Lost record I
Once ago, there was a little girl.
Her mother was a daughter of a magus and her father was a son of a human. More extraordinary than her parents and anyone, the little girl had been blessed [ cursed ] ever since the day she was born. Her eyes allowed her to see her friends [fairies], whom no human could hope to perceive.
The little girl was special, even among the special [the magus], but she was too young to understand it.
No one could understand it.
And so, she became a freak to them.
The little girl, still too young to understand why she was so hated, kept smiling even when life wasn't kind to her. Because she had her father, her mother, her grandy, her grandma, and her friends. It was fine even if she was scoffed at, ridiculed, or called "a liar", she thought.
Then, the little girl's father changed.
Her father began to get angry easily and hated it when she talked to her friends. She had passed the age to have "imaginary friends", he shouted.
The little girl was sad. But it was okay.
Her mother said her father wasn't one of them [the magus], so he didn't know about her friends. She still had her mother, her grandy, her grandma, and of course, her friends.
Then, the eyes of her mother and her grandma also began to change. Although still gentle, they were now full of concern [doubt] when the little girl talked to her friends [to herself ].
But it was okay, really.
It might be hard sometimes. Still, she had her grandy and her friends.
[But sometimes, she wondered what it could have been if she were " normal".]
[Would her father smile at her again? Would her mother stop hiding her tears after arguing with her father? Would her grandmother's smile become more genuine? Would the troubled look on her grandfather's face disappear?]
[¿ɟlǝsɹǝɥ ǝq llᴉʇs ǝɥs plnoM]
[¿ɹǝɥ ɟo ǝɯoɔǝq plnoʍ ʇɐɥM ¿spuǝᴉɹɟ ɹǝɥ ɟo ǝɯoɔǝq plnoʍ ʇɐɥʍ ʇnq]
So, smiling, the little girl's simple, ignorant days continued.
Until one morning...
Her friends stopped coming.
It was so sudden. The little girl didn't understand why, but she was alone.
One day. Two days. A week.
A month and a half of a year passed.
No matter how long she waited, the little girl was alone.
... She couldn't understand.
Where were her friends? Why didn't they visit her? Was it because she had told them to stop that day that they got upset? Was it because she was a bad girl [a liar] that they didn't want to be friends with her anymore?
The questions remained unanswered.
In the end, the little girl did the only thing any child would do.
She cried.
And cried. And cried.
After days of crying, the answer to her "Why?" was nowhere to be found. Sure she still had her grandy [but as an adult, he couldn't really replace her friends] but it was still painful.
It was… unbearable.
[Perhaps, it was because she wasn't " normal", everyone left.]
The little girl kept crying until she forgot the reason why she had cried in the first place. Eventually, her tears ran out and the light inside her eyes became dull.
Having no one to talk to, she became quieter.
And strangely, everything began to change.
The whispers at the little girl's back pined away until there was nothing, although she was no longer accepted. Her father, who still refused to look her in the eye, no longer called her into his private office. His complexions improved a lot. Even her mother and her grandma seemed to be happier.
Wasn't that great? Everyone [aside from her] was happy.
It looked like being " normal" meant being " quiet".
[Grandy didn't show it, but his eyebrows wrinkled in worry whenever he looked at her.]
Because things had gotten better, the hollow inside the little girl's chest that never went away also had to be " normal".
[Her wish was granted, but at what cost? ]
:::::::
"... And because it was "normal " [to be normal], the little girl was bound to forget it [her friends]."
The book is gently closed by a beautiful white hand. Its owner, a girl with glittering blue hair, lets out a short sigh as she gently caresses the leather spine. Her same color wings flutter slightly.
In the end, it's just a forgotten tale. No more, no less.
But even if no one will ever speak of [care about] it, the girl [∎∎∎∎] still holds it close to her heart.
Because this is the story of her dear friend.