Summary (Longer Version):
Usagi has the impression that as a princess in her last life, she must have been close to perfection… Having to live in the shadow of that image is far from easy. When given the chance to find out for herself who she really is, will she take it? Will she even recognize it? Because all that glitters surely isn't gold.
Disclaimer:
I don't own SM or WK. Although this may seem like perhaps a mite bit similar to Huntress (which is dead and buried) it's pretty far from that. Please don't steal any of the little inspiration I have. Also… please don't take the treatment that some of these women (well, all of them, really) receive in this story… it is not a reflection of my personal beliefs.
Pairing(s):
Aya (Ran) x Usagi, some Schu x Usagi moments in the future
Author's Notes:
Kay… this was inspired by a piece that a certain oneechan sent to me (that was written by another imouto of hers). ^.~ I'm sure she knows who she is. At any rate, the last Usagi x Aya (Ran) pairing I did went too mushy… so I'm going to try again. Only this time it won't be a one-shot.
Also… there'll be some (a good deal of, probably) original stuff to this. Seeing as I'm doing a sort of medieval style thing, there'll be swords and magic and mythical creatures involved… all that kind of good stuff.
Usagi had come to dislike plenty of things in her life, like getting up in the morning and going to school. She'd found that she couldn't do much of anything in a spectacular form- there was nothing that shone about her academically or in the area of sports. Usagi wasn't the kind of person to hate things or people- she was too forgiving- but there was one thing in particular that managed to make her seethe inside: Princess Serenity.
Actually, it wasn't Serenity herself. Seeing as Usagi had been her at one point in time- albeit in the distant past- Usagi didn't so much as hate Serenity as what Serenity represented. Serenity seemed to personify all things good and lovely- she was graceful and soft-spoken, possessing a sweet, sympathizing smile. She was genuine and perfect… and everything Usagi wasn't.
Oh, Usagi was genuine. But what else she was she wasn't sure. She knew for certain what she wasn't- graceful, smart, athletic, brave, or gentle. She couldn't cook, she was a klutz, and she wasn't much of a daughter… Worst of all, she couldn't even manage to be a decent leader.
Usagi shook her head ever so slightly, not really wanting to attract attention but needing to clear her head anyhow. What was the use of going over things that would never change? It only served to make her feel a bit more miserable.
Usagi didn't get to feeling depressed too often. Normally she was bright and spunky, which was probably the one thing that made her tolerable. There were times, though, that she couldn't take the pressure and would sink into a state of self-pity. It didn't do her much good, but there wasn't anyone else who would feel sorry for her, she felt.
The museum curator was droning on, and the class was moving on ahead without her. Usagi snapped out of her reverie and caught up with her classmates quickly, although she remained lagging behind. Museums were boring for Usagi, just like most things related to education were. She enjoyed art, but there always seemed to be this strange sleepy, dull atmosphere in museums that put Usagi into a sleepy state. It was probably the absolute hush that was never disrupted by conversation.
What she would have given to be anything remotely like Serenity… Why hadn't she inherited any of the gifts of her previous life in this one? She wanted to be a good leader, but she didn't possess the courage to stand against the youma as valiantly as her friends. What good was power when you were too afraid to use it?
Usagi glanced at Ami and Makoto's faces. Makoto looked only half-interested in the exhibits, whereas Ami was absolutely fascinated. Well, of course Ami would be. Ami always wanted to learn more, to know more- museums and books and knowledge were what the other girl craved. Usagi couldn't understand it herself, but she accepted it.
She just wanted to feel like she was useful. All she ever seemed to do was get in the way. What kind of leader was she, to screech and run away every time she was faced with confrontation? Despite the way she truly felt and the way she would resolve not to cower the next time... It happened every time.
Their class rounded a corner and gasps of awe and delight could be heard. Usagi felt vaguely curious- something had managed to impress the entire class? Was it that interesting? Usagi rounded the corner herself and saw that it was more than incredible.
A huge mural hung, taking up a good portion of the wall, framed by a golden and ornate frame decorated with embossed flowers, vines, fruits, and ivy. Despite the size and the stupendous craftsmanship of the frame, it was the picture that truly drew her attention.
Usagi's eyes took in the rich, bold colors that looked as though time had never touched them- indeed, it looked as though the picture had dried only recently. It depicted a scene like something out of the medieval ages, with women wearing dull brown dresses and cleaning stained glass. The picture looked uncannily real- light shone in through the stained glass as a filtered, colorful rainbow; murky where they hadn't cleaned and bright where they'd wiped away dust and grime. The women appeared to be laughing, probably at some joke in their conversation...
The women showed a great deal of expression in their faces- smiling, laughing faces and twinkling eyes showed mirth... At the same time, though, you could plainly see that these women knew business- from the muscles in their arms to the smudges of soot and ash on their cheeks, to the red- almost raw quality- of their fingers from scrubbing hard at dirt and grime... Somehow, the artist had managed to capture the essence of these two women and put them onto canvas. Indeed, it looked as though it could be some giant photograph... except that there was no photograph to record anything from that time period.
Just who had painted that?, Usagi wondered, unable to look away from the picture. It looked so real that the people might start moving, might pop right out of the picture itself to start cleaning up the museum as well. Usagi had a strange, compulsive desire to touch it, just to see if maybe it was real...
"... This picture also came to us in the collection touring from Europe. Who the artist is... well, that anyone's guess, as well as the name- there are no clues as to where this picture was even painted," the curator explained. "There are a few other pictures similar to this in our gallery later on, however none of them are quite as detailed or lovely as this one.
"This picture is part of the exhibit from Europe that will be returning in less than a month," the curator explained, walking a bit closer to the painting. "The painting itself was discovered something over fifty years ago in the house of a wealthy land owner in Great Britain after he had passed on and given all of the artwork in his mansion to the local museum. The color usage is inspiring, and the sheer detail overwhelming… one can only guess why the painter chose to paint such a scene.
"Now, if you'll follow me," the woman said, leading the group away, "here you will see…" The voice became a bit faded to Usagi, just a soft garble of noise. The rest of the class began to walk on, but Usagi stayed put, as though she'd been rooted to where she stood. She couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from the picture. Something about it had her entranced, lured her… As though it had a voice like a siren's and was bidding her to wreck upon their rock-littered shores.
Her skin prickled as though she had gooseflesh, and felt like there was electricity running across her skin. She moved one small step at a time closer to the picture, wanting nothing but to touch it, but was hindered by the velvet roping around it, meant to stop guests from soiling the images. Usagi spared a glance at the rope hastily, not really caring- the once bright red rope now looked dull in comparison.
A part of Usagi told her that there was something wrong about this. Pictures shouldn't pull you in like you're a piece of metal to their magnet. She also vaguely recalled the security camera that was sure to be watching her, that if she touched the picture she'd be escorted out of the museum by security personnel. She really, really shouldn't…
Usagi only lifted the rope and ducked under it, still moving towards the picture. In her current state of mind, the fact that she was doing something wrong didn't seem to bother her too much. Zombie like, almost as though she were a sleep walker stuck in a dream, Usagi lifted up one arm to reach out to the picture. Her finger tips felt almost as though her skin had some conscious idea of what was going on, and was eager to touch the canvas.
There was a feeling of anticipation underlying the situation, a feeling that she'd been waiting for this for a long time. Her heart beat faster, adrenaline making her blood surge in her veins. Yes, she'd been waiting for this. Or perhaps, it had been waiting for her-
"Usagi!" Someone shouted at her, breaking her trance. It was too late, though, and her fingers gently came to rest on the painting. Usagi blinked, once and then twice, as though she'd been startled out of a daydream and didn't quite know where she was or what she was doing. She turned her head to the right and saw her friends in a panicked state.
"Usagi, what are you doing?" Ami cried, sounding and looking equally horrified. Usagi looked again at her fingertips and the painting, at the surface where they made contact. What had she been doing?
She'd wanted to touch it. For some reason, that desire had come over her, and she'd been unable to refute it. She really should have- the possibility that she'd hurt the artwork was large. Still, she had a feeling that she owed her panicky and irate friends an explanation.
"I just wanted to touch it," she mumbled, knowing that it didn't make sense. They wouldn't understand it, because not even she understood it. Why had that urge come over her? Now they'd just think her to be even more childish and impulsive.
"You'd better get away from there quick." Makoto advised, sounding almost amused now that the shock had worn away. "You're lucky that you weren't caught or that the alarms didn't go off."
"Alarms?" Usagi asked, feeling bewildered. There were alarms? Why hadn't they gone off? Makoto pointed to the ceiling, and Usagi looked up above her. There were beams of red light- motion detectors, she realized- shining down. In fact, there were ones strung across the floor in a horizontal fashion as well, ready to be tripped. An eerie sense prickled up Usagi's spine- she was standing in the middle of one right at the moment. Why hadn't she set it off…?
"Better hurry before Haruna-sensei notices you're gone." Makoto advised her. The brown haired girl looked a bit surprised still, but it was mixed with amusement and another emotion Usagi couldn't quite identify. Was it wariness, perhaps? Still, the threat of Haruna-sensei's wrath was formidable, and Usagi didn't want to be caught.
Usagi didn't really want to leave the picture even at the same time. Something had happened to her, and she couldn't quite explain it- but the feelings that had overcome her hadn't been unpleasant. Although the experience had been a bit frightening at first, that initial fear had been replaced by an odd sort of excitement. Her body's reactions had been proof enough of that- the raised heart beat, the gooseflesh, the inability to look away…
In the aftermath, she felt disappointed. As though she'd been expecting something magical, something stupendous to happen. It was true, she realized- she had felt that something was going to happen. Something both wonderful and terrible, something that would change her forever. It hadn't happened, though… so either she'd been cheated, or her imagination had run away with her again.
"Hai," she responded, trying to keep a note of inexplicable but powerful sadness that loomed over her like an overpowering shadow. Something hadn't worked, had failed… Now she would have to carry on and act like it had never happened; lie about why she'd touched the picture. That was, of course, if she could think of a decent excuse.
Ami shook her short cap of cerulean blue hair in dismay. She looked at Usagi with reproving eyes before turning away and walking back to rejoin the rest of the class. Usagi offered Makoto, who was still looking at her, a sheepish smile. Makoto grinned back before joining Ami. Despite her attempt to brush it off with that smile, Usagi was hurt inside… Of course no one would think of her as a dependable leader, not when things like this happened. Ami-chan's disappointment in Usagi had been apparent and struck close to home… it was all Usagi could do not to cry.
Usagi sighed and went to follow them before Haruna-sensei really did notice, when she realized… she couldn't move. It was like… her arm was stuck? Usagi turned her head around and gaped at what she saw. Was it just her, or had her fingers… had they gone inside the canvas?
For a moment, Usagi felt an overwhelming fear seize her, crashing on top of her like a wave of horror. She expected the worst- to find that she'd damaged an irreplaceable piece of artwork, but was surprised and befuddled to find that there was no actual rip or whole. Her fingers had merely sunk into it, as though it were a liquid.
Usagi placed her flat palm to the mirror, and her eyes widened further to see that the picture rippled. Like it really was water, or… or… A sense of dread filled Usagi- what was the possibility that this was the trick of a youma? She began to struggle in vain to remove her hands, but Usagi was discouraged to find that she couldn't budge from her spot.
Instead, her hands seemed to be cemented into place… Usagi was about to call for help when she realized something… she wasn't stuck, but sinking! The picture was like quicksand, pulling her in- and with a startled sense of dread, she realized that the harder she struggled, the faster and further it pulled her in. A small part of her noticed something odd and yet incredible- as she was pulled in, the edges of her skin seemed to be tainted by the bright colors, to blend with them…
Usagi bit her lip and pulled harder, but it was to no avail. Before she knew it, she'd sunk up to her forearms and was making no progress of her own. Horrified at the prospect of being trapped inside the picture- because where else would she go?- Usagi turned her head to call for help. She'd actually managed to get a bit of Makoto's name out before another miraculous- or accursed, perhaps- thing happened- the 'water' moved on its own, forming a curved device. It looped behind her neck and then pulled her in, like a physical arm might.
Usagi managed to get out a muffled, frantic squeal of shock and fear before three fourths of her head were submerged. She couldn't see anything, but she could move the part of her body that had been sucked in thus far. Not backward- the way she'd come from- though. She could windmill her arms useless, thrash around the her head and a startling amount of her torso… but it was like she was falling or flying; like some gravitational force was pulling her in a direction that she couldn't fight.
The majority of her body was already sucked in, and with a feeling of alarm, she felt her legs down to her knee in. She continued to thrash like a wild, frightened animal, even though she knew it wouldn't do her any good. Like magic, the final portion of her body- the last of her legs down to her feet- was sucked in and she felt a strange momentum begin to carry her along. Where she was going or which way, she wasn't sure…
Makoto and Ami weren't pleased. It'd been almost five minutes since Usagi had told them she'd be following, but she hadn't come yet. Ami had begun to almost stalk back- which was very un-Ami-like. Probably because she was missing the majority of the exhibits. Makoto herself was feeling a bit worried, though mostly for Usagi's health. When Rei heard about this, she'd be livid.
Makoto stopped Ami before they rounded the last corner. "It's okay, Ami- you stay here and I'll go get her." Makoto told Ami, hoping that might help to douse the crossness the other girl was experiencing. Ami sighed almost tiredly- as though it would help the current situation, Makoto thought, rolling her eyes inwardly.
"Hey, Usagi!" Makoto called in a stage whisper. "What are you doing"- Makoto stopped abruptly after turning around the corner. There was the picture, and there on the ground Usagi's book bag lay… but there was no Odangoe haired girl to be seen. Usagi was by no means fond of school, but something was amiss her, Makoto realized.
"Usagi?" Makoto called, panic rising. Oh yes, there was definitely something wrong. The air smelled strange, like a place where it had rained freshly. Even idiots knew that it didn't rain inside of buildings where there were roofs. It didn't take a psychic like Rei to feel the massive amount of energy that had been spent and still remained in the air as residue. Where had Usagi gone?
"Makoto, what's the problem"- Ami began but her question remained unfinished. It didn't have to be, though- indeed, it probably would have felt worse if her words had completed themselves. The air smelled like precipitation and something else… the electric feeling that a great deal of power had just been used in this room. Something had happened while they weren't there- some kind of powerful magic had been performed, and Usagi was missing… "Oh, God…" Ami whispered, not wanting to believe that something had abducted Usagi. What other possibility was there, though…?
Soft, brusque laughter echoed through the stone halls of the manor, originating from two servants cleaning the stained glass on the upper tower. They worked diligently and silently, other than the occasional comment, carefully rubbing away the grim and dust that developed on the colored glass. In the fading light of the night the colors were tinged a deep, beautiful indigo color.
"Pretty, aren't they," the older woman asked the younger girl beside her. The woman was a bit plump, and short in stature, but she had a plenty cheerful manner. She was obviously the older of the two by the graying hairs in her hair and the gentle creases in her skin, wrinkles that had developed slowly over time and continued to do so.
The younger girl nodded, her soft dark locks nearly slipping out of their tie again. She retied it hastily, almost an annoyed gesture, before returning to her scrubbing motions. "It's a shame it gets dirty so easily," she told the older woman. She dipped her rag back into a pail of water, rung it out, and then continued to clean the glass with careful, precise motions.
The older woman eyed the younger girl with a look of amusement. "Ah, but that's the beauty of this place… Did you know there's a ghost that haunts this tower?" The younger girl's eyes instantly darted to meet hers, looking intrigued but skeptical. "It's true," she confirmed, returning her eyes to the surface she was cleaning. "It's said that the first lord who lived in this castle- the great grandfather or so of our current lord- built this entire wing for his first male-born son," the woman said, waving around her gray rag for emphasis.
"However, she seemed unable to bear a male heir- the lady had three daughters in a row, each with more complications than the last. Finally, she was warned by the eldest midwife that if she continued to try for more children she would likely die." The woman paused, taking the moment to add to the effect. "Stricken by grief, she came to this tower and jumped out of the large window at the very top," she explained, pointing upwards. She watched, pleased, as the younger girl's eyes followed.
"They say she still haunts this tower, or at least did… That until a male heir came about from this house, she'd be unable to rest. In fact, for the longest time, no woman could come up here to clean- the lady didn't take to highly to women being in the tower built for the son she'd never had. Our lord is the first male heir to be born in this castle… so perhaps the lady's finally at peace. Or," she said with a shrug, "perhaps not."
The younger girl shuddered, just a tiny bit, a gesture that the story had disturbed her a bit more than she liked to admit. She had actually heard about the story before, though not the part about the woman taking her own life. Instead, she'd heard that the woman had been so crestfallen about not being able to have the child that she'd locked herself up in her chambers and had rarely come out.
"Come on," the older woman said, picking up the bucket and beginning to trudge up the next flight of stairs. "We're through here, lets get one more landing before the sun goes down." The younger maid followed complacently, never having gone to the very top of the spiral tower. She'd only ever been on the lower floors flights and landings and she was curious to see just how high the spiral stair case really went. Not that it really mattered, except for the trip back down- that would surely take forever.
Reaching the top seemed to take an eternity by itself- not that her legs hurt her altogether too much because she'd always been a hard worker, but the fact that the spiraling stairs went on and on and on, as though there was no end. She couldn't help but feel a bit in the way of breathless by the time they reached the top, but her breath was truly stolen away from her upon looking at the room. "Oh..." The girl mumbled, truly at a loss for words.
The burning sun lit up the small, octagonal shaped room, pouring in from the western facing window- a window made up entirely of stained glass. It surveyed a good portion of the land facing that direction, a primarily woody area with mountains peeking out of the mist in the far-off distance. Crickets could be heard chirping far, far down below, and the occasional chirp of a bird or hoot from an owl broke the otherwise complete silence. It was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
Her partner, however, seemed to have a different idea as to what was beautiful. She cursed, half mumbling to herself about bad judgment. The younger lady looked up at the other one curiously, puzzled almost. As though she sensed that an explanation was needed, the older woman let her in on the problem. "It'll be night soon, and we won't have much in the way of light." She motioned half-heartedly at the torches hung on the walls.
She shrugged in return. "We're all the way up here... shouldn't we just go ahead and finish what we started?" They were missing dinner, but even if they ran all the way down the stairs, they still would have been too late. Besides, it was likely that someone had thought of the two of them and saved some food for them. "That way we won't have to come up again." She looked around the dusty, furniture covered room, and added softly, "At least not for a while, anyhow."
The other woman laughed whole heartedly. "I told you this place was strange- especially at night. You're right, though. It would be easier to just finish this off... Well, then, let's hop to it." She lit the torches carefully, lighting it with a small piece of tinder and a piece of flint. Placing the torches as near to their work area as possible, the women began to work diligently.
As hard as they worked, however, it was a big job. By no means was the task going to be finished easily, and both women came to realize that when their arms began to become sore. The younger girl was beginning to think of her previous ingenious as a very stupid thing to say- she was growing weary, having been up from dawn. How ever would she manage the walk back down...?
Taking a small break, the girl wiped away the sweat and grime and soot from her face, taking a deep breath. The night air was becoming chill by now, and the moon would be hanging high in the sky by the time they got back at this rate. She took a brief survey of the room before continuing- or at least intended to. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the dust covered mural hanging on the wall behind them.
It was no wonder that they hadn't seen it- with the poor lighting, it was almost as though it had been purposely hidden from someone not meant to see it. It was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, and the details were shrouded in evening lighting. She recognized it all the same, though- it was the painting that the old, passing-by hermit had done.
Thinking back on it, that event had occurred before the old lord and lady had died, leaving their young children to rule. They had been kind people, and when the old man had come to request to stay in the manner for a short stay they'd happily agreed. In return, he'd painted for them a gorgeous but odd scene- gorgeous because of his sheer talent, and odd because no painter would have wasted his time in painting peasants in such a lovely manner. She knew the painting well enough- the woman captured on canvas was her mother, and the other woman was the woman she was working with now.
A small smile tilted her lips, tinged with sadness. It seemed to her that sometime after that picture had been painted that things had started to go downhill. Her own mother had died during child birth, and the crops hadn't gone too well that year. Then the old lord and lady had died mysteriously, the only witness left in a deep sleep that she seemed unable to break free. Certainly, thinking back on it, that old man's smile and eyes had been tinged with sorrow too, as if he knew the misfortune that would befall them. Still, he'd smiled... perhaps he'd know there would be great joy as well?
Who could really tell, though? No one had ever told her that life wouldn't be difficult or hard. If they had, she probably would have laughed at them by now. She figured, though, that by now she'd better get back to work or they'd never get to go back down. Reaching again for her rag, she bent down to continue her work… when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to give it her full attention and stopped, breath taken away from her in both fear and awe.
The picture that had fascinated her so had begun to glow. Not white like the sun, but as though the paint was wet and suspended by nothing but air. Behind that suspension of color might by the sun, or some other form of light- but in any case, it was the colors that lit up as though there were fire blazing behind or within them. She gave a small whimper and dropped her rag, tugging helplessly on the other woman's dress.
"Hey, now, what's the matter with y"- The cross-sounding woman never finished her sentence. Instead, she too stared in shock at the picture. The light emanating form it seemed to be growing, until dark maroons turned into a dark ruby color and the peach color of flesh seemed a fair, tinted white. Then, as though the sight was not strange enough, a second occurrence- stranger than what was already happening- took place. Or began to, anyhow.
The canvas began to stretch out, as though it were reaching toward them, as though solid had become liquid. Bent by some otherworldly force, it stretched forward like liquid rainbow, taking form around a shape it covered. Slowly, the crouching woman stood up, clutching the arm of the younger in a vice grip. Later, she'd have bruises and be in pain, but at the moment she was far too distracted by what she was seeing to notice.
Suddenly, as though the strange material had reached its breaking point, it stopped stretching, and began to slide off and backwards. Flesh color was revealed, and then a hand. The sliding form seemed to speed up, and at the same time, the 'water' went back towards the canvas at the same rate. In a short time, a good portion of what appeared to be a human body had been revealed.
At last, a knee began to be revealed at the same time the girl's head was released. She struggled, golden hair also ripping free, flailing her free arm and gasping at the air like a fish out of water. Her eyes opened, turning out to be a beautiful shade of blue, like in the morning just when the sun's rays pieced the sky.
The older woman stepped back just a small, marginal bit, and knocked over the long-cooled pail of water. It splashed against the stone floor, wood clattering and water splashing and pooling. As though the mesmerizing spell the girl had made was broken, they sprang into motion like kites that had finally found wind.
Inside the young woman's mind was the story of the ghost- the lady that haunted the tower of the son she'd never had. Sure, the young lady before them was dressed strangely, but she wasn't completely sure about spirits. She would have backed straight up against the stained glass- and perhaps straight out the window- if her companion hadn't had her arm fiercely in her grasp.
The older, portly woman didn't think this woman was a ghost. Ghosts didn't walk through pictures, to her knowledge, and they didn't wear clothes like a… like a whore in a brothel might. It was not the dress of a woman who lived in royalty. It might, however, be the dress of a woman who was not human- a sorceress, perhaps, or a goddess. Her powers could be example to either, but neither were something were what a mere mortal wanted to tangle with.
The younger woman slipped in the puddle of water as she was pulled, and gave a choked shriek as she was pulled away and down the long, spiral stairs. They would be out of breath halfway down, and they didn't really have anything to worry about in the first place, but how were they supposed to know that?
Usagi, on the other hand, was finally completely spit out of the painting and onto the rough, cold, stone floor. She winced at the pain in her shins, knees, and palms that had occurred from the small drop and the abrasions caused by the floor's rough texture. Usagi slowly stood and wiped at her knees and palms gingerly, studying the scrapes and finding that they weren't so bad.
Looking behind her, Usagi saw the same painting from the museum. Turning around, though, she was faced with another room. Usagi felt sick to her stomach, as though she'd closed her eyes to find the world had been turned upside down while she wasn't looking. Faced with the aftermath, she felt confused, afraid… and oddly curious.
The last had always been in her nature, even as a small child. There was nothing in the world that could repress a small child's curiosity, excepting perhaps injury. In Usagi's case, it would have taken far more than just getting hurt to knock out that inquisitive spirit inside of her. That had actually been proven, through incident- it had taken nearly dying for her to be afraid of lightning and trees, much less the combination of the two- she no longer stood under trees when it rained.
Drawn towards the window like a person is to the scene of a horrific accident, Usagi looked out the window and saw a tinted, dark version of the landscape. Deep violet skies, rolling hills, dozens of fields… Usagi felt a headache begin, and stepped backwards only to slip and fall on her rear-end in a puddle of cold, soapy water. She obviously wasn't in Tokyo, or much less the museum… so just where on Earth was she?
Bwahaha! I finished. Look forward to the appearance of several familiar faces in the next installment… Remember to review if you have anything at all that you'd like to tell me.