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Miyo’s skin crawled. Her clothes were too hot and all wrong, the silk fabric of her cherry blossom nightdress like sandpaper against her skin. Clinging and soaked to her bones in cold sweat, Miyo stood before the bathroom sink staring into her reflection. It was late. So late, in fact, not even Yurie was awake bustling around in preparation for the next day like she always was even when there was nothing to prepare.
She was so tired. Her limbs grew heavy and too exhausted to attempt to remove the offensive clothing, and the lingering fear of being left exposed in any manner kept her hands clenched tight at her side. Nothing could be seen. What if Yurie or Lord Kudo stumble upon her, clothes half torn off, trembling in the bathroom and heaving like a dog?
Breathe. In, out. In, and out.
Miyo felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as her lungs struggled to keep a steady pace like she told them to. It wasn’t hard. All she had to do was breathe and she would be normal again. The memories would go away, leave her alone until the next night where she would rinse and repeat.
Breathe. In, out. In- In- In-
Pathetic, she thought as she heaved every meal from the day into the toilet. That’s what I am. Pathetic.
Kaya laughed at her through memories. Nails on chalkboards. Bony fingers dutifully scrubbing the floors with the bristle brush she used to comb her hair in the mornings. Water heated with the last fires of the day burning her hands as she washed the dishes from her family’s dinner, steeling her mind against the searing pain. The grumbling of her stomach being nothing but background noise when matched against her step-mothers screeching voice.
Pathetic.
Again Miyo vomits onto cold, wet, porcelain, the uncontrollable force of grief pushing her to heave and heave long after there became nothing else to give up.
Gravity pulls at her bones, her flesh, her head. She should go back to bed, she knows. She should wash her face of the grotesque substance, wash her hands, flush the toilet of evidence. She should lay down on her mattress once more and get whatever precious few hours of sleep she’s going to be allowed tonight. She knows all this and yet.
And yet, she thinks as she lets her eyes unfocus, I can’t.
Every consequence of her actions dangles in front of her face like a toy meant for cats. Taunting her, dehumanized. They want her to swipe at them. Give chase. Play.
Kiyoka will be mad, Miyo mumbles under her breath.
They will be worried, as she sinks to the cold stone floor.
Hazuki will put off more training, when she feels dust rub onto her damp palms.
I know, she says as her eyes, crusted with sleep and dried tears, come to a close.
“I’m so tired.”
…
..i..yo…
Her body is moving, she feels. Is she finally walking? How nice.
..m…o…
Sunlight. Soft cushions beneath her head and body. The scent of herbal tea flooding her airways as her breathing picks up once again.
...iyo…
Good, Miyo thinks as she comes to, I made it to bed.
“Miyo!”
Pink eyes snap open.
Yurie’s face is right there, half a meter from Miyo's. Worry is etched plain as day into her face through aged wrinkles and dips. It’s unclear to Miyo what was so urgent that it made Yurie fret like this.
“Good morning, Yurie?” Miyo tries a small smile to cover her visible confusion. This apparently is the wrong move, as Yurie begins sobbing immediately.
“Oh, dear, you’re awake- I-“ she pauses to sniffle, “I’m so glad.”
Miyo slowly brings herself to lean on her elbows, slightly more vertical than she was before.
“Did something happen? Is everything alright?”
The look on Yurie’s face grows less worried and a great deal more distraught.
“You were unconscious on the bathroom floor, my lady- do you- I was so worried-“
Ah, Miyo thinks as the confusion moves aside to make room for horror, I didn’t make it to bed.
“I was only sleepwalking, Yurie, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you worry,” she says as believably as she can. Which turns out to be not a whole lot, so she settles for a reassuring smile.
Obviously, the older woman doesn’t buy it, but she drops it as soon as she reads the silent pleading of Miyo’s body language.
“Um-“ she hesitates. Yurie pauses in her pouring of tea.
“Please don’t tell Lord Kudo. I don’t want him to worry.”
Yurie sighs. It is then quite obvious that that was exactly what Yurie was going to do after she left. Her duty to protect, however, overrides her duty to report, and she relents.
The day proceeds as normal. Yurie makes breakfast, Kiyoka is off to work, and Miyo works hard to become a wife worthy of her title.
It all comes crashing down on her at dinner. Her fiancée gets home late, as usual, although she thinks it technically wouldn’t count as late anymore if it’s the standard. They lower themselves to cushions as they wait for Yurie to finish fussing over their meals and bring them in.
And when she does, finally, it’s with the utmost compassion and sincerity that she says to Miyo, “I put a little bit extra on your dish, so you can recover from last night quickly.”
Miyo freezes. Yurie freezes in turn. Kiyoka does not freeze, as he was not moving in the first place, but he seems to halt all thought at what to him seems to be an incredibly cryptic sentence.
“Of course, a lady’s time of the month can be something so troublesome,” Yurie finishes.
The string holding Miyo’s body tight is cut, and her face grows warm.
“Thank you, Yurie.”
Miyo casts a glance towards Kiyoka, who is stiffer than a wooden plank, and half as red as a strawberry. He is looking pointedly down at his tray of food.
“Enjoy your meal,” Yurie says, and with a bow, she is gone.
A strangled cough is released from Kiyoka’s lungs as he picks up his chopsticks, still red at the tips of his ears. The scene is so hilarious, so uncanny, so domestic that Miyo has to laugh. Miyo laughs, and laughs, and laughs until her breath turns short and she has to take a minute to adjust herself.
Have I ever felt like this, she wonders, have I ever been allowed to laugh so freely?
What was the name for this feeling?
It hurt. Miyo slowly felt the pain throb in her cheeks, the ache of muscle and fat having sat unmoving for years now jolted so suddenly into action that it was hurting her.
This pain was worth it, she decided. Smiling felt like busting open the dam in her heart she’s been building since she was three and watching the water rush through every crack in the stone it could find, almost vicious in its thirst for freedom.
Wiping away the tears from her eyes, Miyo catches a glimpse of Kiyoka staring at her. Wondrously, eyes widened to the size of small saucers. He stared still pink in the ears, not into her eyes, but at her face. His ears twitched like an animal’s towards the sound of her voice.
Miyo’s smile faded slightly as she touched her face self consciously.
“Is there something on my face?”
Kiyoka flushed a slightly darker colour in the face, then he cleared his throat of nerves.
“You’re beautiful when you smile.”
Oh.
She feels warmth flood her face in embarrassment.
“Thank you,” Miyo replies with a squeak. She quickly starts eating to avoid thinking about the compliment any further. Kiyoka, apparently satisfied with this result, follows suit.
That’s what it's called.
She will have nightmares again. She will wake up, retch, gasp for breath against the choking grasp of her memories. She doesn’t know if they will ever stop, will ever get better. What Miyo does know for a fact, however, is that someone will be there for her. Yurie will be there, fretting over her like she always has for the past months. Kiyoka will be there in his own reserved way, a compass she can always depend on to never change directions.
Happiness.