tomatoes ripe for the picking.
"Yes, you are. All of you is cute. Your blonde hair, your pink headband, your frilly little dress, the dolls that you carry around with you and fill your bedroom with-"
"Okay, okay!" She buried her face into her doll, pressing her forehead onto the arm that is being waved in front of her. "I get it. You don't have to say all that."
A giggle, and then another breath on her nape. "Of course I do."
"What did you come here for, anyway?" she asks in a huff.
"What indeed?" A second arm drapes around her shoulder, pulling her close. The face returns, mischievous and cat-like, and as Alice is rolled over onto her back, she sees her assailant in full for the first time.
Golden locks glimmer in the dawn sunlight, falling carelessly about her head, pooling onto Alice's chest. A pair of ochre topazes stare into her, unlocking her mind, opening the book of her thoughts, consuming every sentence with insatiable hunger. The haphazard, careless grin on her face jolts Alice like lightning, sending shockwaves reverberating throughout her spine.
The witch, her greatest enemy and greatest love, leans closer to her. Alice's mouth is ajar, but she squeezes her lips together in anticipation of what is to come.
Yet instead of the expected contact, all she receives are the words, each syllable dripping with honey, that are now whispered into her ear.
"I came to return the kettle I stole from you yesterday," Marisa breathes.
The Human Village is a nest of activity even in these nascent hours. The cockerel crows, and the people arise and make their way to work. Shopkeepers pull their shop fronts open, stacking their wares, arranging them in neat rows for passersby to see. Carpenters and craftsmen take their tools and don their jackets, getting ready to sweat away the day in their workshops. Farmers pick up their hoes and shovels, humming as they weave through the roads and out into the fields surrounding the Village. The buzz only grows louder as the mighty chariot in the sky creeps further and further upwards, until red has given way to blue, and tiredness has given way to concentration.
Amidst this hustle and bustle, two blonde maidens make their way down one of the main streets. The taller of the duo is visibly happier than her counterpart, who looks in something of a foul mood.
"Come on, Alice. Don't pout." Marisa tries to reach for Alice's head, but the dollmaker swats her hand away.
"Don't treat me like a kid. And I'm not pouting." Alice purses her lips and harrumphs.
"You totally are." Marisa sighs, though her smile remains unwavering. "Look here, they're selling daifuku. You want one?"
"I…" A tiny droplet coalesces at the corner of Alice's lips, and she quickly wipes it away. "I'm not hungry."
"Of course you are." Marisa skips over to the shop and asks for two. The shopkeeper duly produces a pair of white, frosted buns, telling her to only pay for one – the other's on the house. Marisa bows gratefully and, after paying, returns to her partner and holds one out. "Here. Eat."
"I said I'm not-" Alice is quickly silenced by the daifuku stuffed unceremoniously into her mouth by her companion. At first she protests, but as the tangy, pleasant taste of red bean touches her tongue, she gobbles the rest of the dessert in one bite, chewing quietly on it in the manner of a chipmunk gnawing on its favorite nut.
"You like it?" asks Marisa.
Alice swallows the rest of the daifuku in one gulp, almost choking on it and spluttering as she tries to speak. Marisa goes over to her and rubs her back, staring fondly as Alice struggles to deposit the last bits of her food down her throat.
"Did you like it?" repeats Marisa. A small nod is all she receives in response, but it's more than enough for her.
Just then, a flash of red catches Marisa's attention. Her entire facial expression transforms, as if the wide world has opened up before her, plains and fields and skies and clouds stretching out into the horizon, leaving her briefly stunned. The unbridled excitement on her face, coupled with the youthfulness of her features, grant her the appearance of an angel who has descended upon Gensokyo to herald the coming of good news. She pockets her own daifuku and goes running towards her newfound object of affection.
The figure turns, and an equally sanguine smile breaks out on their face.
"Reimu!" Marisa exclaims.
The shrine maiden bows in greeting. Her arms reach out, and she clasps Marisa's shoulders. "Good morning to you," she beams. "Are you well?"
"I'm doing great. I was out with Alice," the witch replies, gesturing towards the girl standing some distance away, peering warily at them. "We're just enjoying our morning. What about you?"
"I was looking for some tea leaves." Reimu tilts her head, as though beckoning them to join her. "Shall we go together?"
"Why not?" Marisa begins to walk alongside Reimu, but soon stops, feeling a conspicuous absence beside her. "Alice?"
Alice, who has been deep in thought, jerks her head up. "Oh. Yeah, let's go."
Marisa frowns. Alice is a largely reticent character, even if she is friendly to those she knows well, yet she is rarely subdued. Perhaps something is on her mind… though Marisa is keenly aware that thoughts are as hard to extricate from Alice as professions of love. Or maybe she is simply in a lower mood than usual. Whatever the reason for her noiselessness, Marisa has just the antidote.
As Reimu strolls forward with her usually measured and elegant pace, Marisa lags slightly behind to allow Alice to catch up. Then, once Alice is beside her, she sticks her hand out, groping for Alice's wrist. Finding it, she latches onto Alice's arm and pulls her forward.
Alice blinked in surprise. "What-"
Marisa turns to her and winks, then slides her hand down Alice's wrist and, upon finding the dollmaker's fingers, interlocks them with her own. Time seems to slow as the two of them walk in unison, a picture trapped in stasis, a moment to cherish in aeternum. Marisa's and Alice's palms meet – and so would their eyes, if Alice doesn't steadfastly refuse to return Marisa's gaze, instead choosing to stare at the floor, her forehead steaming like a freshly cooked pork bun.
Then, Reimu stops, and Marisa yanks her hand away. A cloud passes over Alice's features, but Marisa fails to notice, and she makes her way up to Reimu.
"What's up?"
"I think I may have left something at the Shrine. I apologize for taking up your time – I wish the two of you well." Reimu, after giving quick bows of farewell to Marisa and Alice, darts away with unusual haste. Marisa stares quizzically at the shrine maiden's receding back; Alice, who has noticed the quiet smile on Reimu's face as she departed, does not react.
"Oh well." The witch snorts. "Must've left the water boiling or something. Shall we go?"
Alice says nothing. Instead, she dangles her hand out in front of Marisa, and looks pointedly at her.
Something clicks in Marisa's head. Now she understands. She grins with her typical nonchalance, and clasps Alice's hand again, intertwining their fingers together, caressing the smooth and silky surface of Alice's skin under her fingertips.
The two of them continue walking, and Marisa notices a spring in Alice's step that has not been there for some time. She chuckles knowingly to herself. In response, Alice's grip tightens.
The dollmaker is determined never to let go.
And the witch is content for her to hold on for as long as she wants.
A/N: Just trying out writing romance since I've never done so before. Feel free to let me know your thoughts - I may or may not write more in the future.