Reki watched the place in the garden, slightly discolored, like a bruise on the earth, from the window in the kitchen, not because she was obsessive, but because the stagnant state of winter had given her the obsessive habit. Old Home had become a small cage and Reki's mind had shriveled with it, forcing her thoughts to run in the same cramped circles.
"What kind of flower did you plant?" Kuramori asked cheerfully as she polished the dishes in the sink that Reki hovered over.
"Oh– Nn..."
Kuramori laughed, setting another glass atop a stack with a jolly clinking sound. "It doesn't matter," she chirped, wafting away the matter with a little wave of the dish rag in her hand. "We'll see what it is when it blooms. This way it'll be more suspenseful."
Reki's troubled expression loosened into a relieved smile before she turned her attention back to the garden with the new enthusiasm that Kuramori had planted in her with the remark.
The flower had struggled from the earth in a little green bulb like two fat palms closed together in prayer, then had split into a curled M-shape. While the plant had been fighting to bloom, Reki had been given a job at Old Home and her name had been made official with the Communicator. She wished she could have remembered more of her cocoon dream in order to have a more romantic name. The other Haibane girls had names that meant "cloud", "starlight", and "rainfall"; all Reki had been able to recall was a cold, narrow path of stones. Kuramori had cheerfully baptized her "small stone." She'd thought it was cute, so Reki hadn't objected.
"It's already reaching for the sky," Kuramori mused quietly as her gaze fell in line with Reki's toward the small green burst between two wilted tulip stalks.
"It isn't afraid of winter," Reki said jovially, pushing from the edge of the sink and standing straight to watch the flower through the window. As she did, the somber form of Nemu passed through the kitchen. Reki looked swiftly over her shoulder in time to catch her retreating from the kitchen, her sad, sagging eyes heavy and half-closed in preparation for sleep. Under the droop of her eyelids, Reki recognized the look of wariness made in equal parts of resentment and fear. She sighed, resting an elbow on the edge of the sink and dropping her cheek in her hand.
"What's with Nemu? She always looks nervous. I wish I could cheer her up."
Kuramori's smile pinched a little with sadness as her movements changed, her hand slowly guiding a plate to the top of the stack as if it had gained sudden weight that made it harder to lift. "Nemu is... only worried," Kuramori said carefully.
"Worried?" Reki repeated doubtfully. "About what?"
"About you," Kuramori answered. Her voice began to sound pained, as if it took special effort to squeeze the words out of her throat, like the struggling muscles of a snake's belly.
"Me?" Reki echoed again. "Why is she worried about me? I'm fine." To prove so, Reki stretched her arms out on either side of her with a soft grunt and fluttered her wings in a low shuffling sound of feathers rustling. The sound always reminded Reki of flying; it was like a promise she could never fulfill.
Kuramori sighed slowly, setting down the washrag, peeling off her lemon-yellow gloves, and rubbing the lenses of her glasses on her shirt front. Reki, frowning at the slow, deliberate series of motions that suggested seriousness, somberly straddled one of the kitchen chairs to sit in it backwards, folding her forearms over its back and resting her chin on them in a gesture of attentiveness.
"You see...," Kuramori began, "when a Haibane is born with black splotches on their feathers, it means they are Sin-Bound. Sin-Bound Haibanes... are different from other Haibanes." Kuramori's face crinkled with a grimace, as if she'd been stung by a bee, and she folded her hands in front of her.
"Sin-Bound? What sin? I just got here– I haven't done anything that wrong, have I?"
"Oh, no, no, Reki," Kuramori said hurriedly, wafting her hands a little as if to erase the idea from an invisible chalkboard. "No, you haven't done anything wrong, but... perhaps, in another life, in another time, you..." She took a steadying breath as her voice quivered and began again. "None of us know why some Haibane are good and others are Sin-Bound. It's just an unfortunate occurrence."
"So my feathers are black. Big deal," Reki said optimistically, pushing her chair back and rising from the table. "I sort of like being different, anyway. Don't you think they're pretty?" Reki laughed, turning around and fanning her wings at Kuramori.
The older Haibane smile wrinkled up tighter in a failed attempt at cheerfulness. "You are right, Reki...," Kuramori agreed helplessly, nodding. "You are beautiful."
Reki laughed and ran a pear under the hiss of the sink faucet after plucking it from the kitchen counter, then left the kitchen and the conversation, not weighed down by the meaning of Kuramori's words.
/
The winter put all of the Haibane girls in Old Home in somber, reflective moods. Those who weren't staring in reverie out snow-lined windows were bravely socializing in a butterfly-like route of lighting from one Haibane to the next. Reki wanted to be a butterfly, but the others tended to huddle in tight rings to shield off Reki's entry from any angle. She assumed, innocently enough, that it was just because she was new, and even felt a little guilty for dropping an inky splotch on the pure white of their community. While pretending to be doing something else, writing or doing puzzles or reading books from the library, she'd listen to the parts of their conversations loud enough to escape the bubble of their bodies they would form around it.
"I wish I could be like a snowflake– or a feather!– drifting through life, taking everything lightly,"said Odori, her expression tilted wistfully somewhere between the ceiling and the center of her circle of friends. Her cocoon dream had been of dancing along a carpet of autumn leaves; her name meant "dance."
"You already do," said Kumo dryly. Kumo's cocoon dream had been of clouds, but she often said that Odori ought to take that name, since that was where her head usually was.
"I think it's important-," Reki started, and felt the words pinched off in her throat when the other Haibane collectively turned their heads to her, half of their expressions resentful and the other half afraid, "I think it's important... to be grounded, but also to have dreams."
The Haibane exchanged a flurry of birdish, uncertain looks, as if hurriedly looking among each other for something. When enough silence had followed Reki's statement, enough to let her know it would go unacknowledged, they went safely back to their conversation– a few of them even laughed belatedly at Kumo's statement, as if their lives had been paused for a brief moment to resume immediately where they had been left off.
"What kind of flower did you plant?" Kuramori asked cheerfully as she polished the dishes in the sink that Reki hovered over.
"Oh– Nn..."
Kuramori laughed, setting another glass atop a stack with a jolly clinking sound. "It doesn't matter," she chirped, wafting away the matter with a little wave of the dish rag in her hand. "We'll see what it is when it blooms. This way it'll be more suspenseful."
Reki's troubled expression loosened into a relieved smile before she turned her attention back to the garden with the new enthusiasm that Kuramori had planted in her with the remark.
The flower had struggled from the earth in a little green bulb like two fat palms closed together in prayer, then had split into a curled M-shape. While the plant had been fighting to bloom, Reki had been given a job at Old Home and her name had been made official with the Communicator. She wished she could have remembered more of her cocoon dream in order to have a more romantic name. The other Haibane girls had names that meant "cloud", "starlight", and "rainfall"; all Reki had been able to recall was a cold, narrow path of stones. Kuramori had cheerfully baptized her "small stone." She'd thought it was cute, so Reki hadn't objected.
"It's already reaching for the sky," Kuramori mused quietly as her gaze fell in line with Reki's toward the small green burst between two wilted tulip stalks.
"It isn't afraid of winter," Reki said jovially, pushing from the edge of the sink and standing straight to watch the flower through the window. As she did, the somber form of Nemu passed through the kitchen. Reki looked swiftly over her shoulder in time to catch her retreating from the kitchen, her sad, sagging eyes heavy and half-closed in preparation for sleep. Under the droop of her eyelids, Reki recognized the look of wariness made in equal parts of resentment and fear. She sighed, resting an elbow on the edge of the sink and dropping her cheek in her hand.
"What's with Nemu? She always looks nervous. I wish I could cheer her up."
Kuramori's smile pinched a little with sadness as her movements changed, her hand slowly guiding a plate to the top of the stack as if it had gained sudden weight that made it harder to lift. "Nemu is... only worried," Kuramori said carefully.
"Worried?" Reki repeated doubtfully. "About what?"
"About you," Kuramori answered. Her voice began to sound pained, as if it took special effort to squeeze the words out of her throat, like the struggling muscles of a snake's belly.
"Me?" Reki echoed again. "Why is she worried about me? I'm fine." To prove so, Reki stretched her arms out on either side of her with a soft grunt and fluttered her wings in a low shuffling sound of feathers rustling. The sound always reminded Reki of flying; it was like a promise she could never fulfill.
Kuramori sighed slowly, setting down the washrag, peeling off her lemon-yellow gloves, and rubbing the lenses of her glasses on her shirt front. Reki, frowning at the slow, deliberate series of motions that suggested seriousness, somberly straddled one of the kitchen chairs to sit in it backwards, folding her forearms over its back and resting her chin on them in a gesture of attentiveness.
"You see...," Kuramori began, "when a Haibane is born with black splotches on their feathers, it means they are Sin-Bound. Sin-Bound Haibanes... are different from other Haibanes." Kuramori's face crinkled with a grimace, as if she'd been stung by a bee, and she folded her hands in front of her.
"Sin-Bound? What sin? I just got here– I haven't done anything that wrong, have I?"
"Oh, no, no, Reki," Kuramori said hurriedly, wafting her hands a little as if to erase the idea from an invisible chalkboard. "No, you haven't done anything wrong, but... perhaps, in another life, in another time, you..." She took a steadying breath as her voice quivered and began again. "None of us know why some Haibane are good and others are Sin-Bound. It's just an unfortunate occurrence."
"So my feathers are black. Big deal," Reki said optimistically, pushing her chair back and rising from the table. "I sort of like being different, anyway. Don't you think they're pretty?" Reki laughed, turning around and fanning her wings at Kuramori.
The older Haibane smile wrinkled up tighter in a failed attempt at cheerfulness. "You are right, Reki...," Kuramori agreed helplessly, nodding. "You are beautiful."
Reki laughed and ran a pear under the hiss of the sink faucet after plucking it from the kitchen counter, then left the kitchen and the conversation, not weighed down by the meaning of Kuramori's words.
/
The winter put all of the Haibane girls in Old Home in somber, reflective moods. Those who weren't staring in reverie out snow-lined windows were bravely socializing in a butterfly-like route of lighting from one Haibane to the next. Reki wanted to be a butterfly, but the others tended to huddle in tight rings to shield off Reki's entry from any angle. She assumed, innocently enough, that it was just because she was new, and even felt a little guilty for dropping an inky splotch on the pure white of their community. While pretending to be doing something else, writing or doing puzzles or reading books from the library, she'd listen to the parts of their conversations loud enough to escape the bubble of their bodies they would form around it.
"I wish I could be like a snowflake– or a feather!– drifting through life, taking everything lightly,"said Odori, her expression tilted wistfully somewhere between the ceiling and the center of her circle of friends. Her cocoon dream had been of dancing along a carpet of autumn leaves; her name meant "dance."
"You already do," said Kumo dryly. Kumo's cocoon dream had been of clouds, but she often said that Odori ought to take that name, since that was where her head usually was.
"I think it's important-," Reki started, and felt the words pinched off in her throat when the other Haibane collectively turned their heads to her, half of their expressions resentful and the other half afraid, "I think it's important... to be grounded, but also to have dreams."
The Haibane exchanged a flurry of birdish, uncertain looks, as if hurriedly looking among each other for something. When enough silence had followed Reki's statement, enough to let her know it would go unacknowledged, they went safely back to their conversation– a few of them even laughed belatedly at Kumo's statement, as if their lives had been paused for a brief moment to resume immediately where they had been left off.