Disclaimer: I do not own Fushigi Yuugi or its characters, but I do own my storylines and original characters (if there are any). I do not profit in any way from the making of this fan fiction.
Note:
This chapter was updated November 28, 2006 It's been a long time since I have posted any new fan fiction for this site. It's been years. I have a close friend that inspired me to write again and I want to thank her very much.
-This will be my first Fushigi Yuugi fan fiction.
-This takes place after the last episode of The Mysterious Play, but Tamahome has not yet returned to Miaka.
-I had no idea there was a continuation after The Mysterious Play up until recently so as far as this fic goes that continuation does not exist.
-Remember time IS different between the book world and the real world.
-Tamaxlovesxme
Chapter 1
The days seemed to get colder. When the wind hit her skin it felt like it burned and then it subsided with a cool rush making the tiny goose bumps on her arms. She noticed a change in the leaves from green to red as she peered outside the window. The complimentary scheme was pleasing to the eye. It almost made her forget how she felt for a moment. Sadly, the power of the earth's beauty was no match for the power of her heart. A moment passed and once again Miaka saw darkness in everything.
Life was not the same now in this world. She had been born and raised here surrounded by those she cared for, but it was no longer enough. People cannot miss what they do not know and Miaka envied that. She wished every night to forget the pain on every star. She would lie across her bed facing the window as the night shown through. Tears would well up in her eyes and down her cheeks leaving small puddles of heartache on her pillowcase. Drifting off to sleep from exhaustion, she hoped that when morning came she would forget all that had happened. Her wishes were never granted and she would blame it all on those stars, but it was her that prevented such wishes. She did not truly want to forget. No one wants to forget those who had once made you the happiest in your life no matter the despair that came after.
Miaka slept a lot these days. She hoped that if she slept she would dream of him. Sometimes she could get a glimpse of his smile, but nothing more.
Tamahome! Come back to me!
Miaka screamed to the vision of the young man. She ran to him trying to shorten the distance between the two lovers. Try as she might it was no use to catch up to him.
Just forget about me Miaka.
Tamahome's smile faded and he turned away from her as she continuously called out to him.
No! I can't forget! I love you Tamahome. Come back!
She would wake up with her lungs on fire like she had been screaming all night. Miaka tried so hard to fall asleep again to continue dreaming. Just one more view of the man she loved. She just needed to see his smile one more time.
It never worked. She lay awake counting the indentations in the ceiling's texture. If she stared hard enough she could see tiny spots dancing above her.
"Tamahome, when will I see you again?"
Tears flowed uncontrollably. She was no longer sad, but angry at the thought that he had left her here alone in this unyielding coldness. She walked to the window where she spent most of her time. Miaka always felt that talking to the sky would make her closer to Tamahome.
"You promised." She said sternly staring at those same stars like she always did. "You said you would come back to me."
She held her chest in pain. Her heart started pounding her face red and wet. She stood up quickly from the windowsill.
"YOU PROMISED!!!"
Miaka fell to the floor in a heap of sorrow as the night covered her in shadows.
XXXX
Sunlight began to shine into the small bedroom as a new day approached. The rose colored walls seemed to fade to yellow with the shadows of the curtain against the paint. A small end table beside Miaka's bed displayed a picture frame with eight faces smiling in the photograph. Miaka used to stare at it for hours leaving her in a trance. If she had been looking at that moment she would have noticed something new in the Polaroid.
The forehead of a young man was glowing. Magenta colored light escaped the surface. Like a spotlight, it covered the fallen woman who lay across the carpet. It was as if an unknown artist was putting the finishing touches on a portrait, the mark of "ogre" began to form.
Speckles of glitter spiraled quickly and then faded.