to catch a falling snowflake | ayalou

i. freeze your brain

   What happened in the Kamisato Estate stayed in the Kamisato Estate.

  That is why that when Ayaka is snapped awake from the umpteenth horror among the myriad that had plagued her since her parents's deaths, eyes rheumy and running like acid rain, throat hoarse from screaming, and bed covers slick with her own sweat, the first step taken by her attendants is to ensure that there were no witnesses to her unfortunate break in composure.

(Even though Ayaka vomits a little in her throat and struggles to form coherent sentences for a solid eight minutes, everyone leaves her after the initial shock wears off, even though multicolored spots still dance across her obscured vision and she's still shaking like a leaf rattling against the raucous winds. They were right to, of course. Ayaka was old enough to manage such trivial issues by herself, and they had more urgent matters to attend to. After all, no one wants to hear you sing about tragedy.

It was times like this that had taught Ayaka to slowly freeze her brain, numbing herself to the point of having no feeling. A technique she learned to effectively tune out the petty words of others and quell the anxiety in her.)

  That is why that when Ayaka relays the events of her nightmare to her manager in a tremulous voice, she clicks her tongue and asks whether Ayaka had been taking her medicine, more concerned about whether Ayaka would be presentable to the public in time for her performance rather than her well being. With her flushed cheeks, rat's nest of hair, nails she had bitten to stubs, and her deteriorating mental state, it would take at least two hours of work to mold her into the level of poise and sophistication expected from the Shirasagi Himegimi.

(Her nightmare was alarming; nothing if not a plea for help. It took place in a room so dark it was as if a black hole had sucked all the light and life out of it. Two skeletons with varying amounts of decomposing flesh clinging to their bones and dressed in her parents' clothing, towered over Ayaka and taunted her with cruel, sadistic grins. As tendrils of smoke erupted from between her bare feet, her mother and father urged them to consume her entirely, laughing as it did, laughing at her tear-stricken face and cries for mercy.)

   That is why that when her older brother Ayato visits, he does not linger for long, only confirming that she would physically be able perform in the dance competition later today and offering a comforting embrace. He was a busy man, after all, with plenty of loose ends to tie up before the end of the day. The daylight hours were already short, and he had to seize every moment. So he does not stay. He does not make a pillow fort and play soldiers with her, using her hair brushes as makeshift swords. He does not help her pick pink and white flowers and weave them into coronets and necklaces, or try his best efforts at making sakura mochi as an attempt to cheer her up. He does not allow her to cry on his shoulder until the sobs subside, curling his arms protectively around her waist.

(Ayaka longs for those days; beautiful days, with pale sunlight shyly peeking through the curtains, bouncing off her silken sheets as they did today. Days made just for them. Sitting with their legs crossed underneath a cherry blossom tree, sharing sticky tricolor dango served with sweet black sesame paste and anko, giggling as the sugary flavors dissolved like snowflakes on their tongues. Practicing bōjutsu techniques while the sun beat down on their backs, Ayato always letting her win, Ayaka never suspecting he was holding back on her. Racing each other in the courtyards and playing kakurenbo in Chinju Forest, their bare feet tangling with the grass as they smeared mud on each other's yukatas, before they had been taught civility.

When she muses on these moments on occasion, she wonders whether there are still beautiful things.

She even cherishes the memory of that stormy night when she was nine and he was fourteen, rain pounding against the roof like boulders tumbling from the sky and lightning and thunder appearing in fleeting flashes, as if the goddess herself was mourning. Ayato and Ayaka held each other close, tight as the two halves of an oyster, as he promised he would never let go.