Chapter 3 – Morality
In everything you do, live for the truth -
Your words should be clear and your actions substantial;
Don't have ideas in your heart that are not discernible,
Stand at the centre like the bright rays pouring from the sun!
"Tama-chan, I presume," she said quietly, her eyes following her fingers as they traced over the familiar markings on his forehead and back. Strangely enough, it was seeing this tiny cat perched beside her head that hit home the reality of where she really was. If she had been dreaming surely her mind would have conjured up something a little more interesting than this simple moment of normality.
Picking up the tiny cat, Marissa pushed herself up with her other hand to recline against the wall with the pillow nested firmly under her back and Tama settled on her lap. She could hear sounds in the rest of the house now, movement in the next room and the clatter of several objects being moved about. Briefly, she pondered calling out and letting her caretaker know she was awake. There was, of course, the problem of being unable to even communicate that she was hungry without a few expressive hand gestures. Disdaining the thought she, reluctantly, kept her mouth shut and busied herself with petting the cat contentedly sprawled across her stomach. His warmth and soft purrs were a welcome grounding to the truth of her situation and she found herself inanely wondering what her friends would say if they could see her now.
'Good job Mari, you've got the man of your dreams in the next room but you're too injured to give him a good pouncing!'
She chuckled quietly, which sent the little cat jiggling and earned her a glare. "Sorry," she apologized, smiling, and with a dismissive mewl she was forgiven.
For several minutes, the pair lay together in companionable silence and Marissa took the peaceful moment to observe her surroundings. Her first impression of the room being small had been correct, more so than she'd first realized, while lying on her back. It was narrow and only as long as the bed from head to foot, with one solitary shuttered window high on the opposite wall that could be looked out of, if one stood on tiptoes immediately in front of it. However, for all it lacked in size, it did offer a pleasant view of the sky, which was presently a clear, crystal blue and completely devoid of any clouds. Taking a slow deep breath to the point where the side of her ribcage began to ache, Marissa inhaled the clean air and felt a smile creep over her lips. The air was definitely better here than she could have imagined. Not a hint of smog or humanity, just crisp, clean, and smelling of things woodsy and earthy.
Inside of the room there was her bed, which was raised off the floor similar to the western style, a small side table and low backed chair beside it both constructed from the same wood and looking a bit old from wear. The walls inside of the room were deeply tan colored and rubbed smooth, exposing many intricate knots and dark lines running through the grain. The ceiling was flat and made of the same wood panels as the walls, but it seemed to have been left in a more natural state, as there were bumps, ridges, and protruding nubs warping the wood's shape. The only door in the room was slightly off center on the wall at the end of the bed, constructed of a lighter looking wood than the rest of the room. The floor was covered only by a rectangular rug, woven with what looked like reeds and faded threads of several colors. It was a simple room, plain, without any personality or appearance of being lived in. So that led to the question of, was this Chichiri's room or someone else's?
Picking up the earthen cup on the table Marissa carefully poured herself some of the clear water in the single-handed pitcher. She brought the cup to her lips and took a few slow sips before feeling a familiar tingle in her lower belly. Lowering the cup she looked about the room slowly, her eyes finally falling upon a covered, short earthen pot in the corner with four legs to stand it upright.
You've gotta be kidding me. With both eyebrows raised and a growing feeling of anxiety forming in her stomach, she slowly placed the half-full cup back on the table and folded her hands around Tama-chan on her lap. This may be feudal China, but I could be wrong. I hope I'm wrong.
Her inner musings were interrupted by the latch rattling on the inner door. It rose quietly, followed by the door swinging in on hinges that squeaked loudly into the silence of the room, which had hithero only been broken by the steady purr and breathing of the cat on her lap. Once again, there in the doorway, stood a curious vision of life-like proportions that made Marissa's breath hitch in her throat at the pure unexpectedness of it. He was carrying a tray between his hands that held two steaming items, a cup and shallow bowl, along with a rag draped over his right forearm.
He had paused in the doorway at the sight of her awake and they watched each other silently, gauging who would make the next move. Marissa felt the anxiety in her stomach flare into renewed life and suppressed the urge to squirm. Despite her conscious acceptance of the situation her inner emotional turmoil was something profound and she was still wary of this man who looked impossibly realistic when compared to all she'd seen and come to believe. She didn't realize it until a tiny gasp escaped her lips, but she was breathing heavily and had gripped the blanket with whitening knuckles. Flushing in embarrassment, she dropped her eyes and lifted her hands to place them gently on Tama, using his soft fur and quick heartbeat to calm her instinct to get up and flee.
Feeling more in control after a long minute had passed she lifted her eyes to meet the line-drawn ones of Chichiri and watched his face relax in understanding. He nodded politely and she nodded back, the pain in her abdomen subsiding to a hot pulse that could still be felt in her chest and cheeks. He entered the room and moved to stand beside the small table where he set down the simple meal. An aromatic medley of rice and chicken broth assaulted her nostrils and her stomach immediately switched from being nervous to exceptionally hungry.
"Oh thank you," she breathed, reaching over to pick up the bowl.
The seishi, however, seemed to find that unnecessary and picked up the tray before she could reach it. With a gentle nudge he shooed Tama-chan off her lap then laid the clean rag where the cat had just been.
"Thank you," she said again as he set the tray atop the rag, then felt herself flush embarrassedly. "Crap. Arigatou." A smile grew across Chichiri's masked face which quickly became mirrored on Marissa's. Feeling a little more confident, she plowed ahead.
"And, uhm, a… atashi wa… mo… sumanu, honto ni…" Rapidly losing her train of thought in her limited knowledge of Japanese, she abandoned her earlier misgivings about stupid hand gestures. She pointed between herself and Chichiri then made a departing gesture from her mouth while staring up at him apologetically. "Gomen nasai… about earlier, the whole, screaming thing…"
Whether he understood her full apology or not she couldn't tell, but he seemed to grasp her intention and nodded again, blue bangs bobbing with the action. Moving away from the bed he pulled up the wooden chair and sat down within easy reach of her and the pitcher of water. There was always something a bit disconcerting about someone watching you while you ate, but her hunger was beating out self-consciousness by a long shot.
"This is good!" she exclaimed after taking a slow sip of the broth. "Uhm, oishi?" Her uncertain question led her eyes to rise and watch her silent caretaker while drinking another spoonful. This time the smile on his masked face grew wider until Marissa found herself unable to help splitting into a grin in return. His cute smile seemed infectious whether it was hand-drawn or in real life. A curious tingle not unlike nervousness blossomed briefly in her stomach as they shared a smile that seemed to mean more than a thousand awkwardly expressed words.
Maybe this won't be so bad after all, she found herself hoping as she bent her head over the bowl on her lap.
The meal continued in silence, but the atmosphere had quickly gone from awkward to comfortable in the span of a few short minutes. Whatever she may have felt after waking up before, the fear and the denial, it didn't banish the fact that she knew this man to be a good person. She had literally spent months watching his every move, analyzing his personality, struggling to comprehend why this character fascinated and frustrated her so much. Reading the books and seeing him on screen, along with the rest of the participants in this mysterious play, had been an eye opener to the wonders of the imagination to her. That anyone could envision this world and make the effort to bring it to life, albeit in paper, was amazing. And yet here she was, in that world! What did that have to say for the creator of "Fushigi Yuugi"? And what about the Book of the Four Gods? Could the book exist even in her world, perhaps having been the actual inspiration for Watase? The thought was mind boggling in its implications and, with a mental shake, she dismissed her confused speculations. Hunger should be taking precedence, not creating more questions for herself. Like why it was Chichiri who had found her in this world, and why she was here in the first place.
She finished her soup and dutifully drained the rest of her drink at his urging, which was a pleasant tasting green tea with a nutty aftertaste. Swirling the liquid around her mouth thoughtfully before swallowing, she was again amazed at how pure and rich the flavors seemed to be here when compared to her world. Or time period, rather. Things like water, tea leaves, and rice unspoiled by mass production and human industrialization seemed to carry a purity that her modern taste buds found amazing.
"That was really good, oishi," she praised as Chichiri removed the tray from her lap and picked up the rag.
He bestowed her with another of one of his childish smiles, which, once again, managed to send a little flutter of awareness through her midsection that was greatly dulled by the fullness in her stomach. As he left the room with her empty dishes, she let out the deep breath she had been holding in while he'd cleaned up around the bedside. So Chichiri was a guy, a smiling, handsome guy, and he'd been smiling at her, a lot. That still didn't warrant such a juvenile response, especially when from his perspective she was a total stranger who didn't even speak the same language. Let alone what he might think of her if and when he found out she was from another world, beyond that of Miaka's. Stupid hormones, she muttered inwardly to herself.
Thinking that would be the last she'd see of the seishi for awhile, Marissa slid herself slowly down under the bed covers, wincing as her sore limbs and bruises protested the change in position. She was just working on getting the long shirt pulled back down from where it'd bunched around her hips when the inner door opened again. She quickly brought her hands out from under the covers and laid them over her stomach, giving him a tentative smile. The cheerful countenance on his masked faced seemed almost permanently imprinted there now, which popped a question into Marissa's head that had occurred to her several times before arriving here. Does he ever smile under the mask?
The thought caused the smile on her face to diminish slightly. Smiling paper masks didn't let you see what was underneath, both the scars and the seriousness. He could be pissed off and no one would ever know it, she realized, a bit disappointedly. Unable to really continue the speculation on that thought, she busied herself with removing leftover bits of dirt and grime from under her finger nails while her caretaker took the seat next to her bed once more.
"Ahem," he coughed, clearing his throat.
Lifting her eyes away from her hands she watched his face curiously. Were they going to start with Basic Greetings 101 now? 'Me Chichiri, you Marissa,' a Tarzan-like voice mimicked in her head.
"Perhaps," he began slowly, haltingly. Marissa froze and her eyes locked on his face in disbelief.
"We should try again no da," he finished. His English was far from perfect, carrying the heavy accent of a native Japanese speaker. But he had still spoken English, clear and correctly.
"My name is Chichiri. And you are Marissa no da?"
Still caught in surprise, she could only nod her head slightly. As she struggled to find her voice, one choked word managed to escape. "H… how?"
Chichiri tapped the fingers of his right hand on his knee, as though he were searching internally for the words to answer her question. "Would you believe magic no da?"
"Magic?" she replied, still pinning him with a look of disbelief and surprise. "How did… how?" she repeated again.
He gave his shoulders a little shrug and held up both hands, palms facing each other about a foot apart. "Last night, my hands," he wiggled his fingers for emphasis, "put them here." He demonstrated by placing the tips against his temples. "I could… see, thoughts, learn from them no da. I learned your language."
Unable to take her eyes off him just yet, Marissa pushed herself back into a reclining position on the bed. "How much?" she asked, her tone dropping from surprise to wonderment.
"Much, but not all no da. A mind is very…" he paused, searching for the word. "Busy," he finished with a broadening smile.
That infectious smile was going to do her in, she realized, as her own lips unintentionally pulled up in response. "Wow," was all she could think to say.
He nodded, sharing her sentiments. "It is very new no da," he admitted. He was still saying the words slower than a normal speaker, as if, despite his mind knowing the correct wording, his tongue was still catching up to shape the strange sounds.
As he was opening his mouth to speak again, Marissa suddenly interrupted. "Hey, wait a second. Do you realize you're still saying 'no da'?" Her brown eyes were dancing with laughter at the realization.
"I am, no… da?" he replied, stumbling over the last words as he too realized his speech pattern had somehow crossed languages.
Unable to hold it back any longer, Marissa laughed out loud. Chichiri soon joined her in his higher, more childish voice, but the sound was far from unpleasant. All remaining vestiges of tension were swept away in their moment of shared mirth.
Still chuckling, Marissa groaned and pressed a hand to her right side. "I think I bruised something," she confessed, attempting to rub away the soreness that had flared to life there.
As her discomfort made itself apparent, Chichiri's laughter quickly dissipated. "Does it hurt badly no da?"
"No, I'll be okay, I think," she replied, gently sinking back onto the bed.
"Marissa?"
"Yes?" She tore her eyes from the ceiling and her concentration on massaging her rib cage to see Chichiri looking at her uneasily.
"I need to check, your leg no da," he explained, pushing his chair closer to the bed.
"Oh." Reaching down her right side, she moved to intercept Chichiri's hands which had been moving to pull away the blanket near her thigh. Trying not to feel too self conscious she gathered away the wool and revealed her right leg from the upper thigh down, finally getting her first view of the white bands which were wrapped tightly around the middle of her limb. Though she had expected to see it, the sight of dark splotches soaking through the fabric sent a painful twinge from her neck down to her toes.
Chichiri seemed concerned at the sight of it as well and began removing the wrappings around her leg quickly and carefully. His sure movements made her wonder just how many times he'd had to unwrap and redress her wound. How long have I been out of it? She contemplated the question briefly before another thought hit her. Oh god, has he seen me naked?
Marissa felt her ears growing warm the longer she stared at the side of the seishi's head and the question rebounded through her mind in mortification. Naturally, Chichiri also chose to turn his head at that moment with the loosened bandages held in his right hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, noticing her red face. "Does it hurt no da?"
"No, I mean, yes. It does hurt a bit, but it's not so bad if I don't move it. Why do I smell lemons?" She said, changing the subject quickly, and sniffed the air to confirm her initial suspicion.
"It's the…" He gestured towards a white powdery substance which was covering the top of her thigh in a long, thin line.
"Poultice?" she offered.
He nodded, blue bangs bouncing. "Lemon is very bitter, it keeps away infection no da."
Marissa watched, fascinated, as he procured a bowl and filled it with water from the pitcher then began wiping away the powder with the soaked edge of another rag. He was cleaning away the outer edges first, keeping away from the center where the spots of red had bled through and dried on the poultice. She tried to gauge how big the wound was, as the line of powder ran from where the edge of the blanket sat down towards her inner thigh and ended a few inches above the left side of her knee. Which then raised the question of, what exactly had done this to her?
If she tried hard enough she could remember walking through the woods, being frustrated and scared and trying to get over the shock of having nearly drowned in the pond not long before. She'd been walking for awhile, or at least it had felt like it, and then… nothing. She was drawing a complete blank. Between being in the woods and waking up here last night there was a distinctive void that both calmed and bothered her at the same time. That she couldn't remember any details was annoying, but if the memories were so bad that her mind had blanked them out, she was grateful for the natural intervention. Unless he did it, she wondered. I'll have to ask him if-
"Ow!" she exclaimed, her right hand flying over involuntarily to grip the side of her leg.
"Sorry no da!" Chichiri quickly pulled back from her thigh, his rag caked with the white powder and dried blood. He bent over to wash the rag clean in the bowl as Marissa squinted down the length of her body towards her leg.
"Are those stitches?" she asked, biting her lower lip against the pain his cleaning had induced.
He nodded and placed the damp rag atop her thigh near the edge of the dark threads. "This will hurt a little more no da," he warned as his fingers began to probe the red swollen skin.
"Just a little," she hissed sharply, suppressing the urge to jerk her leg away from his examination. She could feel the cool cloth being passed across the long gash, cleaning away the dried powder from between the stitches. Each tiny tug of the thread on her skin felt like a knife trying to dig out something from inside her leg, a deep internal pain she'd never felt before in her life until this moment. It didn't just localize itself in her thigh either, it was as though all the nerves in her leg down to the very tips of her toes could feel the effects of this internal injury, and they were telling her quite loudly to make the pain stop.
A single tear escaped from her left eye at another jolt of pain. "Are you done yet?" she bit out between gritted teeth.
"Yes, no da," he replied, dropping the red-spotted rag into the bowl, the water now a pink milky color.
"Why does it hurt so badly?" She wiped away the tear streaks on the left side of her face and stared down at her leg again, cringing inwardly at the sight of the whole top of her leg now a bright angry red. The skin being held in place by the stitches was puckered and seeping blood in several places, overall not a pretty sight to behold.
Chichiri began gathering up the bowl and rose to his feet. "The wound is deep no da. I had to make stitches inside your leg to put the… muscles together. It will hurt for a long time, I am sorry no da."
"Bummer," she muttered as her head dropped back against the pillow. She missed the curious look Chichiri threw her way before he left the room, returning a moment later with fresh bandages and a smaller bowl filled with a white pasty substance. He knelt by her bedside and applied the poultice with a flat piece of bamboo, the smell of lemon again permeating the air.
"What's in that anyway?" Marissa's muffled voice asked from under the arm she'd tossed over her face, resigning herself to the labors of her caretaker.
When the pasty substance covered the length of the wound he set down the bowl and gently lifted her leg at the knee to begin rewrapping it with the clean bands of fabric. While he worked a contemplative look settled over his masked face. "I do not know your English words for them no da. There is lemon juice, and two plants. One is a small yellow flower; it will make the pain less and prevent infection. The other is a leaf with many… soft hairs on it, dried and made into a powder. It will make the muscle whole again and heal the skin faster no da."
"Sounds wonderful," she muttered, wincing with each bump that managed to jar her leg from perfect stillness. "I don't suppose you have any morphine here," she continued as an after thought, half joking.
"No, I do not have any, Marissa-san no da," he replied while making the last pass of fabric around her leg.
A short laugh followed by a groan left her mouth. "It was a joke. And please don't call me 'Marissa-san', everyone calls me Mari-chan mostly."
Chichiri's deft fingers gathered the remaining ends of white fabric and tied a small knot near the top of the wrappings, capturing the healing poultice beneath the bands and giving the stitches little chance to move out of place while the skin and muscle mended. "Done, Mari-chan no da," he announced.
Coming to his feet he gently pulled the blanket back into place over her leg, feeling sorry for the poor girl who still had her arm over her face and appeared to be making an attempt to control her breathing around the pain he had caused. He still couldn't say for sure at this time how good or bad the leg would heal. The swelling was worrisome, but the poultices he'd been applying seemed to have stayed any infection at the skin level.
"Is there anything else causing you pain, Mari-chan no da?"
She lifted her arm and waved him off. "No, I'm okay. It just feels much better if I don't move around. But," at this she paused and he watched her eyes flicker over to the opposite side of the room. "I do kinda, uhm, have to go to the bathroom." Her cheeks quickly grew a healthy shade of pink and Chichiri had to fight to keep down the chuckle that wanted to escape. So far she'd been like an open book with her emotions and he was finding it refreshing to be in the presence of a stranger who seemed to trust him so readily. After years of secrets, hidden agendas, and unchangeable destinies, he found himself welcoming the appearance of a mystery that didn't seem like it had some horrific ulterior motive. Still, he knew he'd be a fool and an unfit warrior of Suzaku if he wasn't cautious about finding out who this girl was and where she'd come from.
All in time, he told himself as he helped Marissa out of bed and led her on one hopping foot towards the large earthen jug.
= = = = = = =
After the awkward experience of having a man, Chichiri no less, help her get to and from going to the bathroom, Marissa had been left alone with a cup of tea to nap away the afternoon at her leisure. But despite the calming effects of the tea she was finding it hard to drift off into sleep. Instead her mind kept wandering back over the events before and after her arrival, which were leading to many more questions than she was capable of answering. How, why, and would she ever get back seemed the most prevalent. She didn't even know when it was in the course of the story. For all she knew this could be years after the end of the manga series, or sometime during it. Only Tama-chan's presence told her that it was after the seishi had been gathered and the battle between Suzaku and Seriyuu fought. Otherwise she was completely clueless as to when it was or how and why she was here. In Chichiri's care no less.
And that was another whole matter unto itself. She had harbored a fangirl's crush on the character for nearly a year, entranced by anything and everything about him, happy to spend literally hours revisiting the story on screen or in text form. Chichiri had always been more of a fascination than a romantic interest, though there was no denying that the man was incredibly good looking, especially now that she'd seen him in the flesh. His calm presence, his intelligence, his power, his mysterious past, his need for repentance; it was almost intoxicating to watch this man battle his inner demons and yet remain one of the strongest Suzaku seishi, of any seishi next to Nakago, to ever exist. If she was truthful with herself she knew that she could spend a lifetime continually fascinated by him and never tire of the need to understand him and what made him the incredible person he was. And that had been before she'd been brought here, before she'd come face to face with the real thing.
Wasn't it odd then that she had spent so long wishing to comprehend this person, and now here she was? In light of her near obsession with his character it made the whole situation seem even more preposterous. Maybe she really was dreaming after all, a fantasy to finally let her fulfill that need to understand. The realization rang with a truth she hadn't wanted to consider before. People didn't really fall into a world that existed in a book. She was a fool for even thinking the possibility existed. This all had to be a dream, a very real feeling dream. A dream she just hadn't woken up from yet.
Suddenly, being alone didn't feel quite so peaceful anymore. She was isolated, trapped inside this room, living a dream she couldn't get out of. She felt her heart beat quicken in mounting fear. Her eyes darted about the room, searching for a flaw or a crack in this fantasy's prison. Would the walls melt away and end this dream if she willed it hard enough? Was she even in control of this delusion anymore? Could it be an elaborate fabrication she was trapped inside, forever? Where was she really? Why wasn't she waking up?
"Mom, dad?" she squeaked out softly. "Mom?" she called a little louder, her anxiety intensifying with the continued silence.
"Mom!" The sound of her own voice sounded harsh and unreal. She had to be dreaming, there was no other logical explanation.
The latch on the door lifted and Marissa froze on the bed, struggling to stifle her short drawn breaths. Swinging the door open halfway, Chichiri stepped into the room with a concerned expression on his face. "Mari-chan?" he inquired.
She watched him owlishly for a few moments before speaking softly. "Are you real?"
Gently pushing the door closed behind him he stepped over to the bed like how a man might approach a frightened animal. "Of course I am. Why do you ask no da?"
Breaking eye contact, she shook her head and fisted her hands at her sides. "This has to be a dream," she stated firmly but quietly.
"Why?" he asked again, drawing up the wooden chair to sit down across from her shoulder.
"I'm not supposed to be here," she replied almost brokenly. Her hands lifted to press her palms against her pale face, a shaky indrawn breath slipping past her lips.
"Are you in trouble no da?" It was typical Chichiri to be more concerned about her than the bigger ramifications of her being in this world in the first place.
Marissa's hands slid down her face and fisted just beneath her neck. "I don't know. Maybe," she said softly.
"You can tell me no da," Chichiri encouraged, leaning over to place a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She turned tear-filled eyes on him at the contact and in their depths he saw a need for trust and assurance burning fiercely. "You wouldn't believe me," she declared stubbornly.
"Try?" he coaxed gently. Something profound had to be bothering her. He'd only been gone from the room for an hour and she was once again reacting to him and her surroundings the way she had the day before. As though, to her, being here and seeing him was something out of a nightmare, or a situation she'd previously thought impossible. She seemed adamant in refusing to accept that he and this place actually existed. Combined with his certainty that she was from another world, he was determined to get to the bottom of her origins and her fear. Perhaps all he needed to do was make the first gesture.
"Mari-chan," he began when she was silent for a long minute. "I know you're not from this world no da. Not long ago, some of us found out that our world is actually a story written inside of a book. You are not the first to come here from another world no da. There is nothing to be afraid of, I can help you. But you need to trust me no da."
He watched her eyes widen at his words and if he wasn't mistaken he could see a spark of relief float through them. He'd been right in showing the first gesture of trust. Watching her silently, he could see her mulling his suggestion over in her mind, contemplating the best way to approach his offer to hear what was troubling her. Finally she released a long breath and turned dark brown eyes on him. "When did Miaka go home?" she asked barely above a whisper.
Chichiri did his best to hide his surprise. Very few people outside of the seishi and the Emperor's Court knew the true name of the Suzaku no Miko. "About a year ago no da," he replied slowly, critically studying her reaction.
She bit down on her lower lip and worried it between her teeth for a moment. "And the war with Kotou, when was Nakago defeated?"
"Mari-chan, have you..." he began, pulling back from the bed.
"No please," she begged, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of his retreating arm. "I have to know. Don't ask me anything yet, please."
The face on Chichiri's mask frowned with worry before he let out a short sigh. "We defeated Nakago a year ago as well no da. The remaining factions of the Kotou army were broken apart six months ago. Kotou's new emperor is too young to take the throne, so a councilor loyal to Konan is ruling until the child comes of age no da. Is that what you wanted to know no da?"
"I think so, yes," she replied, the fingers of her left hand drifting unconsciously towards her mouth until she was ripping the nail on her index finger.
He watched her tackle that nail and then another completely before he gently cleared his throat, determined to see that this conversation didn't end on such a mysterious note. "Mari-chan," he prompted.
She lowered her hand and shifted restlessly under the bed covers. "I still don't think you'd believe me. But," she hastily continued at his grave expression, "I'll tell you what I can.
"You were right, I'm not from around here. That's why we didn't speak the same language." At this point she paused and seemed to be weighing her next words carefully. "Except, I'm not from Miaka's world."
Chichiri felt himself go ridged. Could what she was saying be true? Was Miaka's world just another one of many worlds? Had his Miko even been aware of this? It had been shocking enough for all of the seishi to hear of their ink and paper existence. He personally had done a lot of soul searching on the subject, though had failed to come any closer to understanding the meaning of his existence if he was simply just words in a story. What did this mean for Miaka and Yui, and their own world?
Unaware of Chichiri's inner thoughts, she licked her lips nervously and continued. "In my world, you are a book as well. And so is Miaka's world. Your world is a book within a book, or at least I think it is. No one's really sure if the Book of the Four Gods actually exists in my world the way it's portrayed in Miaka's world. But I guess that doesn't matter really." Her eyes slid over to watch the eyebrows on his mask rise impossibly high in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, but it's true. I've read your story, many people have. We all know about how Miaka was brought into your world and had to gather the seishi and fight against her best friend. The story tells about all of that, the battle that took place in her world, how Tamahome died and was reincarnated in her world to be together with her. But we all thought it was just a story, we, I had no idea it was real. That anyone could actually come here. I still don't understand how I got here, or why I'm here. I feel like this is just a really weird dream," she ended with a slight hitch to her voice.
To her surprise she felt his hand move to her shoulder again and give it a reassuring squeeze. "I am sorry you had to go through what you did to get here no da."
It was his kind voice that crumbled the last of her barriers, all her fear and frustration and confusion pouring out with the warm tears that slid down her face. She sniffed loudly while running the sleeve of her arm across her face and left it over her mouth and nose when it seemed the tears weren't going to stop anytime soon. She allowed herself a good cry, feeling both mortified and relieved with each passing second as her emotional turmoil found its release. Her muffled sobs were the only sound in the room for several minutes, Chichiri a silent, strong presence beside her that she knew was infinitely better to have there than being left to cry alone.
When her tears finally subsided, she used the edge of her shirt sleeve to wipe her face and surreptitiously clean away the mess under her nose. His hand gave her shoulder one final squeeze before withdrawing and she turned her face to look up at her caretaker. "I'm glad you were the one who found me," she admitted, almost shyly, breaking into a small smile.
He gave her one of his friendly cheerful expressions in return. "Do you want to talk more Mari-chan, or do you wish to sleep no da?"
"I think I'm ready to sleep now," she confessed.
Getting out of the chair, Chichiri picked up her empty tea cup and the pitcher of water. He gave her a small, reassuring nod, before heading to the door, when her voice made him stop mid step.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" she asked almost timidly, her face going slightly pink.
"I will be here, Mari-chan," he promised with a slow smile that kicked started Marissa's insides back into awareness of the man standing in the room with her. As he shut the door quietly she closed her eyes and huffed out a breath of air. Stupid hormones.