✿ Forty-Forth Ink Drop ✿ - [Voice]
[It's morning. Miyabi had neglected opening her journal for the time following the experiment for selfish reasons, just to calm down and gather herself. She still had to apologize to everyone, especially those she was closest to, but...she just was very afraid. With everything piled up onto her shoulders, getting yelled at would just break her even more. Sje was already getting better...slowly, but surely. The cracks of her death and its penalty, Ammy and Sanji's disappearances...the gripping ache was only just starting to quiet. It would take time to fully disperse, but...she is getting better.
Today, though, that progress will falter again. For today, Miyabi had sought out her one, single housemate in the tiny house at the giant cherry tree on the hill, Ammy's tree, where she now lived...with Issun. Miyabi had wanted to confess to her precious friend that she died, and could no longer see color of any kind (save for black, gray, and white), but when she entered his room...
Nothing. Everything was gone. All that remained was a messy work bench, some ink pots, and...paintings. Beautiful, awe-inspiring paintings from issun's hand. Miyabi hadn't seen his work is so long...three years? Yes, close to three years now, and even if it wasn't that long, for someone like her...the impact was still wonderful. And terrible, all the same. Just how did they really look? What colors were there? She wondered, idly, as her fingers brushed along the paper. Issun...she had waited, so long, to see him again. And he was stolen away.
Just like Ammy. And Sanji.
Miyabi's strength collapses, and so does she, onto her knees. This was the last straw, the last one. To no one, no one but the emptiness, she speaks, her voice weak, and brittle, and filled with pain.]
How much more...can you take from me?
[She reaches for her journal, tucked away in a pocket of her shirt, opens it, and speaks in that same grieving voice.] Issun is gone, to any of you that knew or met him. ...He didn't leave anything, I don't think. [For anyone she knows of, but she'll be keeping the ink, and the paintings, for herself. They're too important to give away.] And I...I'm sorry. for the experiment before. To...t-to everyone I hurt, or tried to hurt. ...I'm sorry.
[And she is, but it doesn't exactly show in her voice. She's just...just so out of it. Miyabi can't even wrap her head around all that has happened, to cripple her. This is too much, she can't...she just can't...
And so she retreats from her tiny house, bounds to the highest branch of the great cherry blossom tree, and...sits. She does nothing but sit and stare into the horizon. That dark, cold, gray horizon... Her little contest lasts a while, before she cracks her journal open with her thumb, not really thinking about it. Her mind is a fog, and she's just trying to get through it. In time, the tiny poncle will begin to sing. A slow, sorrowful song, as she watches the blossoms fall off the cherry tree. It lasted this long, but now it's finally dying...and she'll not intervene this time.
She has no idea, that the cracked open journal is on, and recording. And, really, she probably doesn't even care, either.]
Madokara mieru...
[OOC: Before I forget! This is kiiiinda a placeholder post of sorts, since I'll be heading off to bed, waking up early for work, then heading directly to our lake house after work. I should be back Sunday evening, so tags will come then if I don;t tag early tomorrow morning, before work. And I'll be bringing my laptop, too, to do schoolwork at the lake house, so if I can SOMEHOW grab a wifi connection, I'll tag a bit.]
Today, though, that progress will falter again. For today, Miyabi had sought out her one, single housemate in the tiny house at the giant cherry tree on the hill, Ammy's tree, where she now lived...with Issun. Miyabi had wanted to confess to her precious friend that she died, and could no longer see color of any kind (save for black, gray, and white), but when she entered his room...
Nothing. Everything was gone. All that remained was a messy work bench, some ink pots, and...paintings. Beautiful, awe-inspiring paintings from issun's hand. Miyabi hadn't seen his work is so long...three years? Yes, close to three years now, and even if it wasn't that long, for someone like her...the impact was still wonderful. And terrible, all the same. Just how did they really look? What colors were there? She wondered, idly, as her fingers brushed along the paper. Issun...she had waited, so long, to see him again. And he was stolen away.
Just like Ammy. And Sanji.
Miyabi's strength collapses, and so does she, onto her knees. This was the last straw, the last one. To no one, no one but the emptiness, she speaks, her voice weak, and brittle, and filled with pain.]
How much more...can you take from me?
[She reaches for her journal, tucked away in a pocket of her shirt, opens it, and speaks in that same grieving voice.] Issun is gone, to any of you that knew or met him. ...He didn't leave anything, I don't think. [For anyone she knows of, but she'll be keeping the ink, and the paintings, for herself. They're too important to give away.] And I...I'm sorry. for the experiment before. To...t-to everyone I hurt, or tried to hurt. ...I'm sorry.
[And she is, but it doesn't exactly show in her voice. She's just...just so out of it. Miyabi can't even wrap her head around all that has happened, to cripple her. This is too much, she can't...she just can't...
And so she retreats from her tiny house, bounds to the highest branch of the great cherry blossom tree, and...sits. She does nothing but sit and stare into the horizon. That dark, cold, gray horizon... Her little contest lasts a while, before she cracks her journal open with her thumb, not really thinking about it. Her mind is a fog, and she's just trying to get through it. In time, the tiny poncle will begin to sing. A slow, sorrowful song, as she watches the blossoms fall off the cherry tree. It lasted this long, but now it's finally dying...and she'll not intervene this time.
She has no idea, that the cracked open journal is on, and recording. And, really, she probably doesn't even care, either.]
Madokara mieru...
[OOC: Before I forget! This is kiiiinda a placeholder post of sorts, since I'll be heading off to bed, waking up early for work, then heading directly to our lake house after work. I should be back Sunday evening, so tags will come then if I don;t tag early tomorrow morning, before work. And I'll be bringing my laptop, too, to do schoolwork at the lake house, so if I can SOMEHOW grab a wifi connection, I'll tag a bit.]