Attachment
by Miko-chan
Disclaimer: All of this characters are borrowed from Takei-san. Standard
disclaimers apply.
It was quite tedious, isn't it, for her to do such a thing?
The room was empty, bare with furniture. Only the futon, which was neatly laid upon the center in the area, and its occupant were the only things to be seen. They were bathed with the soft luminosity of the silvery moon. The young woman, settled near the open window, was staring intently upon the the task with a serious facade repairing a piece of fabric upon her folded lap. Her arms were repeatedly to be in motion as both of her upper limbs were coursing up and down, pulling and pushing a tiny silvery object in a seemingly
endless, tiring cycle.
But as you see, she gives the impression that she did not care if the wearisome task does made her fatigue increase. The slight crave of sleep as her half-opened lids were indicating were ignored, forgetting the pain of the soreness of her neck and bended knees. The pale moonlight from the nearby window hung over the horizon as her spectator, clear from any haziness of the warm summer night. Yet she paid no heed in her surroundings, for it appears the job that was occupying her
consciousness was enough for her attention.
Observing for a few more borrowed minutes, her dark onyx eyes seems to be glazed, unseeing of anything. Her repetitive movements clearly became like mechanical system of her duty in her lap, as she deftly threading them with a trained pull. It was as if mere stitching was a part of her routine. After all, as an aspiring wife of a Shaman King, she is fairly expected to be perfect for any chores that a respectable, luxurious woman should be able to accomplish.
However, as she snapped a taut thread sticking out from the edge of the ebony cloth, this was one of those habits that she could never stop in a point of agitation. Sewing was one of the most effective outlets of any negative feelings that tried to conquer her, advantageous to keep any lost shards in her slowly shattering mask. It easily patches them again to their proper places, something to maintain her standing straight.
Even if she was falling beneath her....In that way, no one would ever mock at the notions that were
threatening to crumble the barriers that she had built.
Have you ever known how can her steady hands could outstand the harshness of beckoning sleep or the numbing cold? Strong fervent passions fuel her warmth and strength, making this lifeless doll breathed with life. Another
wintry pierce of the needle into the unassuming fabric. The chilling silver was gradually swimming upon the massive cloth. There was no abrupt stop, consistent and flowing.
And she was as sharp as that small metal in her fingers. The itako was as piercing, unrelenting. There could only be her straight edge, her spine as keen as its dexterity. She would never bend, for her proud head was always held up
high. For her, the ends will always justifies the means.
But unlike this small piece of steel, the soft cloth would always sooth the sharp edges of the needle. It may be painful and prickling, but at least it would
be for the clothes benefit. The needle only existed for the fabric, as the
fabric would only exist if it were not for this tiny stinging metal.
The breeze suddenly picked up, bringing the hostile sensation of the bitterness of the night.
With her scrutinizing stare, she glanced at every hem of the wardrobe. Her
fingers pulled and pushed, until she felt the satisfaction from the result of
her work. Perfect. That is what it supposed to be. Always. No matter how
the impurities can tarnish both of them...there would always be the perfection
of it.
Forcing the shoji to open, there was where the fabric should lay.
Beside him.
Many times did she wounded him. Too much moments that she pierced him. But all of these will pass, after all. The silver needle would rust time, its frozen mask will crackle. And it would be that time that she would be able to show who she really was.
"Anna?"
It was a soft whisper, a faint trace of the night.
She refused to answer as the thin shoji doors had slid open again.
If the thread snaps....
And closed shut.
Unnerving silence.
....would they still be connected?
His dark orbs, swirling in its depths, stared at the blankness of the night.
"Are you afraid?"
The dryness of his throat was painful.
There was no reply. He sighed uncomfortably.
How can I be sure?
She acknowledged the presence of the moon in the horizon, with the breeze gently caressing her.
"It will be alright." A trace of a bright smile in those words.
The rustle of the cloth.
The woman glanced at her untouched futon...and settled her open palm upon its soft cover.
She believes him. That will never change.
It will always continue.
The fic's idea came from a simple passage. Oi Jam, something to convince you that YohxAnna can BE good...ToT . *shakes head in disbelief*
Do you believe in the legend of the red thread?
They say when two souls are supposed to be together,
their pinkies were interlaced with a red string...
But I don't have such belief in that.
...For we are connected with something more unbreakable.
^^ I do believe too. Review Please!