Wow. I wrote something that wasn't a Takari. And it's exceptionally strange. I was studying T.S.Eliot's Wasteland when I came up with this idea for a story that took place as a series of single moments, that build up into an overall picture. I will probably add more to the four here at a later date. Truth is . . . I'm out of inspiration at the moment.

Oh, and 'he', 'she' and Kouichi belong to Toei Animation. Good Digimon Frontier fans will know who are they are within a few sentences. The title is also a dead give-away. ^.~

DROPS OF WIND

I. MORNING TEA

He knows how she likes her tea - two spoons of sugar, a twist of lemon and just enough milk to make it the colour of honey. It has to be served in a white, porcelain cup with a matching saucer and a silver spoon. He makes it that way for her every morning and brings it to her in bed.

She is never more beautiful than when she has just woken. Her green eyes are dark and mysterious with sleep; her hair is as fine as the halo around the moon. When she smiles at him through the rising steam of the teacup in the morning, she is more beautiful than he would have ever imagined possible.

He told her that once, and she laughed at him.

II. REFLECTION

What does he see when he looks at her?

Does he see her? Or does he see his own fears and dreams and desires like a boy walking through a house of mirrors that endlessly reflects himself? Is this also about Kouchi found dead on the bathroom floor with a knife in his hands and parallel cuts across his wrists?

There was no note to explain the reasons, to make the pain understandable. There was just the body, lying sightless and still in a pool of blood. And dead men tell no tales.

Since that day, everything has been about his twin, and she has become a reflection of Kouichi too.

Sometimes, she wants to smash the mirrors.

III. HERO

She misses being extraordinary.

Somewhere in the routine of daily life - somewhere between the morning tea and housework and shopping and sex - she became just another woman.

Looking at her, who can tell that she soared on the winds, that she talked with angels, that she walked lightly on the moon?

When people pass her in the streets and their eyes slide past her, she wants to grab them by their collars and tell them that she once saved a world.

IV. THE WIND

When she was a little girl, she used to dream that the wind was a handsome prince who rode a pale stallion that galloped across the sky. His hair was silver, and his eyes were the colour of sorrow. She used to stand on the balcony of her villa in Italy and ask him to be her love, because she would be happy with him by her side. Even if no-one else loved her, his arms would be around her, he would kiss her and she would be able to smile forever.

Last night, she sat by the window and waited for the wind, but the night was still.