♜ -- A Magical Find.
To write is a simple means of escape. To have your reality become contorted by the ideals you so wish heavily upon the burden you allow your heart to carry for its blindness to what needs to be seen and understood as what is, quite simply, ‘real’. A small sigh parted the female’s lips as a distant gaze became further ridden from her soul, and above. What did she dream, as her pen flickered upon the page before her? Where did her mind wander whilst such words formed within the circular or angled motions? It differed at each point in time, she concluded. And yet, within the early hours of the morn that came to be known to her, a stiff back held its slumped posture, out grown bangs flitting within her eyelashes whilst the rounded tips of her fingers that held her left placed ever so gently upon the piece of paper she scrawled upon. Such musings should never go undermined nor ignored, for fear of their emotion would escape her forever was far too great a deal. Though the female knew of her stern exterior, she had a curiosity that yearned to thirst, even if it were to be quenched. What emotions would lay for such circumstance if a present situation were to be at hand? How would one best prepare themselves? Would their hearts waver? Or would their dreams fade to the deepest parts of their brains cerebrum, where it would remain buried for an eternity of solitude? Misaki had an odd mind and one that could be very misunderstood the more a person delved within herself and her inner workings. But, ah… there it was. Such a familiar feeling, however fleeting it may be, should be kept hold of until its last struggles to escape your understandings grip – and become questioned. Such a child, of virtue and knowledge of her surrounding, tainted world wanted neither understanding nor mutual relation in terms of events, past or present. No. Such an odd mind did not long for any such connection. And yet, if a singular person were to appear and question all she was – including her morals, religion and reason of being, she would happily see that person as death and greet them with a love she knew would only be capable of achieving at that very moment. If such a person would lay in existence, walking silent footsteps upon an eerie night, gazing up at a sky that both had shared so very equally, her thoughts would then only naturally lay upon their actions and thoughts. She dare not think of their arrival in the future or perhaps, any future for herself. It could not be said that she held no aspirations of her own. Why, of course not. Her adamant drive of determination had to be grounded by some form of self. A protesting neck craned itself back, her head slipping as her gaze followed from her scrawled words to a blank ceiling. Her surroundings spoke nothing but silence, and the gentle breathing of her small dorm room partner. The young female’s vibrant purple hair now looked as dark as a raven’s feather and soft to the touch whilst she slept so peacefully in her small, child-like form, causing the tiniest inclination of a smile to take hold of Misa’s lips and held such curve as her glance flickered from the room back to the window. Caressing the wooden frame upon which the window sat neatly within, she examined with quiet thought of how each crack and line that created its image became a whole piece in the end. Allowing the small idle, guilty pleasure at such time, her eyes swooped down to close, lashes kissing the very tops of her cheekbones. In various locations, upon a global scale, there were windows. Her view upon the invention was particularly ludicrous, yet one she firmly reasoned made sense within her own logic. To such amber hues that glistened whilst opened, windows were and always had been, a means of imprisonment. It barred impossibilities, restrained potential, hid people from the world that attempted so desperately to interact with them. Images were constantly seen as change, from summer to fall, winter to spring, yet never physically felt as a whole. It were as if these see through panels were all a singular human life had to create their dreams within, but to then have the window tinted from the outside, making said individual believe their dreams were being seen, when in fact, there was nothing. It irritated her to no means - for to make a happiness so selfish had always been stripped of as a right by an underweight factor of negativity once such a realisation hit. She refused to become crumpled and withered as a piece of paper became over time due to its negligence. For each breath allowed for every opportunity to be presented and each dead end that became termed as ‘impossible’ to be rerouted against its fate and turn into something amiable with a billion possibilities. She knew the world upon which she gazed through this window held no room for magic, nor held the belief that anything so rare and beautiful should exist solely for the purpose of freeing a person from all that tainted them. A cruelty only the emotion of fear could produce, and the unfortunate existence that lay within each person. But she did not disagree that without it, courage could not be found. By now, the small female had yet to realise she had fallen asleep against the window sill of her room, her hand slumped against the cold pane of the imprisonment she endeared about so well, which, by the weight of her sleeping form had opened the window just barely. Before the birth of her younger sister, her mother had taken Misaki to a place only seen by her eyes once in her lifetime, and had remained there in heart for the rest. The empty concert hall had widened her once childlike eyes in amazement. Turning toward her mother, she had her small, birdlike mouth open, ready to question the intentions of why she had been brought to such a place. Silence found her lips close as her mother shook her head and place two little buds within her ears. Seating herself down, Misa had become curled within her lap, eyes covered by a gentle hand as the soft flowing melodies of Joe Hisaishi accompanied by the World Dream Orchestra came flowing from the musical item her mother had placed. A tingling sensation took hold of the small child’s body as her mind burst with more images than she had upon her hands and feet. Sparks of her imagination that had not yet been formed became in full bloom, and dreams grew wings that enabled them to fly around her. Hope engulfed her heart as wonderment took hold of each cell that resided in her body. The younger child opened her eyes once her mother had uncovered them, and continued to see the images that had been brought to life in flitting specks.
’'Misaki-chan. In this world, there is a lot of suffering and pain. You may want to run away from those that hurt or do not understand. It will be a hard life. But from what you just felt in here, in your heart – is what every human holds. Not many are able to make them come true but they continue to live. But one day, a person shall come along. They will make you a little mad because they don’t do things the way you do. They’ll keep making you ask why you do the things you do. Along with this, you will find those who simply give you reasoning for what you know. But you know, Misa? It’s those who make you question that bring out this very magic in you.’’
Naturally, the younger Misaki had no clue as to what her mother spoke of but nevertheless had not forgotten the dear words spoken to her. The small giggle that had sounded at her mother’s lips that day resonated within what seemed to be her own dream like state, was due to her daughters confusion about whether it was about magic or about her papa. Her mother held her close at that moment and spoke of nothing more, allowing the music that continued flowing. Somewhere along her fleeting reminisce, a warmth spread around her shoulders, as her present self found a blanket becoming wrapped neatly along her shoulders – or what felt like it in a sense. And within these dreams of small music, a sleeping Misaki found herself smiling in her sleep whilst a low chuckle wafted around her in mystery. Ah… it was a magic that lived. A magic that she would continue to believe in, even within old age, and now but – until it was found, heard and seen by her own eyes she searched within these fleeting dreams that kept her hope in bloom. As well as her love.
