Lusha

If you knew him you would anticipate everything, no explanation needed. But seeing that you do not, I shall begin this tale at its origin. Now the difficulty is how to begin, and where to start. So, reminiscent of ancient chronicles, I shall initiate with "In the Beginning." If I recite my literature befittingly, I would then continue with "God created the heavens and the earth." On the contrary, I am not God nor do I appreciate his intellectual opinions, so my own narrative will have quite a different demeanour. I shall not be telling you of lavish obscurities of pain, or hope, Divinity and Fiends. Instead I shall tell you a story of a man and a conflict of such great proportions that the world was never the same again.

My name, if it is even a proper name at all, is Lusha. This is my story as I've witnessed it. To understand you should first know a bit more about myself. I appear to be a Japanese adolescent, but as I'm sure you have heard before "looks can be deceiving." If one were to peer closer during a second or third look, they would notice some rather queer differences. These would become more apparent if one was to know of my personal history. I am an ancient daemon, and although I give the impression of being a model of youth and femininity, I have lived so many centuries I have begun to lose track. I am a beautiful creature with well-angled proportions and perfectly white skin. My silky black hair dangles into a pair of innocent doe-like eyes, and is held behind a pair of slightly pointed ears. Usually I go out of my way to hide these minor wonders with elegant clothing, black lace, and ribbons, which I so love to wear. I prefer a scented tea to coffee, rhythmical poems to music, and dancing rather then sex. I never wear make-up. I can occasionally be seen with a small, light umbrella that I carry as protection from the sun. My black sunshade, a parasol of sorts, is formed of silk extended on strips of whalebone. fastened to an ebony cane by means of pivots or hinges.

For the last few years, I have wandered the earth in search of my lost half, which faded into memory over the dying years. He disappeared during my darkest time; and only as of late I seem to see him beckoning to me from the shadows of dreams. This tale that I tell is dedicated to him, the angelic owner of my immortal soul.

The dream first appeared to me two years ago, tomorrow. At that moment I was in a deep slumber; one that had lasted many seasons, eras, and evolutions. My spirit floated aimlessly through nature, undetected and silent. My rational mind, if one existed during this period at all, was quieted until no thoughts pierced my memories and the passing years seemed to become an unending hum. I could have stayed like that forever, I think, if my slumber had not been disturbed by a dream sent to me from a voice amidst the populating world.

Flashes of light emerged, like one would see from looking at the sun behind the veil of closed eyes. The light took a form that seemed familiar but that my mind would not comprehend. I saw the glowing creature in a strange room that my own eyes had never observed. He sat at a miniature classically styled table, drinking cream from a teacup. The thick milk clung to his upper lip and he smiled in amusement. He appeared to be wearing an outfit that would fit a historical time in a past century; it was fashioned with golden embroidery and glass buttons. His hair, which looked like pale strung gold, was long and curled, reaching his shoulders. The image grew persistently clearer so that I could see the delicate floral patterns on the wallpaper. The dream gentleman stared right into me. I felt my essence grow insignificant as I peered into those misty eyes, and then the vision was gone and I saw how the world had changed since I had fallen into nothing.

So that day, almost two years ago, my soul recreated my material body, and I went in search for the man with those misty eyes. My wish is to talk to him, to know why he came in search of me, a fallen angel with the innocent need to know of my own past, and why it's him I see in my dreams.

Since then the dream returns in glimpses and fragments that I try to fit together like a rainbow with missing tints and hues. I wander around the mortal plain in search of answers that surely he must know. Listening to people, I stroll by, noticing their expressions and trying to imitate them on my own emotionless face. I have a soul, this I know, but who I am is a mystery to me.

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Kitsune closed the book tenderly, placing a strip of ripped fabric to mark the spot. She lifted her hand to her cheek, surprised to dab at a tear that had appeared there. Her back was against the wall and her legs were curled beneath her weight. The large book lay closed on her lap, and again she wondered where it might have come from. Twilight had settled upon the city, and in the distance, she could hear the horns of the busy street. However the café was a different world; it was apart from the clamour beyond the door. Here it was deathly quiet, and the spirits of the past could whisper their secrets into the ears of an outsider. The girl yawned before closing her eyes. Softening her breath, she was soon sleeping, dreaming of the words she had just read. The book that was on her lap lay open to the page that she had left it, and in her sleep, another voice took its turn at reading the passages within.