oblivioni traditae | bnha

十一

[15.16.0901]

*

Opia. 

[n.] the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable. the feeling that [y/n] gets when she tries to help one ungrateful hero-to-be and is rewarded with the cutting glare of a dagger lined with rubies. 

[Y/N] BELIEVES IN MIRACLES, even if mimi doesn't (mimi didn't believe in much anyways, no gods, no afterlife. Just a present and a now, a ray stretching backwards in time and never forwards. [y/n] disagrees quietly in her head whenever topics like that come up, and they go back to giggling about whatever boy at mimi's school slipped her a little note in class that morning). she is the type to cross her fingers covered in paper cuts from folding paper cranes for luck. the saturday that she saw him, she'd been thinking about coincidences that seemed too good to be true, shooting stars, and the floating, spinning dandelion seeds she often saw taking to the skies, propelled by innocent wishes and naive dreams. 

she had been staring out her window again, eyes drawn to nothing in particular, lazily imagining what it would feel like to stroll alongside the ambling clouds that sailed through the sapphire sky. if water vapor could theoretically sustain her weight, how would it feel? like a hazy sort of mist winding around her ankles, or soft and silken, like feathers?

a curse word brought her out of her reverie as she plummeted back down onto earth and stared at the dandelion standing on the sidewalk below her window. how long had he been there? when had he grown out from between the cracked cement and flourished under the sun, collecting sun dust to convert into strength? her fingers itched to whip her curtains shut and pretend that he didn't exist. that she didn't exist to him or the outside world. 

"SHIT!"

she flinched, instinctively reaching up to shield her ears from the harsh, grating language. 

"where the FUCK am I?!"

in retrospect, [y/n] discovers a pattern. why is it that everyone keeps on getting lost in her neighborhood, happening to stop right in front of her window too? life is a series of strange coincidences, and [y/n] decides to learn not to question it. 

in that moment, she had decided to help the boy (boy? or demon, rising from a fissure in the sidewalk with eyes dyed in blood, hair caught in an eternal explosion of destruction and quite possibly death?). [y/n] tentatively knocked on the glass pane separating her from the air outside. 

'it may not look like there are any road signs around here, but you just have to look really hard. inconvenient, I know, but the sign for this road is wedged in between those mailboxes over there. if I'm not mistaken, this street is called Torikabuto*, so that should help you get wherever you're going!'

like with iris, she held up a sheet of paper to the glass, gesturing to it with her free hand. 

his face scrunched up like it was trying to fold itself into an origami crane, before flattening out again. somehow, the paper came away free of creases and wrinkles, making the girl stifle a sigh of jealousy. she wanted smooth skin too!