Chapter Three: Fool
If I wear a mask, I can fool the world. But I cannot fool my heart.
-Christina Aguilera, 'Reflection'
xxXxx
"Feverfew; looks like daisies, great for pains and digestive problems. Lavender; fairly pretty flower, good for salves and cooking, if you can get it. Stinging nettles; name says everything, great for medicines and food, if you're careful. You can also get a coarse thread out of it, if you know what to do."
Her father grinned at her, closing the book. "That about does it, son. You know herbs better than I do."
The fifteen year old merely nodded with a somber expression, fighting back the urge to glow at the praise. She had gotten much better at it over the years, even if it made her feel a little lifeless.
Machida told her that the other villagers had taken to calling her Stone Face when she wasn't around, which her father saw as a good thing. Machida himself couldn't seem to settle on a single nickname for her, but she didn't mind. None of the names he came up with made her feel like trash.
"Speaking of which, sir, we're running low on some spices in the cabinet," she said in an offhand manner. "Plus we're about out of flour."
"Good boy; you've been keeping an eye on the storage," he approved, turning away so that he could rescue the bread from getting burned.
He failed again. But his child knew better than to complain, since her father's burnt bread was still a far cry better than her own.
However, her rabbit stew was nearly perfect.
"I'll tell you what, let's go into town in the morning," he promised her as she used a cup to pour the stew into two bowls. "You're growing so fast these days that I almost need to get you new clothes every other time we go there."
"It's not my idea," she protested, wincing as the cup spilled some of the stew's water over one pant leg.
It was hot, but she didn't really care about the burn. Instead, she silently watched the brownish color left by the stew slowly fade back into a perfect white.
The same thing happened every time color intruded on her person. The villagers had been shocked, the first time one of their number was brave enough to toss a bit of mud at her. The same thing happened every time she skinned her kill, since it was a messy business.
If not for the fairy's mark on her, the teenager was certain that all of her clothes would be stained with blood like her father's.
Only Machida seemed not to care.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, thinking of her only friend. It had been eight years since her mother's death, and his welcome offer of friendship. He was still the only one in the village willing to look her straight in the eye and give an honest smile.
While her father's back was turned, the fifteen year old allowed herself a single, shy smile. Maybe she would be able to talk to him tomorrow. Maybe… just maybe tomorrow would be the day.
ooOoo
"… Come now; this fox skin is good for at least three bags of flour, or can't you tell quality when it's sitting in front of you?" the white-clad girl demanded, slamming her fist on the counter the way her father did.
"But look at the marks on its back right here," Tasho complained, pointing at the fox's perfect fur.
She looked at him, reached over the counter, and plucked the glasses right off his face.
"Now see here!" Tasho demanded in outrage as she nonchalantly used her bearskin cloak to clean them.
"Just a second, and you will see here," she replied in a gruff tone, setting them back over his eyes after a few more seconds of polishing. "Now try again; what marks?"
He scowled at her, and looked at the fox skin. Then he blinked, and took a closer look, removing and replacing his glasses with amazement. "Did you work some magic on these things?" he asked her crossly.
"I've already told you, I have no magic," she sighed tiredly. "Other than my strength and speed, I have no magical abilities."
"Other than removing stains from white clothing," her father reminded her from a small distance, his eyes glowing with pride at her haggling skills.
"Hasho, I'm begging you; don't make me deal with your ward anymore," Tasho pleaded, finally handing over the three bags of flour. "He goes for the jugular."
"Of course he does, that's why I've been letting him do it," Hasho smirked at him as he took one of the bags of flour to put in his sack.
The door opened behind him, making all three look over.
"Oh good, you're still in town," Machida panted, looking at the youngest of them. "Can I talk to you really fast?"
She looked at her father, trying desperately not to let her feelings show.
"… Go on, I'll take over here," he sighed, making a shooing motion with his hands.
"Thank you, sir," she replied gratefully, following Machida out the door.
"Quick, this way," he pleaded, gesturing for behind the trading post. "It's important."
'He's figured out that I'm a girl?' she thought hopefully as she followed him as silently as possible.
Once behind the store, Machida wheeled around to grab her by the shoulders. "I need your help," he said desperately.
"Come now, you know I'll help," she soothed him, fighting back the usual urge to laugh at him.
He was the ultimate test for her disguise, and there had been so many times when she thought it had slipped enough for him to connect the dots. He was reasonably clever, so she was certain that it was only a matter of time.
It didn't help that she wanted him to figure it out.
"My pale friend… I'm in love," he moaned, pacing the snow in soft crunches that might cover up their conversation to any other ears.
"Y-You are?" she asked in surprise. She wasn't expecting the conversation to start with such a declaration.
"Yes. But… she's just so… and, well…" Machida stammered like a little boy, scratching his hat from nerves as a blush colored his cheeks.
"How descriptive," the cursed teenager replied dryly. She was grateful that sarcasm wasn't on the list of things she was forbidden from. Machida had a great laugh.
He gave her a crooked grin, but sighed. "Can you think of anything that would impress a girl?"
She cocked her head at him in amusement. "You're the mayor's son; you're well-respected, and not so hard on the eyes. Isn't that enough?"
"No. Anybody could know that about me. I want to show her that I care, but…" he looked away uncomfortably while touching his shoulder.
It was still a bit weak.
"I can't impress her with my strength."
She flinched guiltily, but nibbled her lip in thought. "Hey, I thought of something!"
"You did?" Machida asked excitedly as she sat down.
"I did. Sit, this might take a while to show you."
He did as told, although his eyes turned slightly confused as she grabbed a small amount of snow.
"My guardian tells me that in the southern kingdoms, a man gives a lady a bouquet of flowers to show his interest in her."
"Yes, I know that. But no flowers grow around here, just snow."
"Then use snow," she said patiently, crushing it between her hands almost like a piece of dough.
"A bouquet of snow? Did you get into another fight with Jirashi and bump your head?" Machida asked suspiciously.
"If I did, he'd be limping, remember? Now watch what I do: if you harden bits of snow into shapes other than balls…" She stopped talking long enough to breathe hard on one of the bits of snow before pressing it against another one to make them stick together like they had been glued when the moisture refroze. "… You can make her some flowers of your own."
"Will that work?" Machida asked, completely fascinated by her hands, and the emerging flower between them.
"Any girl appreciates effort, Machida. Even I know that," she added to cover her tracks.
The resulting flower was a little lopsided, but it was undeniably a flower, with five uneven petals sticking out of it.
"There! Do you think you have the idea, now?" she asked, suppressing a smile of triumph.
"… Can I just give her that?" he asked in a stunned tone, holding out his hand for it.
She held it away from him and shook her head. "No way, you're the one who likes her, not me. Practice as long as you need to, but if you're going to give her a snow flower, it needs to come from your hands. Even if she never finds out, you'll know the truth, and isn't she worth the effort?"
Machida nodded slowly, a wide smile overcoming his handsome features. "I knew it. I knew you'd have a solution!"
"Why did you know?" she asked, praying that she already knew the answer.
"Well, I overheard my mother tell a friend of hers once that when someone is in love and needs advice, they should go to someone who isn't in love."
If a villager had shot an arrow into her heart at that precise moment, the cursed girl wouldn't have noticed. She dropped the flower onto the snow from the sudden pain as Machida stood up.
"Thank you, white one. I can't wait to see Sakura's face when I get it right!"
"S-Sakura?" she choked in horror.
"You know, the baker's daughter with the long black hair? I've actually liked her for a while, but now that Jirashi and Mitskume are after her, I need something extra special to impress her." He grasped her shoulder with a warm smile. "You are a true friend, Bear-san. I'd be lost without you."
With another cheeky grin, he was gone, almost skipping in his glee.
On the other hand, the remaining teenager was frozen as still as a statue. Her face was, for a few vulnerable moments, torn free from its mask. Her body began to sway from side to side, until she finally noticed that she was lying down on the ground.
'He… he never noticed. All those times he should have seen… and he was watching someone else. Why? Why?'
She stared up at the sky, which was clouded over with oceans of grey. Hardly any light penetrated such a barrier; just enough for anyone to tell that it wasn't night.
Were Machida's eyes similarly clouded over, whenever he looked at her? If anyone could have told the truth about her, it would have been him.
"… Boy? Boy?" her father called out worriedly.
She didn't want to face him. Not so soon. But, knowing that he would only get angry with her for hiding, she took in a deep breath, shoved her face into a snow bank to help herself calm down, and then got up. "I'm over here," she called, her voice hoarser than usual.
"Are you done talking to Machida?" he asked, coming around the building with difficulty, since he was carrying both of the sacks.
"Completely," she informed him, still hoarse as she stared at the flower she had made for Machida.
Two of the petals had fallen off when she dropped it, giving the trinket a broken look.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, coming over to see for himself.
"N-Nothing," she replied harshly, making sure to stomp on the flower, grinding it with her heel as she approached her father. "I'll carry both sacks."
"What, don't be ridiculous-"
"I insist," the girl said in a firm tone, one that she never took with her father.
It stunned him long enough for her to remove both sacks from his grasp and start marching home. She didn't even look back to see if he was following her.
With each step she took, it felt like someone was stomping on her heart, making her bite her lip angrily and increase the pace.
"Now stop that, I can't keep up," her father complained as he swept the branches over the trail wildly to cover their tracks, trying to keep up with her.
"Sorry," she apologized as she slowed down, although she didn't mean it. Anything to keep Machida off her mind would be welcome at this point.
"Son? Is this about Machida?" her father asked worriedly.
"Is what about Machida?" she asked in a flippant way.
"… It is, isn't it? You've never taken both sacks before."
"I should think you deserve a break every now and again, especially with how you've been caring for me over the years."
He grabbed her wrist harshly, forcing her to look up at him as he pushed the sacks to the ground. "What was it he wanted to talk about?" he asked in a slow, firm tone. "I haven't seen you this upset in years."
She looked down in shame.
"What is it? Tell me!"
"… He wanted advice," his daughter mumbled. "Girl advice."
Her father stiffened in horror. "Does he know?"
"Not a clue," she replied to a stiff, forced smile as she picked up the heavy sacks again to walk along the unseen path. "We have absolutely nothing to fear from him."
"Then why are you acting this way?" he demanded, storming after her. "Are you in love with him?"
The cursed teenager froze in her tracks, unable to move a muscle.
"…Oh no! Oh, honey, I'm so sorry-"
"Don't call me honey," she snarled, resuming her lonely march. "That is an endearment for girls, remember? I'm just your cursed ward." Not wanting to talk anymore, she started running, as fast as she could.
Snow dunes and rock formations seemed to fly past her, even as her father called out for her to stop.
But she didn't want to stop. Not this time.
She only slowed down at the mouth of the cave, and that was merely because her eyes needed to adjust to the dim light of the cave.
Sighing, she walked along that lonely hallway, and eased the familiar curtain around herself and into the cave that was her home.
Numbly, she set the sacks down, started a fire in the pit so that she could see, and started putting everything where it belonged.
Jars of herbs in the spice cabinet. Flour and cheese in the cupboard. The two spools of thread went into her mother's sewing bag, as well as the folded up material for patching clothes. Her two new shirts and pair of pants went into the box she kept her clothes in. The two jugs of ale, used solely for curing animal hides, were slipped under the table they kept their traps on for repair work.
As the girl stood up, she studied each and every trap that needed work. The fox one had a broken spring, and a supporting knob had come loose on another one. Usually minimal things, since her father had taught her to make top-quality traps.
Her fingers itched to start working on them, but with how far behind she had left her father… he would appreciate a warm meal by the time he got home. With a heavy heart, she slipped into the smaller side cave where they kept the game they didn't trade, and chose a long strip of otter meat. With the fish they had caught the day before yesterday, she should be able to make an especially savory stew.
That was all she could cook right, actually; stews and soups, sometimes tea, if she was lucky. Anything else usually ended in disaster involving a bucket of water as part of the solution. She checked to make sure the bucket was full, just in case.
Even if Machida had truly known and accepted her, he liked bread too much to have considered her as a mate. If it was possible for her to take a mate.
'Why did I let myself fall for him? I already knew I can't get married,' she thought miserably, fighting back the urge to cry into slowly changing broth, taking a break every now and again to add more wood to the fire.
They were running low on that, too. She'd have to chop some more in the morning.
A sharp rattling sound was heard. She looked around in worry, but then stared at her hand, which was holding the ladle. It was shaking terribly, though not as bad as when she had gotten cursed.
"It's just not fair," she whispered to no one. "I just wanted to save Mama, was that so bad?"
Wasn't losing her name and coloring enough of a punishment, on top of enslaving her soul and losing her mother? Why did she have to be denied the comfort of a mate as well?
She wrapped her shaking arms around herself for a hug, pretending for just a moment that it was Machida holding her like a treasure.
Like a woman. She'd never been held like a woman; only a child. What was it like, to be held like a woman?
Her hand wandered up to her neck. Where most cloaks would have a clasp, she only had another strip of fur covering her collar bones, as if the fairy's touch had sewn the cloak seamlessly around her neck.
Her father had worried at first that it would stay the same size it had when she first got it, but for a reason that only magic could explain, it had grown with her. It always remained an inch shorter than her height, and wide enough to wrap herself up in like a blanket. Even the hood made a comfortable pillow for her.
Both of her hands went to her throat, and began tearing at the soft white fur. But even with her impressive strength, she couldn't loosen its' hold by a single hair's width. She took one of her daggers to start sawing at it savagely, but the blade only rusted at such use until it dissolved into red dust.
That's when the tears began to fall like rain.
ooOoo
Hasho stepped through the curtain a few hours later, panting from the exertion of sweeping their tracks out of the snow. A hot, salty smell assaulted his nostrils, making his mouth water shamelessly.
His daughter was sitting at his desk, her movements slow and deliberate as she finished repairing a trap. She set it to one side with three other traps, and disinterestedly grabbed another one to start inspecting it.
"Welcome home," she mumbled, although she didn't turn to look at him. "The stew's been done for a few minutes; go ahead and help yourself."
"Did you already eat?" he asked sternly, hanging up his heavy winter cloak.
"Not hungry."
When his daughter sounded that defeated, Hasho lost his appetite as well. He walked around the fire pit keeping supper warm in order to wrap his arms around his child.
"Please don't do that. It hurts," she whispered, keeping all of her attention on the trap in front of her, one with sharp metal teeth.
Hasho leaned forward, gently took the trap, and pushed it away from her. "I think you and I are overdue for a talk, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," she replied angrily, shrugging him off as she got off his chair. "That's an endearment for girls."
"Ha-ech!" he gasped, trying to say her name again.
"Don't do that, either. It's forbidden, remember?"
"Ha-ech!" he tried again, as soon as the first round of gasping subsided.
"I said stop that!" she commanded, pulling on one of his sleeves. "I don't have a name anymore, you know that!"
"Y-Yes, you do!" he finally managed to say, tears spilling down his face from her pain.
"But who knows what will happen if one of us tries to say it for too long? Don't you dare chance it," she hissed at him, keeping one hand at his mouth, just in case.
Hasho took in a long, shaky breath, and grabbed her wrist. "You and I are still overdue for a talk. Let's sit."
His only child looked less than thrilled, but she nonetheless went to her mother's chair as her father picked up his desk one to set it next to his wife's.
"Please say this isn't about Machida," his daughter begged, staring at the flames with intent. "I've already cried my heart out over him, and I don't want to do it again in front of an audience."
"It isn't… exactly," he admitted, ruffling his hair from nerves. "It's about removing your curse."
"If it's even possible," she continued numbly.
"It's possible," he asserted forcefully, making her look at him. "If it weren't, Ukima would have chosen another cure."
"How do you know? What if she made it hopeless in the first place?" she demanded angrily.
"Impossible. It's against their code of conduct."
She quirked her head at him. "Code of conduct?"
He cursed himself for letting it slip. But she needed to know things weren't hopeless.
"When a fairy curses someone, not only do they have to include a cure, it has to be something doable. It might be incredibly hard, and maybe the one getting cursed isn't able to do it, but it can be done. There really is a place somewhere with open hearts and arms, waiting for you."
His daughter stared at him, still looking sad. "So when do we leave?"
"We?" he asked in confusion.
"Well, aren't you coming too?"
"Sweetheart… I can't. I thought you knew."
She looked at him with horror. "Knew what?"
"Honey… when there's a cursed quest like this, it must be started alone. That is how things are done."
"Says who?" she demanded, standing up from her chair angrily.
"Says… well…" he sighed tiredly. "It comes down to a single question; do you want your name back?"
"Yes, of course!"
"Then you need to earn it back. I have been preparing you for a life of hardship since the day I first cut your hair. If I come along, yes, it will be easier, and we wouldn't have to say goodbye. But if I do come with you, I'll make all the decisions like I do here. This is your curse, your quest. You need to be the one making the decisions, not me, and didn't Ukima say you needed to do it on your own?"
She stared at him, realizing that he was right. "But, you let me do the haggling."
"So that we both know that you'll be able to do it on your own." He sighed, and also stood up to hug her lingeringly. "I love you, no matter what. But I would like nothing better than to be able to call you by name again without having another breathing problem."
"… Will you remember it by then?" she whispered, clinging to him like a child.
"Always, and don't you ever forget it." He kissed her snow colored hair, and held her close. "But you're not quite ready yet. There are still a few things you need to learn."
"Like what?"
"I won't be able to repair your clothes anymore," he informed her with a sly grin. "Plus you have no idea how tough some of the southerners are. When no fighter in the village can stand up to you without you turning berserk, and you're able to sew a straight seam, you will be ready."
She gave a mournful look at her mother's sewing bag. "The second one's going to take a little longer."
ooOoo
The cursed teenager took a blow to the jaw, turning away from her opponent as she did so. But she turned the move onto the offensive as she kept turning, enough to deliver a powerful kick to his head.
Jirashi fell to the ground as if his legs had been cut off; quickly and without any resistance. She knelt next to him, checked his breathing, and smirked at the mayor. "He's still breathing fine, but he'll have a killer headache when he wakes up."
The mayor scowled at her, waving forward some men standing ready with stretchers. "That's it for today, Stone Face. Come back tomorrow, and I'll have a few more ready."
"You're too kind," she murmured, bowing her way out of his presence.
It had been ridiculously easy to get the mayor's help with her father's new challenge. All she had to do was tell him that she wanted fighting experience, and there would be no vengeance from her if she got beaten to a pulp.
The villagers had even made a makeshift arena for her, just for the chance to see her grinded into dog meat, but as far as she could tell, they were a bit disappointed that she hardly ever walked away with anything more than bumps and bruises.
It wasn't enough for her. She wanted to be able to walk away without a scratch on her. Maybe if she started taking on several at once-
"Bear-san!" Machida called, making her heart beat uncertainly as he caught up to her. "Don't you think you've made your point yet?"
She looked at him curiously, slowing down enough for him to walk with her out of the village. "What do you mean? What point?" she asked while scooping up a fistful of snow to press against her aching jaw.
"That you're through with putting up with being treated like trash," he sighed in exasperation, covering his face with a blue mitten. "I'm pretty sure they understand now."
"They don't, and no, that's not why I'm doing this," she corrected him, remembering to keep her face calm and indifferent.
There was no point in dropping hints if he wasn't taking them.
"… Then why? You don't like fighting. You've never liked fighting; you're too gentle."
She fought back the urge to smile at him. "My dear friend, you know me so well." 'So why does he know so little?' "But I have to be the best fighter around, and soon."
"But why?" he begged, grabbing her by one shoulder so that she couldn't escape.
She sent another grateful prayer to heaven that the bearskin was dulling his touch, and her curse of complete whiteness didn't allow for things like blushing.
Even Machida would have figured it out by now if he saw her blush every time she looked at him.
"What's the point?" he asked again, forcing her to stop walking before the village was out of sight.
She looked at him as her heart felt like it was breaking anew. She considered flat out telling him the truth, but would he be able to handle it?
Would he hate her, if he knew?
"Bear-san, just tell me. What's going on?" Machida asked, soft and slow as he looked into her eyes.
"… You won't like it," she answered honestly, looking down at her perfectly white snow boots as the snowball began melting against her jaw.
"I don't care. Are you in trouble?"
The cursed teenager laughed harshly, the only kind of laugh she had that didn't sound feminine. "It depends on the way you look at it. Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course," he assured her, slamming one fist over his heart. "Whatever you tell me will never cross my lips again. What's going on?"
She took a deep breath… and chickened out of telling him everything. She wouldn't be able to handle it if he looked at her with hate or disgust.
"… I don't have to be a fairy's companion."
His jaw dropped.
"If I want to have my own life, I'll have to find a special place that will release me from Ukima's power."
"Bear-san, that's suicide!" he gasped in horror. "What if she finds out?"
"She already knows. She's the one who told me to do it if I don't want to spend eternity as a polar bear."
"… Why didn't you mention this before?" he asked accusingly.
"The villagers hate me," she explained patiently. "If they knew all they had to do to be rid of me was kill me so I'd change into a polar bear, they'd have done it by now. But I want my life back. I want my name back."
"You have a name?" Machida gasped in shock.
"Of course I do. I'm just not allowed to speak it until I'm freed from this stupid cloak!" She started pulling on the neck of it insistently, but again, it did not loosen its hold on her.
After giving up on the cloak, she looked at her only friend; surprised at the expression on his face.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked in gruff suspicion.
"… All this time… I thought you were born a bear cub," Machida whispered shamefully, looking away from her. "I never thought to ask if you were always a human."
Her heart hurt even worse, as she realized that he hadn't ever seen her as so much as a true human. 'I hate my life.' "Why on earth would she have changed me into a human?" the pale girl asked in exasperation. "When we met, it was blatantly obvious that Ukima hates humans. If I were once a cub, she'd have taken me as her companion right then, end of story."
"So… why didn't she?" Machida asked curiously. "Even if you become the best fighter that ever lived, strength is useless against magic, and you were just a child, weren't you?"
"… I was. It was pretty much the only reason she left me with a way out of becoming her companion. It will still be several months until I'm ready to strike out on my own, but the stronger I am, the more likely I'll survive long enough to find the place that can cure me."
"What's it called?"
"I don't know yet. But it exists somewhere and I'm going to find it. Somehow," she added, letting just a shade of her agony slip over her pale features before controlling it again.
"… You'll find it. You're the most stubborn man I've ever met."
Another flood of pain rippled through her body, but she forced a stiff smile onto her lips.
One that she had practiced for hours with her mother's hand mirror until it didn't have a trace of femininity to it.
"Thank you, Machida. I wouldn't have been able to survive all these years without you."
He smiled warmly, but then looked nervous. "Bear-san?"
She nodded, giving him her full attention.
"The… the place that can cure you will probably be very far away, won't it?"
"More than likely."
"Do you think you'll ever come back? I would like to know your name very much, and I'll worry about you after you leave."
The pale teenager had no way of knowing this, but she was certain that if she ever found a place that would completely accept her, Machida would probably be married and possibly a father by then. Would she really be able to see him like that?
"… If nothing else, I'll send a letter," she promised, even though her father warned her that the postal service was chancy at best, especially up here.
He winced painfully. "I guess I'll have to do better in reading, then. I don't want someone else to be reading our mail."
"You can't read?" she asked with surprise.
That was one thing that neither of them really talked about, at least to each other. But as the mayor's son, she had been all but certain that he was at least passable with letters.
"I hate reading, it gives me a headache. But I'll try harder for you," he promised, clasping her shoulder warmly. "You'll remember to say goodbye before you leave, won't you?"
"I-It probably won't be for several months. I still have some more training to do," she answered, struggling not to stutter like a moron.
"Then maybe you'll be able to stay long enough for the wedding!" he answered brightly. "I mean, Sakura and I aren't engaged yet, but I'd like you to be there when we exchange vows."
'Why can't he hear my heart breaking?' "… Even if I stay that long, I wouldn't be allowed to attend. You know how Yakimi gets about the sanctity of holy ceremonies. He'd sooner let me eat him than permit me to witness a wedding."
Machida scowled angrily, shaking his head. "I don't care. You're still my friend, and a better one than any I've found in the village. I want you there."
"Your father will never allow it, and neither will anyone else," she reminded him, wishing that her heart would stop howling in pain. "Plus I bet Sakura wouldn't want me there, and I don't want you two to get into a fight over me."
Machida wouldn't stop staring at her as a melancholy smile slid over his handsome features. "My pale friend... you are without a doubt the most considerate man I'll ever meet."
She flinched slightly. Was that trait revealing her true gender? No, calling her a man had ensured that her mask hadn't slipped.
In a rare display of affection, he gave her a brief hug and a friendly punch on the shoulder before walking back to the village. "I wish everyone was as considerate as you."
The cursed girl watched him walk away, feeling like she was going to start crying again. "Why?" she whispered, turning around to continue the lonely walk home, tossing her snowball angrily at a random rock to make it explode on impact. "Why does he have to treat me like that?"
It just made her love him even more, and she already loved him plenty.
'If I had been allowed to be Haru, would I have had a chance?' She had a feeling that the question would haunt her for the rest of her days, whether she got cured or not. Who could possibly want to be with her, if it wasn't the only person who had given her a chance?
She grabbed the branch she had set aside on the way to the village, and began the usual chore of sweeping her tracks clean from the snow.
"Machida," she sighed in her true voice, as tears began to fall. "I could lie to the entire world, if lying to you was no problem."
If only there was a way to lie to her heart.