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Hissing, the frustrated portal spat forth one former swordsman, a stumbling one at that. With her uneven gait it took precious few moments before the girl hit the ground. From a glorious, nimble display of grace into a mess with their mouth full of grass.
Sadder still, was the lack of bravado, the missing flourish back onto her feet. Instead, the grass-fed mass of despair may as well have been a corpse for all the signs of life she displayed.
The evening sun came and went, granting her its embrace and kissing her goodbye as it left her behind, only to be greeted by the chilling gaze of the moon shortly after. Yet the erstwhile ronin didn’t return their salutes, instead choosing to remain there.
Lifeless.
Hopeless.
The spark had long since fizzled out, snuffed out underneath the oceans of self-loathing and endless lashings against the shreds of her self-confidence. All of her own doing - a temple of despair, utterly of her own creation.
The moon wished her well on its way out - only for the morning rays to console the fallen and offer their wisdom. Warming as the sun may’ve been, its efforts went entirely unappreciated. Its comforting whispers fell upon deaf ears - shunned away much like the revolutions that had come and gone before.
Seeing as reassuring murmurs fell upon deaf ears, the sun bid farewell to the fallen, its place claimed by the darkness of night. The air hung heavy and thick, oppressing the grassfed ronin, before lightning flashed and thunder clapped. Streaks of yellow-toned happiness gallivanted through the girl’s mind, decapitated by the snap of jaws, swallowed in a flash of red.
Wind howled as the rain poured and whipped upon the unfortunate soldier. Blowing upon extinguished embers, desperate to reignite the fire of a warrior’s soul. Yet the forge remained cold and quiet. The provocations of the universe, unanswered.
For all intents and purposes, Miyamoto Musashi may as well have been dead, for all the difference her existence presented to the world.
And with how long she’d stayed there, who knows.
Maybe the girl was indeed just decomposing, slowly swallowed by the ground. A once brave warrior returning from whence she came.
Without so much as a headstone to remember her by.
—--
Bleak whites washed over the landscape, with little to nothing depicting neither a beginning nor an end. Yet, against all odds, gentle winds washed over the ivory void. In those gentle winds, a dark coloured, drooping cap swayed along as its wearer sat upon a ledge, legs hanging over it precariously.
Whether the ledge had been there before or simply appeared at his demand mattered precious little.
Carried by the winds was a solemn tune, tinged with inescapable longing. A craving that with time, had faded precious little. The source of it, the tiniest of instruments moulded of clay in the dark clad figure’s hands.
The man’s melody to this void of naught, was interrupted suddenly by the sullen thud of something beside him, as if attempting to join his song as a percussive instrument of some calibre. Mostly that of failure.
“Gah. Wha-..?” The newly arrived pile brought itself to move as a flash of pink streaked against the chalk and the girl spun onto her feet. Her stance was wobbly at best, utterly unstable at worst - and her garbs were in tatters and caked with dirt.
“Ah. So you’ve finally come then.” His tone betrayed a hint of bemusement at the visitor. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The corner of his lip quirked upward just slightly.
“...and who’re you?” her gaze snapped to the capped man, and from there drifted onto the instrument in his hands, the song now supposedly ceased. Yet it continued to dance in the winds surrounding them. Whatever this place was, it was hardly conventional, what with the music behaving as it pleased.
“A friend of yours. In a sense, at least,” he mulled, canting his head to the side slightly before his hand patted the ledge beside him. “Sit with me, won’t you, swordsman?”
Stepping beside him, the swordsman dropped onto the ground unceremoniously, legs crossing beneath her as she landed with a quiet thud. A practiced maneuver if there ever was one. Her non-existent swords gave no clank against the ground as she landed, since well, they weren’t there.
“Who’re you?” she asked yet again, taking a better look at the man with a sword strapped across his back, hidden away beneath a shield. His pale skin was somewhat fitting to this ivory void, his red eyes giving a striking contrast to his features.
“Fancy a drink?” he inquired, a plate of sake offered her way. Wherever the ocarina had gone - or where the sake had come, the pinkette wasn’t certain. It didn’t seem all that important.
He seemed familiar. Too much so. Frustratingly so. Yet Musashi couldn’t grasp why! A sense of longing gnawed her heart, yet there was little reason for it. She’d never met this man before. Yet, with how he treated her, they may as well have been friends for years and years.
“I know you think you can’t continue without me. But you can. You’ve always been able to,” he talked matter-of-factly as the sake was accepted, gaze turning to the distance once more.
“And besides, I’m always there. Or rather, here. Inside of you,” the darkened one stated, utterly against his appearance. “...and of course inside of anyone who may need me,” his presence radiated warmth and unyielding friendship - the kind of strength that only a chosen few had.
“You can do it, even if I’m not there to watch over your every word.”
Whatever this pain was, it wrenched her, grappled her chest and squeezed with crushing intensity. “I miss you,” the words escaped her lips, the swordsman bewildered in confusion over what had been said and done. It made little sense.
“Oh by the way, you should really wake up by now. It should be right about time anyway,” he flashed her a smile, one that only a true friend would. And befuddled as the swordsman was, her lips curled upwards as her eyes glistened.
“Thank you.”
As the world crumbled around them, the swordsman closed her eyes. For whatever reason, she felt just slightly less tormented. It made little sense.
But it didn’t have to.
—--
The forest rustled as streaks of orange flashed through the shrubbery, dashing amidst the leaves and branches of the undergrowth. Light shone into the forest floor as the streak of orange emerged onto the sunbathed meadow. Dashing across it, the silken creature arrived at its target, a fat, bulging coin purse that awaited its taker.
And of course, its current owner, a practically decomposing former ronin - if not dead in body, then at least in spirit. Probably body as well.
Regardless of it, the coin-purse was robbed from her hip, snatching jaws closing around the strings as a bank deposit was made and the purse left on a new adventure with its new owner - a fox.
A filthy thief!
Even as the newly enriched victor went to leave the meadow, the freshly minted corpse finally twitched.
“-...s —e”
Leaves rustled as the creature darted into the words, disappearing from sight.
Embedded into the earth, the layers atop her twitched and writhed, rumbling from the forces beneath. “--..t’s ine..” she grumbled, fingers curling in impotent rage as her legs bore through the thin earth and the disgraced swordsman clawed her way to freedom.
“THE COIN! IS MINE!” she screamed at no one in particular, fueled by her very-recent loss as a victim of targeted robbery. Birds fled into the skies as the forest echoed and the swordsman’s eyes focused toward the shrubbery where the fox had escaped.
She would have what was hers, one way or another.
Sadder still, was the lack of bravado, the missing flourish back onto her feet. Instead, the grass-fed mass of despair may as well have been a corpse for all the signs of life she displayed.
The evening sun came and went, granting her its embrace and kissing her goodbye as it left her behind, only to be greeted by the chilling gaze of the moon shortly after. Yet the erstwhile ronin didn’t return their salutes, instead choosing to remain there.
Lifeless.
Hopeless.
The spark had long since fizzled out, snuffed out underneath the oceans of self-loathing and endless lashings against the shreds of her self-confidence. All of her own doing - a temple of despair, utterly of her own creation.
The moon wished her well on its way out - only for the morning rays to console the fallen and offer their wisdom. Warming as the sun may’ve been, its efforts went entirely unappreciated. Its comforting whispers fell upon deaf ears - shunned away much like the revolutions that had come and gone before.
Seeing as reassuring murmurs fell upon deaf ears, the sun bid farewell to the fallen, its place claimed by the darkness of night. The air hung heavy and thick, oppressing the grassfed ronin, before lightning flashed and thunder clapped. Streaks of yellow-toned happiness gallivanted through the girl’s mind, decapitated by the snap of jaws, swallowed in a flash of red.
Wind howled as the rain poured and whipped upon the unfortunate soldier. Blowing upon extinguished embers, desperate to reignite the fire of a warrior’s soul. Yet the forge remained cold and quiet. The provocations of the universe, unanswered.
For all intents and purposes, Miyamoto Musashi may as well have been dead, for all the difference her existence presented to the world.
And with how long she’d stayed there, who knows.
Maybe the girl was indeed just decomposing, slowly swallowed by the ground. A once brave warrior returning from whence she came.
Without so much as a headstone to remember her by.
—--
Bleak whites washed over the landscape, with little to nothing depicting neither a beginning nor an end. Yet, against all odds, gentle winds washed over the ivory void. In those gentle winds, a dark coloured, drooping cap swayed along as its wearer sat upon a ledge, legs hanging over it precariously.
Whether the ledge had been there before or simply appeared at his demand mattered precious little.
Carried by the winds was a solemn tune, tinged with inescapable longing. A craving that with time, had faded precious little. The source of it, the tiniest of instruments moulded of clay in the dark clad figure’s hands.
The man’s melody to this void of naught, was interrupted suddenly by the sullen thud of something beside him, as if attempting to join his song as a percussive instrument of some calibre. Mostly that of failure.
“Gah. Wha-..?” The newly arrived pile brought itself to move as a flash of pink streaked against the chalk and the girl spun onto her feet. Her stance was wobbly at best, utterly unstable at worst - and her garbs were in tatters and caked with dirt.
“Ah. So you’ve finally come then.” His tone betrayed a hint of bemusement at the visitor. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The corner of his lip quirked upward just slightly.
“...and who’re you?” her gaze snapped to the capped man, and from there drifted onto the instrument in his hands, the song now supposedly ceased. Yet it continued to dance in the winds surrounding them. Whatever this place was, it was hardly conventional, what with the music behaving as it pleased.
“A friend of yours. In a sense, at least,” he mulled, canting his head to the side slightly before his hand patted the ledge beside him. “Sit with me, won’t you, swordsman?”
Stepping beside him, the swordsman dropped onto the ground unceremoniously, legs crossing beneath her as she landed with a quiet thud. A practiced maneuver if there ever was one. Her non-existent swords gave no clank against the ground as she landed, since well, they weren’t there.
“Who’re you?” she asked yet again, taking a better look at the man with a sword strapped across his back, hidden away beneath a shield. His pale skin was somewhat fitting to this ivory void, his red eyes giving a striking contrast to his features.
“Fancy a drink?” he inquired, a plate of sake offered her way. Wherever the ocarina had gone - or where the sake had come, the pinkette wasn’t certain. It didn’t seem all that important.
He seemed familiar. Too much so. Frustratingly so. Yet Musashi couldn’t grasp why! A sense of longing gnawed her heart, yet there was little reason for it. She’d never met this man before. Yet, with how he treated her, they may as well have been friends for years and years.
“I know you think you can’t continue without me. But you can. You’ve always been able to,” he talked matter-of-factly as the sake was accepted, gaze turning to the distance once more.
“And besides, I’m always there. Or rather, here. Inside of you,” the darkened one stated, utterly against his appearance. “...and of course inside of anyone who may need me,” his presence radiated warmth and unyielding friendship - the kind of strength that only a chosen few had.
“You can do it, even if I’m not there to watch over your every word.”
Whatever this pain was, it wrenched her, grappled her chest and squeezed with crushing intensity. “I miss you,” the words escaped her lips, the swordsman bewildered in confusion over what had been said and done. It made little sense.
“Oh by the way, you should really wake up by now. It should be right about time anyway,” he flashed her a smile, one that only a true friend would. And befuddled as the swordsman was, her lips curled upwards as her eyes glistened.
“Thank you.”
As the world crumbled around them, the swordsman closed her eyes. For whatever reason, she felt just slightly less tormented. It made little sense.
But it didn’t have to.
—--
The forest rustled as streaks of orange flashed through the shrubbery, dashing amidst the leaves and branches of the undergrowth. Light shone into the forest floor as the streak of orange emerged onto the sunbathed meadow. Dashing across it, the silken creature arrived at its target, a fat, bulging coin purse that awaited its taker.
And of course, its current owner, a practically decomposing former ronin - if not dead in body, then at least in spirit. Probably body as well.
Regardless of it, the coin-purse was robbed from her hip, snatching jaws closing around the strings as a bank deposit was made and the purse left on a new adventure with its new owner - a fox.
A filthy thief!
Even as the newly enriched victor went to leave the meadow, the freshly minted corpse finally twitched.
“-...s —e”
Leaves rustled as the creature darted into the words, disappearing from sight.
Embedded into the earth, the layers atop her twitched and writhed, rumbling from the forces beneath. “--..t’s ine..” she grumbled, fingers curling in impotent rage as her legs bore through the thin earth and the disgraced swordsman clawed her way to freedom.
“THE COIN! IS MINE!” she screamed at no one in particular, fueled by her very-recent loss as a victim of targeted robbery. Birds fled into the skies as the forest echoed and the swordsman’s eyes focused toward the shrubbery where the fox had escaped.
She would have what was hers, one way or another.