:memory 02:
It was one thing to blow off some steam, but Kurayami regretted throwing her paint already. It hadn't been cheap, that little pot of black.
She'd been avoiding the workshop for the last few days, after her attempts to scrub the paint splatter off the wall had been unable to remove a lingering ugly stain. It reminded her of a shadow, watching her and not thinking much of her for having created it, and though she had been making plans to paint something over it, she couldn't quite think what to paint.
Rummaging through the writing desk she'd found on Stuff, Inc., her fingers closed around a pot of paint, and she lifted it out to see what color it was. It was lighter than it should have been, though, and rattled in her hand. Puzzled, she twisted off the lid and reached inside--
¤
The mirror was too small, and she couldn't see her wings very well. She paused, frowning at herself, and twisted as best she could.
Her face was all wrong, it was so young, she looked like a child--she was a child, she realized, with a disoriented lurch--
--and she had to do this quickly, before anyone could find her. There was a high, nervous edge of fear and anger buzzing in her mind, and she opened the blades of the scissors in her left hand and fumbled back with her right hand, pulling at her wing until the joints ached from the strange position and gripping a feather.
It was black. An oily, ugly taint was growing up its length, like a mildew or an infection. Her stomach ached when she looked at it...
It frightened her. Not even the color itself, but what it meant, what it said about her.
(What did it say about her? No. She didn't want to know.)
Gritting her teeth, she closed the blades with a harsh snip.
A chunk of feather fluttered lightly away to the floor, and she paused, staring at the pure gray stub in her fingers. Then, slowly, as if sleepwalking, she took another feather and snipped away the black, then another and another, her fingers speeding up, hacking at her wings until the mutilated bits fell like dirty snow around her.
If she could just get rid of all of it, then maybe it would be all right--
"What are you doing?!"
She froze, half-turning with the scissors clutched in her hands, and saw--
A woman. A girl, an older girl with soft brown hair gathered over one shoulder and wide horrified eyes behind thick-framed spectacles, standing transfixed in the doorway. Kurayami opened her mouth, but no words came out, and then in a few quick strides the woman had crossed the room and slapped her across the face.
The scissors fell from her numb fingers, clattering to the floor. She stared up at the woman, shocked, and the woman stared back down at her, with sympathy and pain brimming in her eyes.
Then, with infinite gentleness, she reached out and gathered Kurayami into her arms, pulling her close. It wasn't so much an apology as a mother's comfort after a punishment. She was soft and warm, and Kurayami only stood stiff and stunned for a moment before melting, nestling into her embrace, settling her stinging cheek against those waves of soft brown hair without resentment. There ought to have been a scent, part of her felt dimly, a good smell for that soft hair, but she couldn't quite grasp what it should have been...
"I'm with you," the woman said, tenderly, almost pleadingly. "I'll always be with you, so..."
The last word was muffled, as everything slid sideways and faded, and something rebelled in the pit of her stomach as she realized and remembered that this was only--
¤
--a memory. Kurayami blinked, slowly coming back to herself, sitting cramped on the hard floor of her room with a dulled crystal in one hand and a paint pot in the other. Her heart felt spent and empty, like a used firework.
"Always," she whispered. The woman's face swam vividly before her eyes. What was her name? She ought to know her name--it was wrong to have forgotten her.
Her face was wet, she realized belatedly, and she swiped at it with the back of one hand and got quietly to her feet, dropping the crystal back into its pot with a hollow clink and putting it back in her desk.
Leaving the lid open, she left the room with her mind spinning, still half lost in a circle of warm arms. A walk outside would clear her head, let some of this settle...
Why wouldn't it give her her name?
¤ ¤ ¤
[Memory taken from Haibane Renmei, episode 10. Kurayami is now wearing Superman underpants, but heaven knows if she'll ever notice. :/]
She'd been avoiding the workshop for the last few days, after her attempts to scrub the paint splatter off the wall had been unable to remove a lingering ugly stain. It reminded her of a shadow, watching her and not thinking much of her for having created it, and though she had been making plans to paint something over it, she couldn't quite think what to paint.
Rummaging through the writing desk she'd found on Stuff, Inc., her fingers closed around a pot of paint, and she lifted it out to see what color it was. It was lighter than it should have been, though, and rattled in her hand. Puzzled, she twisted off the lid and reached inside--
¤
The mirror was too small, and she couldn't see her wings very well. She paused, frowning at herself, and twisted as best she could.
Her face was all wrong, it was so young, she looked like a child--she was a child, she realized, with a disoriented lurch--
--and she had to do this quickly, before anyone could find her. There was a high, nervous edge of fear and anger buzzing in her mind, and she opened the blades of the scissors in her left hand and fumbled back with her right hand, pulling at her wing until the joints ached from the strange position and gripping a feather.
It was black. An oily, ugly taint was growing up its length, like a mildew or an infection. Her stomach ached when she looked at it...
It frightened her. Not even the color itself, but what it meant, what it said about her.
(What did it say about her? No. She didn't want to know.)
Gritting her teeth, she closed the blades with a harsh snip.
A chunk of feather fluttered lightly away to the floor, and she paused, staring at the pure gray stub in her fingers. Then, slowly, as if sleepwalking, she took another feather and snipped away the black, then another and another, her fingers speeding up, hacking at her wings until the mutilated bits fell like dirty snow around her.
If she could just get rid of all of it, then maybe it would be all right--
"What are you doing?!"
She froze, half-turning with the scissors clutched in her hands, and saw--
A woman. A girl, an older girl with soft brown hair gathered over one shoulder and wide horrified eyes behind thick-framed spectacles, standing transfixed in the doorway. Kurayami opened her mouth, but no words came out, and then in a few quick strides the woman had crossed the room and slapped her across the face.
The scissors fell from her numb fingers, clattering to the floor. She stared up at the woman, shocked, and the woman stared back down at her, with sympathy and pain brimming in her eyes.
Then, with infinite gentleness, she reached out and gathered Kurayami into her arms, pulling her close. It wasn't so much an apology as a mother's comfort after a punishment. She was soft and warm, and Kurayami only stood stiff and stunned for a moment before melting, nestling into her embrace, settling her stinging cheek against those waves of soft brown hair without resentment. There ought to have been a scent, part of her felt dimly, a good smell for that soft hair, but she couldn't quite grasp what it should have been...
"I'm with you," the woman said, tenderly, almost pleadingly. "I'll always be with you, so..."
The last word was muffled, as everything slid sideways and faded, and something rebelled in the pit of her stomach as she realized and remembered that this was only--
¤
--a memory. Kurayami blinked, slowly coming back to herself, sitting cramped on the hard floor of her room with a dulled crystal in one hand and a paint pot in the other. Her heart felt spent and empty, like a used firework.
"Always," she whispered. The woman's face swam vividly before her eyes. What was her name? She ought to know her name--it was wrong to have forgotten her.
Her face was wet, she realized belatedly, and she swiped at it with the back of one hand and got quietly to her feet, dropping the crystal back into its pot with a hollow clink and putting it back in her desk.
Leaving the lid open, she left the room with her mind spinning, still half lost in a circle of warm arms. A walk outside would clear her head, let some of this settle...
Why wouldn't it give her her name?
¤ ¤ ¤
[Memory taken from Haibane Renmei, episode 10. Kurayami is now wearing Superman underpants, but heaven knows if she'll ever notice. :/]