sweet dreams are made of this || part one
The white silk fan is an old family heirloom she has only recently received from her mother. Its folds are soft and at first glance and touch it seems almost too easy to break – the first time she holds it, she handles it with supreme care as if it were an antique doll made of the finest, most delicate porcelain – but her mother assures her that that isn’t the case.
“It is just like the Furukawa women,” she states, her ever-watchful eyes trained on the delicate nature of her daughter’s hands as they trace the design of a pale yellow crescent moon dipping low behind the horizon of a rushing red river paralleled on the front and back. The family emblem. “Beautiful and delicate, but also deceptively resilient.”
Yui isn’t particularly sure why this moment comes to mind while she’s performing. She thinks it’s because this is her first time performing with this fan in particular, and that was the first time she had ever touched the fan now closed in her outstretched hand. She looks out towards it, her head leaning to her right as a solemn expression transforms her face.
She can feel her mother’s ever-watchful eyes on her as she takes the slow, deliberate steps backwards, opening the fan. It is encouraging, having her mother in the audience. Unlike her father, Yui’s mother is only supportive of her daughter’s ambitions, and never fails to comment on her pride for having “such a talented daughter”.
Her dance now is a solo, one she worked hard to achieve. Yui considers herself one of the best, if not the best, dancers amongst her ensemble of aristocratic girls. It is only natural that she would be the one to receive the most difficult solo. It is a beautiful romantic piece where Yui plays the role of a young woman lamenting the death of her lover. Overcome with grief, the woman suffers a slow and delicate death in which she is devoured by her heartache.
The other girls adore this story, but Yui finds it trite. What self-respecting woman would let herself die that way? There’s nothing “tragic” about it, but Yui pretended that it struck her emotionally. It was easier to convince her ensemble’s teacher that she deserves this dance in particular since she feels and sees the raw emotion. Besides, we must sacrifice part of ourselves to gain that which we desire most. And if that means Yui must be in love with a story about a stupid woman to be able to perform the most difficult solo, then so be it.
The music evolves into an intense moment, the notes moving faster and faster, and as meticulous as her movements must be, they follow the tempo of the music until suddenly, everything slows. Yui makes an abrupt stop in her quick gestures, slowly reaching out ahead of herself one last time before folding gracefully into herself in “death”.
Her audience drinks it in, praising her performance. Yui bows, low and polite, before returning backstage where she is met with the laughter and smiles of the other girls in her ensemble. They congratulate her on a well-done performance, admire her for executing the faster parts with such seeming ease. She merely nods and says a polite thank-you. It is time for another girl’s solo now, after all.
She watches from behind the wings as Kimiko, three months her junior, begins her piece. It isn’t nearly as extravagant as Yui’s, but is still fairly well-done, though she is amazed that the girl got a solo in the first place. Her dancing has never been up to par with what Yui would consider solo material, and she can see it in the girl’s rough movements. She would cringe if it befit her, but then something else catches her eye.
A woman in the crowd begins coughing loudly, violently, and covers her mouth completely with the sleeves on her arms out of habitual etiquette. Her servants attend to her, one holding out a small glass of water. The woman glances at it, and then clutches her head with her hand - Yui sees a flash of red on the sleeve - before falling backwards into a faint.
The woman is Yui’s mother.
kianamaiart
pixelskylines
gummygunk
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
