Tale of Deliverance (Yuuki)

[Tiw Fenris]

Deliverance: rescue from bondage or danger. Salvation. Tiw toyed with the thought in the recesses of her mind, flipped it over with a mental spatula, and proceeded to scramble it into oblivion. At least, it would have sounded much more appealing with that particular definition; her job, that is. Being a postman wasn't exactly the occupation she had in mind when her master, Garm Fenris, had "strongly suggested" that she go undercover for her less-than-innocent task. What was he thinking? After all, if he hadn't noticed, she couldn't read. Just a tiny oversight. But, as her desire to please reared its troublesome head, she grudgingly agreed.

And so, the more proper definition would go something along the lines of "Deliverance: the act of delivering." It wasn't as though she had that much trouble with the mail; all she had to do was meander through the City of Venus like a lost puppy until she found the characters, plastered on the side of a building, that matched the ones that were so meticulously printed on the yellowed envelopes that lay in her messenger bag. After weeks of this scavenger hunt, Tiw had some semblance of a rough city map in her head. So, this day's set of mail should be as any other set, if not easier to deliver.

Not.

This particular set of deliveries just so happened to be in Montnuit, which just so happened to be the most artistic area of Venus, and just so happened to have the most intricately designed buildings. Needless to say, the addresses of each and every building were what the inhabitants would call "art;" the characters turned at odds and angles, competing with their neighbors in a grueling, yet ambiguous, battle of complexity, simplicity, beauty, and grotesqueness. Of course, Tiw didn't mind looking at the swirling characters, but looking for them was another story.

She glanced down at her gloved hand in which a single piece of parchment lay, its manila color speckled with darkened spots where the snow landed. It was her last piece of mail to be delivered and she was well behind schedule. Her breath came in little wisps of white with the semblance of lazy cirrus clouds in a memory of a warm spring day when the birds have just begun to sing, and she sniffed, her reddened nose scrunching, as congestion began to sink in. It was far from warm here. She pulled the sad excuse for a cloak around her slight frame as if it would help stop the cold from biting at her exposed flesh. The shoulders and hem were already soaked with snow as were her boots that were made for a drier terrain.

At this rate, her toes would be bitten off by the quiet, unforgiving white that somehow reminded her of those angry little piranhas. Huffing with irritation as her bows furrowed, Tiw propelled herself onto a wall of the nearest building. The muscles in her leg contracted and unloaded as her boot gripped the burgundy brick, launching her lithe form upwards and away. She reached out and grabbed a horizontal pole jutting out of the building, and with one fluid motion, she swung her legs over with a gymnast's agility, hooking the pole behind her knees as she allowed her body to dangle upside down.

Tiw resembled verily a cocoon of sorts, swaying precariously back and forth in a languid breeze; however, there was no breeze in her immediate proximity. Somehow, she felt compelled to allow the undulation of silence to have its way with the natural movements of her body, much like how a child would dance to music that was only for their ears. Dangerous, yes. For "normal" people, so to speak. But anyhow, at least her feet would be dry. Besides, perspective was a good thing.

And so she continued, with a rather perplexed expression on her features, to scrutinize the twists and curves of the characters painted on the now completely darkened envelope.

[Yūki]

tale of deliverance

Two plus two, but five minus one. The numbered days of her horrendous of act of turbulent terror, and the blood-stained pages of her fairytale. It was a game of hide and seek, between her petty emotions and suppressed bitterness; weaving through the cursive lines of a liar's book. Normally, it would foreshadow the intricate capabilities of a slender hand, the strained veins running as they sought to pen their epitaph. Yet, the spidery swirls would suggest a pockmarked palm, jagged nails and burns written over a boiling cauldron. Yūki has tried many a time to press the blotched ink to a face; for the writing against the sheaf was neither elegant nor wicked. It seemed like it had been ducked into a stencil pot, left to simmer for a few, then dragged back out again.

Her scarlet eyes gazed upon the fifth page, trying once more to read the almost illegible writing. The pad was small, fitting delicately into the palm of her hand, like a card of spark notes. Such an object lying on the scratched table, previously occupied by the female, just pushed her to pick it up. She had, of course, asked who it had belonged to, but received no answer she could go by. So she had flipped it open in hopes for a name, but had immediately been captivated by such disastrous handwriting. Which in turn, lead to her current sidewalk reading in hopes to decipher this hieroglyphic-like mess. As any intellectual being would be capable of doing, of course, but even as this thought was butchered and rendered from complexity to simplicity, the light-haired woman was more than a little frustrated - for she had skipped the previous pages. They were beyond salvation.

Yūki, currently, ventured through the crowds that milled past. Filled with royal colors, to commoner designs, there was no doubting that creativity was abundant in Montnuit. But it was difficult to stop and observe and appreciate the human capacity for prolific creations. She had spent the time previously to stare at a work of art - a canvas with a single black dot in the middle. It was a tiny dot amongst a sea of innocent white, but she had stared at it for so long, her eyes had begun to sting quite a fair bit. Very few second glances were spared in its direction, but to the Princess, it represented modesty and chastity. The dot was the evil, the corruption, but it lay lost and unbidden in the middle. Bowing its head in repose, because that was what people wished.

There was no reality in the piece, but the fascinating thing was that Yūki saw it grow. It shimmered beneath the dusty sun, and while she had grown slightly light headed, the vision swimming before her eyes had not been a mere illusion. It mirrored the self-induced haze of feelings suffocated in her heart and chest. The dark would overpower the light, so it seemed, while the box of Pandora smashed against the jagged rocks, crushing the hope. It seemed like it would, but it would only be realized if it was believed.

So Yūki chose not to believe, and to ignore. She had walked away with a small frown settled on her features - the same angle her eyebrows were taking now as she recalled this. Her idle fingers had played with the edges of the page, rifling through to the ninth without pausing. Nothing good would come from remembering something as sullen as that. Furthermore, depressive states were unhealthy when it was so cold out. The snow reminded her of it - that day - but a small, wry smile made its way to her otherwise neutral expression at the account. Not in humor, or in sadistic goodness. Simply because nostalgia did that to her, and she felt partially hidden by the world and the weight of society no longer pushed against her back.

All at once, in the midst of her contemplation of symbolic meanings, a flurry of snow was kicked up, soft crunching and powdered noises met her ears (and parts of her face). Yūki glanced up in slight annoyance, though not immediately discernible as the smile vanished. Her eyes took in the sight of unfinished footprints, dug deep, while the flakes sunk in subtly from gentle pressure. Once furrowed brows arched high, 'her' book momentarily put aside as she stepped closer to grasp a better understanding of this odd phantom. Footprints did not merely end without another opening. It did not end without a beginning, and the Princess could see no signs of that either.

But that was before the flash of a shadow overhead. At first, Yūki waved it off as a bird soaring. catching the uneven thermals in the air. Another shadow, and she was starting to get quite miffed at the winged creature - "Just fly somewhere already," - she was compelled to rattle out. Nonetheless, she kept her calm and glanced up,

"Wha-!"

Her fingers quickly clutched against the book, almost dropping it in her shock. There was a person, up there, hanging upside down. Reading...something dark and wet. Never in her life had she been so close to a heart-attack, and by process of elimination, felt quite weak in turn.

[Tiw Fenris]

At this point, Tiw could only stare – no, gape – stupidly at the soggy envelope sitting defiantly between her clothed fingers. The fine penmanship had already begun to bleed, the crisp bold lines blurring, the sharp edges softening as the eastern ink spread from center, gnawing the heart of the manila, devouring it from inside out. Decay. Though eventually, Tiw thought, the deep strokes of blurred black would leak off of the edges of darkened manila and dilute into a white-washed gray before completely disappearing without a trace. Regeneration. Blackness, whiteness; damnation, salvation…it didn’t matter. After all, when degeneration begins, any superfluous substance will be eaten away while only the base remains. Even then, after time, the solidarity will begin to crumble leaving everything as it was. Purity.

Her cyan eyes further scrutinized the crawling ink. But. What was purity? A beautiful thing, perhaps. Though, in a sense, it was also the most horribly gross thing in existence.; something so natural that it becomes unnatural. People wish for regeneration, but they believed in decay, and yet they also have a carnal desire that is purity, something so untainted that might just engulf the world with everything that is nothing. That didn’t matter either – at least, Tiw would have liked for it to be this way – as she preferred a more refined world as opposed to one made of raw ore. She huffed and rubbed her nose, silently wondering if too much blood had rushed to her head. By now, the ink had splayed its slender limbs out so far that the center of the envelope now sported an impossible splotch of melted black. Salvation was indeed unattainable – or so it seemed.

In an instant, Tiw perked up at the sound of a soft padding accompanied by an air-light swishing of snow being disturbed. Cyan eyes averted their attention to an approaching figure – a woman it seems – whose downturned gaze and somber visage could only be described as “melancholic;” that contemplative look only served to light a curiosity in the postman. That woman…with dainty little movements, unobtrusive, consequence-less…Tiw dared to fence with the thought that the other might drown in her own thoughts. With eyes peeking from behind the parchment, Tiw watched with apparent interest at her unexpected company’s fleeting facial expressions, picturesque portraits that whispered a secretive story so softly that the shallow breeze carried it away before it reached Tiw’s inner ears. That face disappeared under an organized mass of bistre-colored hair as the stranger came near.

Then she stopped, confused – no doubt – at the sudden disappearance of footsteps. Well at least, it was what Tiw could make out with her inverted world. Smart girl, that she was, the woman. She was reading a miniature book – so observed the upside-down postman. She expected the individual to move on passed without incident. Not that Tiw minded in any way – in fact, she was giddy that some person had decided to look for the source of the inconsequential footsteps.

Cyan met scarlet on par with the surprised cry of the woman whose composure from before was immediately broken into a million pieces – much to Tiw’s amusement. A mirthful glint entered her eyes as a playful grin dawned on her cool countenance. The poor woman was in shambles, and who was Tiw to leave her in such a state? Releasing a leg from the chilled pole, she dangled dangerously back and forth. She swung her free leg over her head and released the other leg. She dropped like a rock. When she landed though – a little too close to the woman for comfort – her agility was unmistakable, a tad suspicious for a postman, but then again, who wasn’t suspicious? With the event of the Princess choosing a suitor, Tiw had no doubt that there would be assassins such as herself prowling about. Not that she was to do anything to the Princess…yet.

She dusted the powdery snow from her wet garments and with complete disregard for the traditional “I-will-avert-my-gaze-for-the-sake-of-courtesy” mentality of others, Tiw’s glinting gaze bore unrelentingly into the other’s eyes. It was interesting, really; merlot eyes. Drops of red wine into snow…blood? She shook the unpleasant thought out of her mind; even with the mentioning of crimson life, the metallic scent would invade her senses. In any case, it wasn’t like the woman had a choice in eye color.

With her mouth quirked upwards, Tiw skipped all of the “hi-how-are-you” formalities. “What’s the matter, miss?” The question was light-hearted, teasing, really. She knew exactly what the matter was; no one really hung from a pole nowadays…or upside-down for that matter. In any case, she liked people. This woman was a person. And Tiw was amused by this person.

Her grin grew wider and she bowed flamboyantly. It was completely unnecessary and excessive, but her playful half would not let this chance go. “Tiw Fenris. Completely and absolutely not at your service.” It was true, her delivery skills were quite mediocre…but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t get better. Tiw raised herself, satisfied with her hearty introduction.

[Yūki]

tale of deliverance

The first thought she had, Yūki was not going to lie here, was that some poor, unfortunate soul had stumbled across the path of an unruly assassin. Then killed, gutted and strung like meat for sale, and left for the vultures to feast upon. A dark, somewhat morbid definition of 'pity' rose in her, along with what remained of her small lunch, but the female did all that she could to keep it down. She saw no blood splattered on the snow white, or dangling entrails that accompanied the sight. But she did feel the little warmth in her cheeks flood away, probably to feed her heart the oxygen it needs to recover from such a shock.

Breathe in and out, in and out...

She had forgotten to cover the notes in hand, the ever falling flakes spreading upon contact. The dark writing was a running mess, dripping and sliding off the pages. Diluted ink splashed petty dots littering the powdered ground; like a million canvases, the image in her mind, mass produced and its uniqueness and integrity butchered. She banished the thought from her mind, though a part of her wished that the puzzle could have been unlocked instead of washed away. As if it was a secret to never be revealed - wiped from existence, much like the exiled Princess in her doubtful past. Yūki could relate to this inanimate object, and even if she found that quite sad, a part of her understood what it was like to be totally alienated from society and abandoned. Like the book, left on the scratched surface of the world - left to perish.

That was her fate. She would not bow to it, but did one build walls to keep others out, or simply to find who cared enough to climb over it? With each passing year, the perpetual mortar and mental blocks fed the stone higher and higher - the perfect fortress, but the barren wastelands of her very mentality caused her to believe that there certainly was no savior she could delegate to. She was, in essence, a killer of her lifeline and protector. More than that, less than that, a spider-web that wove tales into her heart to capture the weaknesses, and the silent, fluttering pulse.

Stop.

Yūki shook her head, in a subtle, regal-like manner, and brought her attentive efforts back to the dead-but-not-dead person above, the irritated feelings masterfully hidden from her face as she slowly regained her lost composure. Her dignity and pride had not been shattered, only pushed to fall over. To see how many times a person could continue on without shaking or cursing their very entity as a human being. Or perhaps, something akin to that. Because a humanoid body did not immediately agree to the idea of a person. You were still a monster if-

Stop. She needed to snap out of it.

Then, invasion. In the very reservoir of her mind, it told her to take a few, large paces back in efforts to regain the distance lost. She didn't find the inhuman show of flexibility as important as her personal space, but her body refused to move. In efforts to remain polite and understanding, she stood with somewhat tense shoulders and flickering eyes of burgundy to meet steel cobalt staring straight back at her. Yūki didn't feel intimidated by this odd girl, but the Princess knew that she was not the simple commoner her clothes showed. More so, a radiation of pure danger simmered below the surface of an otherwise calm physiognomy. But she kept her eyes firm against the other, as if in questioning and slight curiosity - the one question both would know tumbling on the frayed pieces of her mind.

But when the query was shot at her, rhetorically in her eyes, she was starting to doubt this mutual understanding two strangers supposedly shared. So she only raised her own brow to mirror the other's expression - "What do you think?" - as if to say. But the chirrup of a voice was not lost on her, it was the sound of amusement, a roll of tantalizing mockery, in which she could take no offense to. Yūki enjoyed the presence of quirky personalities, as they gave so much more to perceive than boring nobles who spoke politics, always missing the present.

The extravagant show of respect was a different story, and though the female knew it was a blithe gesture, she could not help but feel a little vexed by it. Her status was, in essence, a dead memory to her and she was completely unfazed by titles and recognition. But this blatant show of what was a common greeting previously brought back the shakes and tumbles of the two plus two years. A lonely miracle by default, she tried her best to keep this bitter self from showing face, instead focusing on the introduction offered.

It was a completely plausible way to start first impressions.

"I'd expect nothing finer," she replied, returning the smile from force of habit. "My interests are far beyond simple service; your grace is far from enough." It was not a lie, and she punctuated her sentence with a short courtesy, slow, but she never broke the contact of flickering stares. Some may find this show rather rude and insulting, but she meant nothing from it. Yūki preferred to describe it as an exaggeration of the truth, yet quite eccentric and gaudy for her regular tastes.

[Tiw Fenris]

It was automatic. Her teal vision analyzed every single movement, every twitch of the delicate woman before her; she could almost see the fine muscles beneath that milky skin constrict, rippling from her neck to her shoulders, subtly coiling…tightening, preparing her to bear the weight of the world that is her own. Tension. And those merlot orbs...now, that the last inkling of daylight had left the washed-out colors of Montnuit to the mercy of the deep charcoal sky, the kerosene in the street lamps hissed to life as they ignited small fluttering flames that flickered with desperation against the winter’s taunting breath. All along the walkway, tiny dots of orange lined the edges, marking a feasible pathway that the snow had erased. The light that was a delightful mixture of persimmon and amber melted in those pools of swirling red wine, and Tiw sensed that there was something swimming else beneath the surface. A cup of Hemlock.

No.

There was absolutely no need to ruin a good thing by stirring together realities that were white and black respectively; she shoved the brood-ish thoughts aside with less-than-gentle fervor. As if on cue, the other woman’s elegant brows arched to what Tiw interpreted as amused incredulousness. A satisfactory reaction, she supposed. And a bubble of pride welled up from her insides of her very being as she hadn’t expected the woman to understand the ambiguous amusement in her voice.

But, her effervescent display of an introduction was not met with the same humor; the woman seemed to shake from the inside out as she clung to Tiw’s words as if they were a lifeline. Even with her return of an equally mirthful remark, the postman could practically see the habitual strings puppetting the corners of those set lips to curl upwards. The carefully enunciated courtesy…Tiw’s insides deflated. And thus the wall was raised. A tower surrounded by a barricade set with countless scores of barbed wires, countless land mines; a tower with an entrance guarded by a Sphinx who spoke only in riddles without answers… She felt the familiar loneliness settling back into the marrow of her bones and – admittedly – her heart. Impassivity, inconsequence – like the nobles back there.

That’s not true.

But it was, wasn’t it? A rhetorical question in actuality.

Who died trying? Whose tower?

Shut up.

The flame-gamboge glow of the street lamps illuminated patches of falling snow that the night had previously veiled; the tiny flakes swirled playfully with one another, oblivious to the world around them. If Tiw felt any disappointment, she certainly did not show it. Perhaps too much blood had rushed to her head during her previous excursion after all. Absolutely nothing good will come out of brooding about the untamable. She would accept it in its entirety and so with that, she crushed the thought.

Now is now and only now.

But alas, the final phrase took root in her mind – or at least…she thought it took root; “Beyond simple service?” What is…Ohh! An expression of surprise flitted across her visage. It was certainly an interesting if not just an entirely unexpected turn of events. A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “Oh! I see. So you’re like that. That’s okay, it’s all dandy!” The snow had started to pile on her shoulders and head, giving her a rather ridiculous appearance. “’So I guess it turns out that I wouldn’t be able to provide any service anyway!” Her chipper voice rang against the silence, not loudly, but it was lively. All the while thoughts ran through Tiw’s unfortunately misguided mind. She certainly doesn’t look like a prostitute…and she certainly was a ways from the brothels. Well, to all their own…

No matter! Tiw still liked people in any case, so who was she not to offer assistance? “But you know, miss. You won’t get many customers on this road. That street over there,” the postman pointed to an obscure spot of road that really looked like everything else under the swirling white, “it has the most visitors.” The street corner, was well-known for the flower girls who stood as they waited for their patrons. Smiling triumphantly at her attempt at being helpful, Tiw hoped that this woman found the fun fact useful in her future business.

[Yūki]

tale of deliverance

The only thing she knew, or understood in this situation was that her selfless being - her entity and privacy as a whole - scrutinized. On the spot. Like a tiger's jaw dragging against the trampled grass, low in efforts to avoid recognition. It was the hunter, the predator, but it did not want to be spotted. This was what the beast was returned to; stuck in the mud, grasping and mewling for a closer redemption. To sate its hunger, and that was all it cared about. It didn't need acceptance or pity or admission or anything for the temptation to break the status quo. And if a beast like that could nod in accession for who it was, despite past, present, future...

Then why can't I?"

The spitting fires, a mockery of infernos, brought her attention back to the now. But her tangential thoughts were not without cause or trepidation. Yūki knew those eyes - literally, like her own. In the broken mirror where she stood in an empty washroom, she would spy the delicate, pale complexion of her skin. But it would not be shining with health, nor would rosy cheeks and dimples be apparent when she tilted her head to contemplate an awkward smile. Instead, it would shine from the gloom alone. Never has she doubted how she looked - never, ever. But she didn't enjoy considering herself to be of a fine example of the female species. Between the speckled glints and flickered shudders, carmine would peer into their mirror, and she would see the very same.

Judgment. The formation of an opinion, unsaturated and coagulating below the surface and on top. Curdling the warmth of blood with the toxins of society, and yet, it was a habitual thing. Yūki could not stop it, and yes, she dared not to halt the force of conformity. The inspirations that hit her in those fragile seconds, the feelings of what if may have saved her many a time in the past. But she could not risk to be so spiteful to every soul she crosses paths with - wrapping herself into the underground would be a more unassailable option. If only she could avoid the instantaneous clockworks of her instincts...

The cold bit against her cheeks, spreading a slightly unattractive blush across her face and the tip of her nose. She could not even feel the flesh as her fingers brushed against her cheek to tuck behind her ear, a single, erratic strand of hair. Yūki had gone from observing Tiw's beryl eyes, to instead focusing her sight on the thick layer of snow slowly building against the sides and pavement. The Princess hardly recalled such a heavy blanket of flakes in her lifetime, and though it was bizarrely cold, the crystal pieces that sprinkled down were far from heavy.

It was to her consternation when she realized that trekking through such conditions would be akin to losing oneself in the forest purposefully. Like committing seppuku, complete with the haiku she would slowly begin to unwind in her faith. There was discord in the garden of her mind, but this was the least of her problems. For as she had continued to brood in silent serenity, forgetting all that had spilled from her lips just moments ago, the other had seen the dawn of understanding. Liars will have their share of blaze and brimstone, but only if they cannot justify their reasoning. Or perhaps no amount of justification can compensate for their lack of a civil persona.

Yūki certainly wasn't expecting the answer she had been given. In fact, she wasn't even expecting her slightly sarcastic comment to be taken with such consideration for its meaning. What was she implying when she had mentioned it, anyway? Certainly, a well-mannered form of - "I will pretend that your presence is a necessity to my comfort and health," - with a hint of, - "I will play along with your jester," - mingled with the bitter tone of a rather sweet outcome. Instead of replying, she had to instead, stifle a light chuckle at the hefty amount of snowflakes piled upon the other's shoulders, innocent in light of Tiw's imagination.

Yet, learned enough to understand what the short-haired female was getting at upon the next indication. But understanding and acceptance were far from the same thing, and Yūki decided that the only time the two would be caught near each other would be separation by the word 'without'. Nevertheless, she would accept this as the first strike - though it was highly offensive to her chastity, and somewhat...vulgar if she thought about being included in that sort of a job. She would hope never to set a single foot in a place such as that, as she held nothing but piteous contempt to people who sold their bodies. Even with reasoning, it would be difficult to placate her.

"You are mistaken," she corrected quickly. The light smile was tugged by strings, dangling from a shrouded, puppeteer's nimble fingers as the Princess hoped to keep her composure without seeming too airy. "I am not a part of a crowd such as that, forgive my rudeness." Then she stopped, thinking for a few split seconds before shaking her head slightly. "But for what it's worth, had you been correct, I don't suppose escorting would be such a bad deal, hm?"

No, she didn't know what came over her, and she was destined never to. For Yūki had begun to regret the very words she spoke, and immediately blanced at the thought of a scoff and snow in her face. She could not risk the numbness to spread, for she feared the use of her jaws would be forgone. On a relatively lighter note, she would probably forget, given the right amount of time to consider another pointless topic of reprieve.

[Tiw Fenris]

Hope: a thing with many faces. It is a flickering light in the perpetual blackness of heart; it is a light that would eventually give way to an oscillating scintillation, glimmering until the world is illuminated and tailored to the mind’s expectations. Yet, it is also the cause of man’s woes, the cause of Heart’s eternal blackness that gnaws a hole in the lungs as bleeds the precious life’s air from Soul. However, in this masquerade of hopes, the babe-faced Hope takes the center stage in the persona of a tiny butterfly. A butterfly with pretty little decorative wings…and it was not-so-delicately squashed under the foot of Misunderstanding’s fine silk shoes.

It was unpleasant, the feeling. At the correction of the woman – who was apparently not a prostitute – Tiw paled considerably as she felt the blood escape her face. Her heart dropped to her stomach; the excitement that she had previously held had also made itself scarce, fleeing to only heaven knows where, and it had left her feeling a tad like a punctured balloon. Her desire to help had once again shoved her rear into the sewers, and this time she had that iridescent imagination of hers to thank.

Silence – though an awkward one this time – had once again permeated the streets of Montnuit; its rhythmic row of viscous nothingness threatened to drown anything else that invaded its tides that belonged solely to the unsaid. Only that invisible puppeteer dared to speak the language of silence, keeping the woman’s mouth slightly upturned at the ends with his spider-silk threads. He creates the exterior of perfect composure, a quiet composure, so beautifully that Tiw wasn’t even sure what was him and what was her. All she knew was silence.

Three. Two. One.

“I am so sorry, miss!” Her voice cracked and a look of unmitigated horror took to her face. “I – I…gah.” A vibrant blush lit up her cheeks as she opened and closed her mouth, failing to produce words, out of embarrassment; one would wonder if the uneven blood-flow to her head was unhealthy…Tiw swallowed the obnoxious lump in her throat, stumbled backwards, and had at a second attempt. “Ah, no! I’m sorry. It was rude of me to assume that…” her voice failed yet again; she was not about to repeat it.

Tiw was about to continue her profuse apologies and was about to make herself disappear until her ears perked at the other’s voice. Escorting? A stroke of fortune was what it was. Tiw blinked and was at a loss of words for the second time in the few minutes. When the suggestion finally registered in her head, an all-too-happy grin erased her previously distressed visage. “You bet, miss! I’ll definitely make it up to you.” With hope rekindled, Tiw bounded passed her companion, kicking up the snow, with child-like fervor. As she reached the main walkway, she turned to allow her charge to follow. “So where to, miss?”

[Yūki]

tale of deliverance

Yūki didn't consider herself, at all, a humorous person by nature. To be fair to herself, she was capable of approaching things with entertainment and charm. Though days pass, acceptance moves on, and she no longer feels the need to laugh her worries away. Not really, for polite chuckles at a comment intended for amusement was all but carved against her skin. Like the lines of a calligraphy brush, simple, delicate strokes, drying on the crisp scrolls. The rules, the tradition, rolled up into one and placed against disapproving fingers, but yielding in spite of her efforts to stay in in control of her blemished poise.

It was already as such; her hand curled up near her mouth, to stifle any unwanted noises stumbling across her lips. Those inseparable syllables will breathe no air, she promised herself. But even if it was made, she found her word slowly slip from her clutches, between her fingers - like a sieve. It was terrible to find comedy in another's misfortune and misguidance. Tiw's face was a mask of hesitant horror, before it came fully unbridled. The color nearly matched that of her snow cloak, and surely, it would have matched Yūki's average facade. This inconsiderate action of hers nearly brought guilt swimming to the surface, and the Princess was more than ready to reassure her companion that apologies weren't necessary. For courtesy's sake, of course.

Thoush she couldn't. As soon as the other began her act of explanation, filled to the rim with bundled embarrassment and ache, Yūki was fascinated. It seemed so incredibly awkward to watch the transfiguration from a habitual, cocky attitude to that of a sudden shame and gritty sentences. Her heart was a silent thump thump, gradual and slow against her ribcage, but even she could feel her pulse flutter when the female seemingly tripped backwards. Not because Tiw suddenly shone in pools of vermilion, nor was this a time of could it be.

No, rarely would Yūki show the emotion she was truly feeling, finding it a fair bit safer if she covered her face, kept herself hidden, though proud, with a bit of meaningless, untrue satisfaction with her life as it is. Compared to anyone else, she would be thought of as a little brooding coupled with the intensity of a wounded dove. Not so intense, but like the pale petals of a glass flower, and the stem that would snap with every shake of quake. If she was not understood or noticed, then they would not clip her injured wings off in efforts to help - she would not be bound to one place, one person, one time. Free to go where she wants, if she knew it, and not a hint of a finger would be placed against her lips to silence.

So then, it was to her desperate shock when she felt a phantom of a smile flash across her face. The sharp edges of the being severing the wires of her puppet grin, and Yūki could hear the shriek of anger - the rage of shadows breaking on the rocks, snaking back from her as the Princess let out a relieved laugh - soft, hardly impressionable and lost within the windy howls spreading on her neck. But it was as if she had finally allowed herself to find the merriment, no matter how simplistic or dangerous it seemed, it was a temporary separation.

"It's...It's quite alright," she breathed lightly, in answer to the other, her ivory fingers sliding away from her cheek to clasp close to her breast, "I do believe my words could have been interpreted in different ways, so forgive me for the vagueness," she did not finish her speech (indeed, it was so) with a flourish of a hand, nor with a bow or curtsy. Tiw did not stop with her silent pleas of forgiveness, but instead continued on with an offer...an offer that Yūki found connected to her statement.

Again.

"Ah...I wasn't implying something like that..." She looked troubled now, her eyebrows almost meeting with a soft frown, "...and please, just call me Yuuki. None of this 'miss' business," it was not said savagely, for how was the other supposed to know that the politeness of tone only served to cut her deeper? She could already feel the something dragging her down again, forcing her into royal instinct. "I...don't suppose you know where the nearest inn is?"

[Tiw Fenris]

A wispy tendril of white left her lips as the frigid exhale of the ageless winter curled around her limbs and crawled up her skin, sinking into the marrow of her bones, freezing them to steel. Then again, they were most probably frozen steel with mercury at their center, flooding her veins with sloshing silver before she even stepped into the chill where silence lurked. And cold is what it was. Though it didn’t seem to bother her charge, Tiw – for one – would have preferred for a slightly warmer atmosphere and was more than eager to thaw her stiff muscles.

Shuffling her feet to warm her numb toes, she stole a glance – against her better judgment – back at the demure woman and caught that vestige of a smile that ghosted her features; it was as if a painter had taken a brush, and instead of dipping it in paint, he dipped it in air as he brushed over her visage, unpowdering the white painted on her skin, revealing the little creases of a genuine smile. Tiw’s teal vision would almost see the puppet master curse, throwing aside his strings when his fingers slipped and fumbled, foiling his perfection. He screamed blasphemy.

Then her entire being perked up as two finely arced brows shot upwards. Teal searching…A sound that was as light as a swan’s down, barely perceptible, without weight breathed into her ears; and before her mind could perform its systematic confirmations, it vanished, stolen by the wintry inhales, exhales, and sighs that seem to meander aimlessly between the swerving buildings, swirling the flakes of white in carefree circles, making the phenomena all the harder to grasp. But then again, Tiw thought, freedom is fleeting and should be admired from exactly where she was standing, no closer, and yet she was not willing to go any further. Look. Don’t touch.

Hm? Much to Tiw’s less-than-welcome dismay, that temporary mirthful expression soon turned somber. And as much as she would have liked to salvage the little thing, it would be like attempting to catch water with a sieve. And thus her immediate regret for ever turning to look. But it couldn’t be helped. And it couldn’t be helped that somehow a desire to return that smile to the woman’s face planted itself in her arid heart. She made a mental note to dig it out later.

“Yuuki…” The syllables rolled off her lips with unfamiliarity, testing the tamber of her voice with hesitant strokes of a mallet. It had a peculiar ring to it, but no matter. It was a nice name. She absent-mindedly made her way back to her charge’s side with a silly smile. “Well okay then. Yuuki it is.” Her muscles were itching to move and a playful glint entered her eyes. “Mm…As I am not at your service, I can’t take you to the nearest inn, but I can take you to an inn.” It was clever little masquerade. In all honesty, the postman had trouble distinguishing which buildings where inns; they all looked so mercilessly different, unique until they blended together into a mottled homogenous mass that dubbed it impossible to proclaim a divorce of an individual section. But she did have a place in mind.

And beset by her general enthusiasm, Tiw had almost reached out to take the other’s slim hand into her own, a preamble to the inevitable bounding through the sea of white with a rather distressed-looking Yuuki in tow. The gloved extremity had become emboldened in light of its master’s carefree demeanor and had misunderstood; it raised itself as if seeing a sunrise that it had so longed for in another’s company. Two hands…it had gotten so close…

Don’t.

But it was an almost happening; that inkling of sunlight was crushed by what was the truth of illusion. So her limb froze, only for a slight moment, nearly undetectable. It would have been too late. If she had brushed a gloved fingertip against even a fiber of cloth from the other’s attire…Her freedom and her servitude would have been crushed into a gray powder so fine that it would have made the snow seem coarse and grotesque. And that mustn’t happen. So instead, Tiw brought the hand up to rub the back of her head, as if dusting off the powdery white that had accumulated, in the most natural of fashions while letting out a good-natured giggle.

Touched with sparkling water, her steel-blue eyes met those wine-red pools. “Ready?” Twirling around, she leapt a few paces ahead and exaggeratedly pointed at no specific spot in the melancholic sky. “And we’re off! Onwards unto this most unglorious journey.”

Three hands, she decided. No closer.

[Yūki]

tale of deliverance

The picturesque vision of a frozen ocean - serenaded over by Winter's blight, the foam and froth encased in ice, stopped by time and by perspective, willing to wait perhaps a few more seasons to throw its course against the shores. If Yūki was, in all possibility, capable of continuing this metaphor to describe her thought pattern, then she certainly would. But nearer, she approached the somewhat bleak version of a frosty tomb instead. She would taste the bitter wind if she had stuck her tongue out, but the Princess dared not in the presence of another - who, in fact, seemed to be observing her with secretive glances. This did not bother her, nor did the slow repetition of her name caught in the mischief of tone.

Yūki was all but painting these images in her mind; conjuring up the images of how she must look, in recognition to how she must act and feel (though truthfully, she really could not feel a thing in this weather). Where once a blank canvas held its head proudly, lay only the broken splinters, brushes scattered around its feet where one could see the remnants of colors. Like the artist had simply thrown a container of paint against the airy cloth, recognizing it as a work of abstract art. The colors were heavy, dripping and sliding off, flecks of grays and whites and blacks, turning in their course in nimble effort. To make way for the newer ideas - the inspirations that struck when a quirky smile shattered her periodic musings.

"Simple directions would have been quite alright," she replied, only realizing too late that her answer may have sounded clipped in ears disconnected from her own head. But she could not add anything else, somewhat put off by the idea of seeming hasty. Yūki did suppose the cold air had something to do with her sluggish attitude - or at least, as much as she would allow her fire to be dampened. She certainly wasn't capable of faring in extreme conditions, be it heat against her skin, or frozen fingertips. Nevertheless, a chatter would not be made, nor ample signs of shivering.

Then again, the pyretic, sizzling lamps drew wide eyes to its center, if only briefly. The reason was hardly lost, but she rather fancied the idea of a sweltering Hell, instead of that deathly white, circle of icicles and that piercing numbing feeling she was feeling in most of her limbs at this point. What a positively dreary thought to be contemplating! Then again, it was a fairly dreary day to be striking up a conversation, no matter how interesting or entertaining the persona...

Then she almost heard the willows break in, a breath of movement, though Yūki could only speculate at this point. How adverse she would be, to the idea of watching the sunrise as a statue incapable of movement. For petty equivocation, she would wait for the twilight, because that was simply who she had to be. Or remembered to be, because as much as she tried to escape, it was still familiar territory. A sense of belonging, and attachment to the morbidity of her life's prequel.

And once more, she was tugged away by echoed enthusiasm, coupled with furtive gestures, and Yūki felt her pale lips tug upwards once again. Such child-like eagerness, encompassing a far more foreboding disposition. She half admitted curiosity to this, now that she gave it a few more flicks of her mind, but that would have to be put off for later. Tiw seemed to be eager to get a move on, and her frigid entirety knew to agree completely.

"If you insist..." she replied, the doubt hidden from lowered octaves. Her vocal chords were probably frozen too, "Though excitement from a prosaic journey is hardly a common feeling for me to succumb to." A mutter here, and a murmur there as she finally flexed her muscles to begin what would essentially be, a follow-along sort of evening.

[Tiw Fenris]

Tiw’s vision followed the runway that was her arm, continuing the invisible pathway from the tip of her finger to the heavens: a void of darkening gray that engulfed the white specks in its gluttony as it beclouds the horizon. Immutable. And it was ironic; Gluttony was a sin, a blemish condemned by the perfections of the ethereal. The Eternal Realm’s desire for devotion oozes out in a sickly choleric suppuration, devouring mortals with its inundation, greedily ladling ungodly woes into its sanguinary orifice. And there is mercy…Salvation in nothingness. Tiw decided then, that she would be rejected and –unbeknownst to her – would follow her charge into the vehement depths of Hell.

Better than being lukewarm. Content with her prospective future, she dropped her hand with unbothered abandon and turned around again; to her absolute glee, she had managed to pilfer another glimpse of that evanescent smile that was only Yuuki’s. Teal searched scarlet, but did not dare to touch even the surface in fear of cracking those precious lenses. But she wondered; why was that cup of hemlock weaving through her veins in tow with that crimson liquid, stealing air, stealing life from her lips, cheeks, eyes…all of which must have had a sparkling vitality before? It was as if the woman needed an antidote.

No.

Tiw returned with an ambiguous smile. No obligations. In retrospect, it was impossible, a catch twenty-two, so to speak, for her to even attempt to perform an antidotal effect; after the purge and expulsion…what would be left, Tiw wondered. She waited until her companion had reached a synonymous position before beginning to walk seemingly to nothing in particular. Her interest piqued when Yuuki had spoken moments before, but she had decided to wait until they were bound by an invisible chord of obligation to answer lest the woman decided to run away.

The postman threw her hands behind her head, feeling quite happy with herself. “Well then. It’s the most opportune moment for you succumb!” The postman laughed with good-humor and kicked the snow from her shoes. “Give thy chastity to the pleasures of this prosaic journey!” And so left those carefully-manipulated, undutiful words before any gate could be clamped shut and fire-sealed. She threw a wink into those crimson pools and allowed it to simmer as her spring-like step slowly evolved into a light cantering.

The moist flakes soon became an angry hailing and the wafting breeze became a tumultuous buffeting. The weather had turned and acted out its displeasure upon the earth. Caught of guard, Tiw only managed to egg her companion on, but quickly found trudging through shin-deep snow to be a horrid idea as well as a highly impractical one. It wasn’t the first time that Tiw had been stranded by such disagreeable conditions, but it was the first time that she had a charge in the said weather.

Unable to form a plan, she slipped off the dilapidated cloak and held it out to Yuuki before trotting a short while ahead in hopes of finding an inn. The thing wasn’t in the best of shapes, but it was clean; the postman made it a point to be hygienic, meticulously scrubbing off stains of red and scents of the deceased. It was the best offering she could make in any circumstances, and now it was too late. An innocent gesture of kindness had now woven an intricate web of attachments and complexities.

Reluctant to get too far ahead, Tiw settled on the nearest opened establishment and raised her voice over the blustery wind and sting of ice as she dragged open the door. “C’mon, c’mon! Let’s go, Yuuki!” She shut her eyes against the maelstrom of white and waited for her charge to enter. Though…unknown to both as the blaring of winter’s breath masked all vision, the swirling characters painted haphazardly across the door read “Dreams of Life: Opium Den.”

[Yūki]

tale of deliverance

What exactly caused the tenses of her life to convolute so? It was almost painful to consider the delicacy of her actions; she couldn't forget what was forgotten, and she certainly didn't want to stop to wonder the implications and consequences. The pretense of warmth and fire could only burn so bright behind its glass walls, caged and almost selfish to keep passion to itself. To bring her palms up lightly, to push them against the cool surface, to feel the flame flicker and to feel life - it was insane. Like chalking a path towards cowardice and shame, and admitting overtly to these unworthy faults.

But for all that was true, it would be puerile to deviate from her path as it stands now. The self-proclaimed leader of this expedition was helplessly dynamic - nimble in step, laden with unspoken hardships. But her eyes avoided too much contact with those light, sapphire eyes. If she spoke what she thought, then the wine-red orbs of vision would portray too much. Explicitly so, for Yūki really was incapable of adjusting her facial muscles to the flurry of snow in-passing. All existence was focused on the figure prancing ahead, though sadly, her attention was sliding, forcing her to lapse into a quiet brooding of sorts. As much as her mind was capable of, of course, for the mirror of scenery would be the reflection of thought.

Forcing herself to brush the empty white from her shoulders, conjuring the energy, even that simple feat almost froze her fingertips into oblivion. She wondered the meaning of it - this nothingness. If the mass of a single fleck of snow weighed nothing, then how could a pack of nothings cause so much hindrance in terms of bulk? Yūki likened it to a harmless glutton. Perhaps only Guilt will be the affliction, but as time presses onwards, the spindle will continue to weave its tale. Colorful, less of a danger, more of a temptation. Transgression to confession, more and more will build open the walls, and beckons - come hither - to those weak of mind and less of faith.

And perhaps, the snow that once rested on Tiw's shoulders spoke a similar story, childish as it was to presume and paint her assumptions. But she wasn't curious enough - not yet. Thou shalt not question without due cause, one of the many philosophies she aimed to abide by. It would be beyond indecent to soothe her confusion; unbecoming to be so forward as the odd female had been. She mulled over the meanings of a lengthened journey, undoing the stitches, proposing the idea that chastity was no longer her's to give. Yūki offered no reply, unable to respond in a manner that will neither deny nor accept such a statement that would be satisfactory.

A sudden course of action, both of blizzard and human, captivated her attention, and some sort of cloth was thrown at her head just as the snow battered against her skin. Normally, she would be a mildly adverse to touching such a tattered thing, but beggars couldn't afford to be choosers. Before her breath could continue retracing the hieroglyphics in the air, the frozen claws of Winter began its incessant scraping at her throat. All form of sentence, half-baked or not was lost once again as the Princess tucked her chin down, simultaneously drawing the borrowed mantle closer about her.

She could not decline it, the other had wandered off too quickly for her to follow effectively and in protest. The discovery of an inn was a relief, and despite the stiffness of her muscles, she managed to move her limbs enough to stagger near the rim of the door. The interior was an ever shifting sea of images and that was never a good sign. Oh, how she damned the fragile condition of her body! Yūki could not even put in a word of thanks or gratefulness, the cloak slipping through her stiff fingers and she could not grasp hard enough to stop it from fluttering to the ground.

"I...I apologize," she managed to work out slowly, tasting the words without any means to scatter them into the open, "I fear that...that my health is unaccustomed to this weather..." To be called a blue blood, it did not matter but if she fainted now in front of all these people...well, Yūki wasn't quite ready to break her executed status to the crowds quite yet.

[Tiw Fenris]

So she touched it, that sheet of icy glass fixed between two worlds, two hells, one that froze into a grave of absolute zero, and another that burned into a flameless inferno. If only they would reach out and touch! Even if only just finger to finger, there would be balance, equilibrium on Libra’s scale that weighed the values of gold and coal, of diamond and zirconium, of fire and ice… But it wasn’t meant to be, not now. The delicate understanding between the two abysses called – no, screamed, cried with longing from their rotted centers – ‘Come not closer, thy ambience is death!’

Therefore, the numbed, glass pane remains, separating a Life that is dead and a Death that is alive.

And she touched it. It wasn’t a gentle caress of curiosity or wonderment when one would splay their fingers over the frost-covered sheet, watching it clear as the sheen of white recedes from the warmth of their hand. She had wanted to though, and it was selfish; it was selfish to have wanted to feel the coolness of death when life became a passion that threatened to scorch the blood from her heart, leaving nothing but charred chains and ashes. It unbelievably selfish when so many others had died for what was life.

Thus, she didn’t mean to touch it. Unintentional. Her feet had caught themselves when she was stumbling through her own purgatory as her body heaved for air that didn’t sear her lungs, and she collided with the glacial pane, tucking her head and curling her torso to meet it with her shoulder. A full frontal assault. The thud resonated through the stagnant air and the clinging frost powdered her skin. With a liberating flux…the cool white evaporated on her heated flesh. A deep seam made its scarring stroke upon the fixed glass.

Dare to look…

The flutter of cloth drew her attention back to the world of the living as the full impact of winter’s assailant slammed into her body. Tiw wasn’t too keen on allowing the frozen edge of ice and snow to cleave into her own warm flesh, so with an applaudable effort, she stepped through the threshold and heaved the door shut with a quaking slam. Her countenance immediately paled, first at the scent of smoke, something burning that was no doubt opium, and then at her companion’s ill-shaded visage.

The latter was more disturbing than the first and thus posed a dilemma: what was she to do? Taking a single leap, Tiw was at Yuuki’s side in an instant, reaching out to steady her companion. But that wouldn’t work; she couldn’t touch. So, she stopped her frigid limb from its disobedience and glanced around with unknown fervor, forgetting the cloth that had inadvertently met the dusted floor. It was truly a remarkable place, the den of druggedness; morph-like lumps splayed out on what appeared to be their sides as tails and tendrils of gray filtered through their nostrils, tattered pieces of flesh reclining on their backs in an euphoric dream. The place was far from an Amaurot…more in semblance to a destroyed Abraxas on its back.

Her light eyes darted to a ring of unoccupied stools. It was a risk. But one that must be taken. Feet tripping over feet, she scrambled to the nearest stool, grabbed it, splinters and all, and dragged it noisily across the shoddy floor and positioned it accordingly behind the paled woman…at least, what she thought was in accordance judging by how normal people would ‘swoon,’ per say.

Bringing a hand up to cover her nose, she fidgeted nervously and for the sake of saying the useless she blurted out nasally. "Then why were you outside?!" Half quirked and half furrowed her brows ; the inquiry was really beautiful little facade to throw a cloak over her imminent worry - though, a sober soul would find it difficult not to see past the dropping cloak. Panicking, she secured the far side of the stool in extra care perchance that the maiden would miss.

And she knew. It was much too late for she had touched and was in obligation. There was no room for extemporaneous decisions.

[Yūki]

tale of deliverance

Predictably, she should have predicted this immensely unfortunate turn of events. Ironically, she was even tempted to ask if her previous residence allowed its visitors to be picked up from places if they were deemed too weak to walk by themselves. And she would have gladly shown them how horrific a fainting spell she would be subjected to, if it meant salvation from the contaminated surfaces, or the bitter sweet snow that lashed against the window panes this very second.

Sometimes her vision would slice along her eyes, bringing along with it, the streak of red - snip snip - the thread will snap, the frayed strands will brush the particles of air and freeze to point. Between the snap of a blade, she could smell firstly, a slightly aromatic scent burned her mind, painting olfactory images deep into her conscience, leaving her rather light-headed. She didn't know what it was - she didn't know where she was. Her little strength ever betraying her state as her smooth grip on the ragged frame inched lower still. Yūki still collected the fragmented fabrics of her flowing dignity, but it slithered through her thawing fingers; she was not quick enough to wrap her hand tighter.

There was no such thing as a perfect plan. Just like the path to a perfect world, no matter how large your strength, or pure your mind, it was all just simplistic ideals for simplistic fools. Just like those fuzzy blurs that galloped beyond her peripheral vision, smearing what she could see, even if she couldn't, in one line. The incense cloyed her throat, and she faintly heard the chatter amongst the clamor - thousands of millions, sounds and sight. Sense and feeling. Amplified, beyond what was comfortable for her understanding, beyond her comprehension of the situation...

The voice that sought to penetrate the hazy state only increased her slight disorientation. Her grip slackened, and she groped for a surface in which to lean on. Yūki didn't know what she was going to do - collapse on the spot, which would be akin to fainting for her, or take deep breaths, inhaling this foreign, earthy-smelling substance. It was intoxicating - poisonous, that much she could tell, but as the Princess finally managed to slip herself haphazardly on the stool, she tilted her head.

"I... the.. weather was unexpectedly ferocious..." Yūki focused her gaze on the other, cobalt swimming with dark hair - meltwater in the pits of Hell. She'd never know it; the lips that scalded her cheek and burned away the freshened tears was a chill memory, she could only whisper in dreams, for Sin's true name wished not to flee from her chords. It was not for a stranger's knowledge, being completely oblivious to what plagued the Princess in her sleepless days and discounted nights.

"It is uncommon to sight a human hanging by her knees, suspended in mid-air...pray tell, what compelled you to fly so high?"

The questions were slipping now, her curiosity a vibration against her chest as she proposed to do the unthinkable. In which case, was not so much a physical act of depravity, but the mentality of a mere child she would dare to thrust forth such a condescending tone of voice? As if accusing the female of whipping up a storm of white - an insane end to the beginning for a vicious circle of life. There was a pounding, drum-like motion being conducted around her temples, but instinct held them folded in her lap. Her shoulders, however, was loose, her spine slightly bent from the exhaustion to keep herself composed in such an environment.

[Tiw Fenris]

It was not a question of whether or not she could anymore; it was painfully obvious that she could, per say, as it was quite clear that not only had she touched the frigid class pane, but she had ungracefully and wretchedly drew a deep gash – a bloodless wound – gaping down its center. If one were to listen closely, ears, sensitive or deaf, would be able to hear, to sense, the agonized groan of the once-flawless glass pane as it threatened to draw spindly hairline cracks from the mother-wound and break. It was impossible to placate its anguish now, and life would meet death in a tempestuous clash of elements. Apocalypse and Salvation.

As Tiw did, she now must. The idea was not far-fetched, though admittedly perhaps slightly opium-induced. And now that she must, she will. The swirling tendrils of smoke languorously wisped themselves around bodies and heaps of flesh, shackling her shadow as if to draw her closer to this maiden, Yuuki. “Courage…” The amplified sounds of scratches, snorts, shuffles, inhales, and exhales whispered in her ears with subversive intentions as their suppurating coherent incoherence strayed through the wrinkles of her mind.

But heightened sense had always bedded with magnified emotion…and so compelled her to look upon the damsel with eyes of - what? Pity? It wasn’t in her nature. Reverie? Of what? Her mind was silent, choked with the sickly sweet scent that permeated the worn leather of her gloves, a perfect excuse to dodge the inevitable question of “why.” The slight shift of the stool touched her foot; she had not expected an answer only meeting the other’s tilted gaze with a neutral expression.

She also recognized it; opium poisoning swimming in those merlot pools and a sudden anger flared through her own teal orbs – not at the light bistre-locked woman – but at the sudden invasion of a foreign matter within the scarlet. She shuffled through the messenger bag, almost temperamentally, for the antidote, her hand immediately finding the hidden pocket within, but the sudden question – with that peculiar tone – halted her fine-tuned muscles. Her expression, dumbstruck. With a hand still ridiculously over her nose, Tiw replied with that same smile that accompanied through her passage of time, through every glance into the globe of another’s world…

“Would you believe me if I said, ‘because I was planning to shatter the sky’?” The candle of the counter caught in her eyes, dusting them with a persimmon glitter. And she laughed, laughed at the mere thought of having such a dream. “Though in truth, I would only bore you; I was keeping my feet dry.” With a silly smirk on her features, she pulled out a package of mustard powder.

“Show me your arms.” A direct command. And so broke the glass.