There are moments when Yushura finds herself falling back into what's familiar. Against promises to herself, and against promises to her.
Those moments are few and far between, but they still exist, despite her attempts to hide them, or hide away from them. They're the few moments anymore where Yushura feels fulfilled in her personal life anymore.
This is a moment where Yushura buries her face in her pillows, stifling the sounds that come from her throat. The sounds that mark her as still having a foot still in the door of her past. Doors that she would admit at any other time, at any other moment, that she's left behind.
Yet, still here she is, face half buried in a pillow, and body entangled in clean-pressed sheets. Wishing for a time long past and wishing for anything other than her own fingers to bring the waves of much needed pleasure to her body.
Her mind wanders as it races.
She wonders what she would think of her, yearning for something that she cannot have. For a person who cannot be with her, who may not ever want to be with her.
She buries her face further into the pillows, losing herself in the tears forming at the corner of her eyes, and the burning in her limbs as she arches herself against the mattress, the waves of pleasure from even the lightest of touches from her own fingers against her skin.
There's no room for anything besides her, and this moment.
Maybe that's not completely true.
There's always been room for someone else, during these moments. Someone who's always just been out of her reach, just beyond what Yushura's ever been able to have to herself.
There's room for Miorine Rembran here. And she takes that spot happily.
There's room for imagery. The thing that's always kept her company, the ideations that instead turn the fingers running across her skin from being her own, to that of hers. Miorine's hands move over the swell of Yushura's chest, causing her to break the silence of her own room with a shuddering moan.
There's no room for work here. No room for the monotony that her days can become, or the boring ways that her childhood will sneak up on her in the form of a pleasant face that she can't remember, but is insistent knows her, nonetheless.
There's room for Miorine's hands to move, to help Yushura get more comfortable as she works whatever delicate magic that she needs to in order to make her feel good. To instill an image in Yushura so vivid that it becomes less like fantasy, what's happening to her, and more like reality.
A reality where Miorine is still there for her. One where she's still over top of Yushura and can do all these things and more.