#I want everyone to soar and fly with me! Their diverse one-of-kind wings are too brilliant to not flutter. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

higuchimon · 6 years

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[fanfic] I Will Be Your Wings: Chapter 4

Yubel slipped through the cracks in the defenses around the palace, wings tilted to one side to avoid brushing against the hole in the wall that allowed entrance. Once on the other side, they arched upward, more willing to let themselves be seen now that they couldn’t be identified as an intruder.

I shouldn’t have done that. Oh, but sneaking into the palace grounds was more than thrilling! It answered that deep inside call that had whistled and sung from every scrap of their bones for weeks now.

Only as each moment passed from when their eyes met those of that boy, Yubel found that they wanted to go back, to talk to him, to learn more about him. And that wasn’t a good idea. That wasn’t even close to a good idea.

Yubel soared their way through the city, coming to a rest at one of the public perching areas. These were large table-like areas where Fliers could stop and rest for periods of time. There were even small stalls set up so one could purchase food or drink – if one had the money.

Yubel didn’t have the money. Yubel had to save every scrap that they had for real food. But Yubel was also used to this. Fliers needed to be trim, they reminded themselves on a regular basis. There were few Fliers who were so well-stuffed that they couldn’t actually fly. Yubel told themselves that they didn’t want to be one of them.

Yubel settled down on the edge of the perching area and tried to catch their breath. Avoiding guards wasn’t all that difficult. Finding the cracks in the spells that protected the palace, that was a lot trickier.

Can I do it again? Yubel hoped. Yubel wanted to, no matter how dangerous it was. Those eyes had been so beautiful, so warm and caring and a rich dark brown that glimmered with curiosity and held shadows Yubel had never known before and found themselves entranced by.

The boy wasn’t much older than they were. Maybe even a scrap or two younger. Yubel didn’t have a lot of contact with other people, so they weren’t all that certain on ages. Besides, the Flightless sometimes looked older than they were. At least they did to Yubel.

Why was a young Flightless in the palace, anyway? Yubel couldn’t keep up with the local gossip but they suspected he had to be related to high-ranking nobles, or maybe even royalty. Everyone said that anyone could be Flightless, after all.

Yubel wrapped their wings a bit closer to them, trying not to shiver. They couldn’t imagine not being able to fly. Being stuck on the ground had to be horrible. How could that boy have such life-filled eyes if he’d never kissed the wind or mounted up as high as he could go?

Those were only the first questions that sprang to mind. Yubel wanted to ask those and so much more. They wanted to know everything there was to know about this boy and tell him what there was to know about them too.

Only there’s not nearly as much to know about me as there would be about him. A Flightless who could live in the palace? Sure, he might just be the unlucky offspring of servants, but Yubel sort of doubted that. For one, he’d been dressed very well and not in any kind of servant outfit. For another, they’d seen the king and queen coming over.

Yubel froze at that as what they saw actually sank in. The king and queen. They hadn’t waited to see what happened, but they hadn’t looked angry or upset. Yubel wasn’t sure what they looked like, but they’d learned long ago how to tell if someone was angry or upset from many distances.

That led to one conclusion. Yubel still couldn’t be absolutely certain, but it felt like the right one regardless.

That was the Prince.

Was the Prince Flightless? Yubel sort of wished that they could listen to more gossip now. Surely people would talk about that. But even in the capital of Kuragari, most people didn’t like perchless Fliers to listen in on their conversations.

Guards roamed even the public perches, meant to keep order from Fliers and Flightless alike. Yubel caught sight of one moving in their direction. Not very fast and yet clearly with a focus on them. Yubel briefly sighed, wondering why the Gentle Darkness hadn’t granted them life with a perch and kindred of their own yet again.

But what was, was, and Yubel stood up. They’d rested long enough regardless and it was time to start the evening hunt for food. At least that could be safely acquired around here.

They brushed themselves off and leaped upward, wings spreading to catch the wind, and soared, spinning for just the sheer joy of it for a few moments. They caught a glimpse of the guard, who gave them a warning look but no more, and then tilted, heading away.

Another day drew closer to the end, another day where Yubel searched for whatever it was that drove them onward and offered them purpose. It existed. They knew that it did. But knowing it existed and knowing what it was were too entirely different things.

Meeting eyes with that strange Flightless boy who could possibly be the Prince Himself was as close as they’d ever come to it. Yubel refused to believe that it was, though. They were a common born, with no special skills or gifts at all, just the gnawing sense that they needed to find someone and be with them forever.

I’ll go back later. Maybe if I talk to him… maybe he knows something. Weren’t the royal family supposed to know things? All kinds of things? They should, they were educated. If they didn’t know it, they knew people who would.

It was worth a try, small as the chances of success might be. And really, what else did Yubel have to do with their time?

He stood where they would not see him, wrapped in a darkness that was not gentle and a light that would conceal him from all eyes. His attention rested on the gates to the palace as he prepared for his first attempt.

This one would more than likely fail. At least in the larger goal. But it would not fail in the small goals, and for that reason, he was more than willing to take the chance.

He’d watched the palace for days, learning the routines, learning which guards had which habits. He’d learned where to stand so that they wouldn’t see him. He couldn’t cross the barriers, not yet.

But now it was time to change that.

Discarding his concealment, he strode forward to the road and headed for the gates, as brisk as if he belonged there. He’d learned a very long time ago that if one simply acted in all ways as if one did belong, few stood in their way.

He’d chosen his time with care. These guards were not lazy, but they were very close to the end of their shift, and they were tired. More so, there were people going in and out at this hour, and even the Fliers stayed on the ground to enter the palace.

The closer he drew to the gates, the tenser he found himself. This made sense; if everything turned beyond pear-shaped then he might not even emerge from this with his life. But he would make his attempt regardless. It needed to be done.

The guards checked people as they entered. At this hour, there still weren’t that many entering the palace, which put his plan a bit at risk. But he kept on going. He kept himself in the absolute middle of the pathway, letting the presence of others conceal his.

He looked effectively like everyone else. An older man, with sun-darkened skin, eyes still sharp beyond his years, a bit of a limp from an old war wound – which if anyone thought would explain why he didn’t fly, since one of his wings also drooped – dressed in clothes just a few notches above commoner garb, that were still clean and well kept.

“Your business here, sir?” One of the guards stepped in front of him before he could cross the threshold.

He smiled. He’d practiced doing it for quite a while before he’d set up his plan and he made certain that it was just the perfect smile of cheer and putting someone at their ease.

“Visiting an old friend of mine. Perhaps you know him. His name’s Aibek and he works in the kitchen.”

The guard gave him a mildly suspicious look before he held out a small silvery globe. “Repeat that, please, sir.”

He rested a hand on the globe without hesitation. “I’m here to visit my friend Aibek, who works in the kitchen here. We grew up together but I haven’t seen him in several years.”

The globe pulsed warm silver and at the guard’s nod he pulled his hand back.

“Carry on, then.” The guard gestured him inside and he moved on with nothing more than a courteous nod. It wouldn’t be a good idea to linger. That would lead to being memorable, and that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

In point of fact, as soon as he left their sight, the guards couldn’t have remembered that he’d been there at all. He really didn’t like being remembered. It caused so many problems.

He had told the truth, to a degree. He was there to see Aibek. They’d grown up in the same town and he hadn’t seen his old friend since Aibek moved to the big city and ended up getting a job in the palace. He’d found other paths to walk, ones that would be far more interesting in the long run.

That was one of the best parts of what he would do to get in. Once he accomplished his mission, the guards and the king and queen would search for someone who’d lied to enter, someone who no one recognized. He wasn’t that someone. Not at all.

He made his way through the corridors and down a flight of steps, on occasion asking for the location of the kitchen. No one remembered him moments after he passed.

Finally he stood at the main entrance to the kitchen itself, checking out every face and dismissing them until he saw one just about his age, lined with hard work and effort, removing a tray of pies from the oven. He made his way over there, people avoiding him without being fully aware of what they were doing or why.

“Aibek,” he said, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder once he set the pies down on the cooling table. Aibek jerked his head around, pale blue eyes widening, pale blue feathered wings flapping in surprise in the same moment.

“Zahir!” His eyes darted around the room before dropping back. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you...”

Zahir raised a finger for silence. “We need to talk. I need your help for something. Step out with me.”

He wasn’t asking. Aibek knew that he wasn’t asking. Asking wasn’t what Zahir did. Aibek dusted his hands off and waved to catch someone’s attention.

“I’m going to get a bit of fresh air,” he said. “I won’t be gone long. I just finished tonight’s pies.”

Whoever he was talking to – one of the higher ranked cooks, Zahir thought – nodded and continued with their own work. Zahir and Aibek headed out of the kitchen, down a short corridor, and through a door that led to a small courtyard filled mostly with herbs of various types, along with some benches.

Aibek dropped down on one of those almost as soon as the door closed behind them.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to come anywhere near here.”

“That’s what we need to talk about.” Zahir took a step closer. As he did, Aibek stared up at him.

“You’re here for him, aren’t you? That’s why you’re out of retirement.”

Zahir could already feel himself smiling. Aibek was one of the few people who saw through him, always. It was one of the reasons it was so dangerous to contact him, but so worthwhile at the same time.

“I have my orders,” he said smoothly. “And I need very little help from you.”

Aibek could not stop his wings from fluttering. That was why he’d never made it very far in their childhood profession – that and he’d always preferred being a baker to start with. Zahir still didn’t fully understand how he’d been born into his family. But it did give him a handy pair of eyes and ears at times.

“What kind of help?” Aibek asked after a few very quiet, tense moments. His gaze jerked around the courtyard, every bit as fast as his wings fluttered.

“I only need you to be my friend. Should someone ask about me – which I doubt they will – you need only say that I’m here to visit you and that we have known each other since we were children.”

Zahir leaned back, staring up at the sun. “This won’t take me long. I can assure you that everything will be all right in the end.”

Aibek gave him a look quite similar to the one that he’d shot toward him before he’d left home so many years ago, the look that said so clearly he didn’t believe a word Zahir said. “I could be hung if this fails.”

“You could be. You might have to come with me when I’m done.” Zahir tilted his head towards his childhood friend, lips curving upward. “You should, anyway. I’ll need to feed him while we’re on the way home anyway. Would you really want him to die like that?”

Aibek visibly shuddered. Zahir managed to contain his laughter into a small snort.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t be hung,” Aibek pointed out. Zahir shrugged.

“I’d rather not remind you of what happened before you left. I checked: they still want to talk to you about that.” Zahir’s smile played over his lips softly. “And I know that you’ll be worse than hung there.”

Aibek didn’t just pale. He turned such a shade of white that Zahir almost wondered if he’d pushed too far. Then Aibek drew a breath and steeled himself.

“Let me know when you’ll need me.” He didn’t sound happy. Zahir wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t often that an assassin reminded one that their life hung on a childhood promise.

But it would get him what he wanted.

To Be Continued

Notes: An evil plan? But of course!

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #yuuki juudai #yubel #yubel x juudai #juudai x yubel #chapters: i will be your wings #series: sky stories

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aelin-and-feyre · 7 years

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Circumstance (Part 4)

Sorry for the wait! I made it extra long though ;)

Tagging: @autumn03 @readinggiraffe @rhysandpurred @crazybookladythings (let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!)

Rowaelin daughter x Feysand son

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

When Ember wakes up the next day, there is almost no one on the street outside the window. The sun is only just raising above the mountainous skyline and from what Feyre told her last night, she's sure that morning is probably the slowest time in the Night Court. Carefully, Ember folds the nice smelling blanket and sets it on the meticulous bed that she hasn't even sat on yet.

Pulling some fresh clothes out of her suitcase, Ember puts her hair up and glances in the mirror once. It was nearing winter in Terrasen when she left so her collection of clothes are mostly long-sleeved and warm. In Velaris however, it seems incredibly warm outside, and Ember knows that she will probably have to find something else to wear.

Only Feyre, Rhysand, and the Morrigan are downstairs, all chatting around the island in the kitchen. "Good morning, Ember," Rhys greets when he sees her hesitating in the doorway. His eyes meet hers and Ember has to take a step back in surprise. Having the dream so recently brought the violet color to the forefront of her mind and she is shocked to see such similar orbs in real life for the first time. Rhys' eyes however, are just off, the ones in her dream just a bit more blue than his.

The adults don't seem to notice her shock, however, and the Morrigan skitters over to her excitedly. "Time for a girls day out!" She exclaims, looping her arm through Ember's elbow. The girl stares at her, wide-eyed.

"Don't break her, Mor, her parents expect her home in one piece." Rhys reminds his cousin with a small smirk.

The Morrigan winks. "No promises." It does not help Ember's nervousness.

"Have fun!" Feyre calls as the woman pulls Ember out of the room.

The Morrigan is practically skipping as they make their way onto the sparse street. "We'll grab some food on the way to the tailor." She tells Ember.

"The tailor, Morrigan?" The princess wonders, barely able to keep up with the woman's fast pace.

The Morrigan groans. "Do not call me that. It's just Mor." Ember nods. "We gotta get you some Night Court attire or you'll stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone already knows that a princess is visiting, we don't need them all staring at your clothes too."

Ember's face heats. She looks down at her clothes and compares it to the people around her, realizing that her tunic and thick pants really do contrast with the thin and baggy attire of others. "Well, um, okay..."

"Great! I know just the place."

"When do you think I'll start training?" Ember wonders as the short tailor measures her arm span. As her and Mor had walked through the streets of Velaris, Ember had noticed how many different kinds of Fae there were in this part of the world. The diversity truly astonished her.

Mor shrugged around her pearberry scone. "Probably in a couple days. Feyre and Rhys wanted to let you get settled before Cassian started tearing you apart." She explains.

Ember nods absently, not entirely nervous about Cassian after she had to train with her father and Uncle Lorcan. "I'm not sure Cadewyn was granted such a luxury. My uncles can be pretty harsh when it comes to training."

Mor waves a hand. "Cade can handle himself fine. He can beat Brex in hand to hand combat almost every time."

Ember raises an eyebrow, impressed after seeing how built Brexton is. "About Brexton..." She ponders, but the woman cuts her off as the tailor chuckles just a bit.

"Don't even think about it, sister. Brex found his mate three years ago and they are the sweetest couple ever. He would never betray her." Mor explains and Ember feels her cheeks heat. Obviously, she had looked too much into his kindness yesterday. "Cade on the other hand... that boy is yours for the taking, if you can get past his walls."

Ember shakes her head. "I've only been here a day and you're already trying to set me up with a guy? How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend back home?"

Mor shrugs, licking her fingers clean. "I'm just saying, you could do much worse. Cade is a looker, inherited a lot of Rhys' beauty in fact." That catches Ember's attention, and it's a good thing the tailor turned her around so Mor can't see her expression.

"Like the eyes?" She asks, feigning nonchalance, but her voice takes on a sort of squeaky quality. She winces inwardly.

Mor smiles knowingly. "Yeah, although his are a bit of a mix with Feyre's, some blue mixed in there."

Ember doesn't think she's breathing. She's not sure what it means that he has the exact color eyes as the ones she's been dreaming about since she was little. Repeatedly, her head it telling her it means nothing, but her heart is beating way to fast.

"Are you okay, Ember?" Mor asks worriedly, shaking Ember out of her inner turmoil.

The girl shakes her head. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." However, her interest has been peaked. So when the tailor is done with the measurements and grabs a cropped red top and matching puffy pants, Ember is thankful for the curtain between them when she asks, "So... tell me more about the boy that's staying in my room."

Mor giggles a bit. "Well he's just about your age, actually. He's an amazing artist, incredibly smart as well." Ember nods along, even though the woman can't see her. "He also adores flying."

Ember opens the curtain, a confused look on her face. "He can fly?" She wonders, once again trying to act as though she doesn't care too much.

Mor nods, circling Ember as she inspects the outfit. "He can magic wings, just like Rhys, who's half Illyrian. I love this color on you!"

"And Cassian, Azriel, and Brexton are Illyrians as well, correct?" She's trying to put a wing to the name. She remembers admiring Brex's wings last night and the memory of his comment brings a blush to her cheeks. Ember will have to remember not to stare at Cade's wings if she ever meets him. Mor nods again, finally turning to face the tailor and declare that she wants five more outfits just like the one Ember is wearing in various colors.

"We'll also take this one for the road." She declares, handing over a gold mark and then slipping her arm in Ember's once again. The princess barely has time to thank the female before they are once again out on the street. Traffic has picked up, forcing the ladies to weave between the dozens of people now milling about the square. Ember almost trips over her own feet in the new flimsy sandals she's now wearing.

"So, back to the flying thing," Ember says, unable to help herself. "Do many people fly in Velaris?"

Mor stops in front of a stand selling jewelry, picking up a few items and holding them up to Ember, a comtemplative face on. "Not many in Velaris, no, but there is a whole Illyrian society to the north of us who all have wings and fly."

Ember nods, still attempting to feel out the people here, like her father had instructed. "And are people in Velaris then scared of Rhysand and Cadewyn because they can fly?"

The woman finally looks away from the jewelry and meets Ember's eyes quizzically. "No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Ember replies, too quickly, and curses herself for loosing her cool once again.

Mor eyes her suspiciously. "Ok.... Well, what are your other interests that you want to explore today?"

"Oh, I love to read," Ember says, suddenly remembering what she had thought of last night. "Is there a library here?"

A brilliant smile lights up Mor's face. "Definitely, and something tells me you’re going to like it."

Turns out, the cadre live up to their legends. Cade has never been more sore than he was after their first training session this morning. Lorcan had kept him to his promise and retrieved him at dawn for the long run up the Staghorn Mountains. If given the choice, Cade would have flown up the expanse, but he figured that it would have been frowned upon. Little did he know, that as he was running, two of the cadre were in fact flying up above them.

He had glanced up once and seen the osprey and hawk, but had thought nothing of it. When they made it to the top, Cade panting heavily and so dehydrated he ended up shoving a handful of snow into his mouth, the two birds flapped down and in a quick burst of light, transformed into Rowan and Vaughn. Cade was so astonished he had fallen onto his backside, thoroughly soaking the back of his pants in the foot deep snow that lay on the mountain.

The males had laughed, making Cade's ears turn pink. The young future High Lord had worked the entire day to make up for the embarrassment and had paid for it dearly. It had been weeks since he had trained with Uncle Cassian, and it showed. Cade now iced a swollen knee, nursed a roaring headache, and limped on a twisted ankle.

Luckily, the ankle had given him a good excuse for not wanting to trek down the mountain again. So, with what little dignity he had left, Cadewyn smirked at Rowan and Vaughn, positioning himself at the end of the cliff. "Care for a race?" He had said, and then tipped over the edge.

The look on each of their faces as he fell was absolutely priceless. His wings easily sprouted from his back and he soared upwards again, circling above them as they stared up in disbelief. "I believe I have a bigger wingspan than you, gentlemen." He taunted, then saluted and dove back down the side of the mountain, towards the castle.

He had found Evangeline reading a book in the courtyard and had swooped down to meet her. She hesitated, gaping a bit when she saw his wings, and then had rushed forward to help him up from the ground where he had slumped, utterly exhausted. She had helped him to the healer, muttering about how the cadre should know better than to beat him to a pulp on his first day.

While the healer had patched him up, Eva had gone to get Elide, even after Cade's insisting that it was unnecessary. Elide had been fuming when she hobbled through the door - Cade realizing for the first time that she had a mangled leg - but stopped when she noticed his wings, outstretched and looming behind him. Cade quickly apologized and made them disappear.

"I will talk to them, dear, don't you worry." The human woman had promised, going against Cade's wishes to not look like a weakling. Now, however, with a sore ankle and and pulsing knee, Cade is glad that it will be Elide telling them to dial it back a bit, so that he won't have to.

When he opens the door to the room he's staying in, and the delectable smell from yesterday envelops him, Cade smiles for the first time that day. He flops onto the bed, begging to take a short nap before having to face everyone at dinner tonight, but he really does not want a repeat of what happened yesterday with Gusty. So, instead, Cadewyn sits up with a groan, and pulls out the blank journal he had written in last night along with the quill and ink.

He flips open to a blank page and begins the write.

"Well. That was a brutal experience. I knew that the cadre would work me hard, but I really should have insisted that Cassian and Azriel work with me leading up to this. On the bright side, no one seems too bent out of shape about my wings, which mom and dad were worried about. Seems like I'm not the only one here though who has them. I've never seen someone who could shape shift other than Tamlin, and I've only ever seen that one time. I wonder who else is able to do something like that. I have still haven’t been unable to figure out what the scent that covers this room reminds me of, but I hope to figure it out soon. I also hope I get the chance to ask Aelin about her family’s eyes at some point. They are so like the ones in my paintings, I can't help but wonder what they are connected to...."

When he is done, Cade sets down the quill and journal and picks up Ember's own. He had read back a couple of days last night, but hadn't found anything terribly interesting. Getting to know her family more today, Cade can't help but become more curious about who the Crown Princess is.

Opening to the middle of the book, he reads an entry from a couple months ago.

"I finished my latest piece. I had the same dream last night that inspired me. Mom was wondering why I was holed up in my room all day, playing my piano and I stupidly told her I was working on a new song. Of course, then, she wanted to hear it, but I refused. I kind of want to keep this composition to myself, at least for a little while. It seems so much more personal to me than any of the other things I've written, and I know why, though I'm not sure I want to admit it just yet."

Quickly, Cade digs out the leather bound pages that are covered in music notes and lines. He searches for a song under the same date as the entry and finds it after a couple minutes of looking. Cade scans the notes and the pieces of lyrics idly. Its the title though that makes his breath choke.

'Violet Eyes' is written at the top of the first page in elegant, slanting script, contrasting drastically with scratched writing along the rest of the page. The paper is worn, like she played it many times over, and crinkles as if it had been wet at one point. Cade drags his fingers over the composition, wishing that he knew how to play if only to know what violet eyes had inspired.

His own violet eyes glance towards the pianoforte in the corner of the room and he can't help himself. Limping over to the bench, Cade sets the pages of music on the stand and sits down. He opens the cover and runs his fingers over the keys.

Cadewyn almost falls off the bench when three loud raps are sounded at his door. He hurriedly rushes to the bed and shoves all the journals under the pillow, stumbling towards the door and straightening his tunic along the way. When he open it, Gusty is standing there with her hands behind her back and a mischievous smile dancing across her face.

"Hello, princess," Cade greets, inclining his head slightly in respect.

"Hey, cutie, whatcha up to?" She asks, pushing past him and into the quickly darkening room. Cade hadn't realized how late it was getting. Her turquoise and gold eyes, which Cade has found oddly fascinating, scan his quarters and fall on the open piano. Cade cringes. "Do you play?" Gusty wonders, gliding across the room to sit down on the bench. "'Violet Eyes'." She reads dreamily, then looks up at him. "Much like yours. Did you write this?"

Cade is about to respond negatively, but then remembers that none of Ember's family knows that this is her piece, and she hadn't wanted any of them to know that. Gusty, he knows, however, won't let this go until she has all the details. And so Cade does the first thing that comes to mind. "Yeah, I dabble. I don't think it's much good though." He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, hoping to get her off the scent.

Instead, the princess waves a hand. "Nonsense, would you allow me to play a few lines to see for myself?"

Cade's eyes widen. "You play too?"

Gusty laughs. "Of course I do! Mom has had Ember and me playing since we could sit up and reach the keys at the same time. Of course, Ember is a much better player and composer than I am, but that's because she can spend days in here with just her piano and books to keep her company. I actually like to do something with my life." Cade can tell she's joking but he can almost detect a sense of contempt behind it.

Before he can inquire more, the young girl places her hands on the keys and starts to play. Cadewyn barely has time to register what is happening before he is swept away with the music. It floats through his mind, the romantic and melodious rhythm resonating through his very bones. The power behind each note pierces his mind and heart straight through to his soul.

Cade doesn't realize his eyes are closed and the music has stopped until Gusty blurts, "Holy shit." His eyes snap open and he stares at the princess. "Oops, probably not meant to say that in front of males," She simpers, though not sincerely at all. "That was amazing, Cade, absolutely stunning. I'd almost say that you're better than Ember."

Cade shakes his head. "I wouldn't say that."

Gusty laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders with some difficulty and guiding him towards the door. "I would, and everyone must know. You should tell them about it at dinner!"

Cade only has the chance to glance back at the pages sitting patiently on the stand, a longing filling his body to go over the lyrics that go along with the haunting melody, before he's being dragged away by the princess - the younger sister of a girl he has never met, but whom he starting to be extremely intrigued by.

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jiaxinghwa-blog · 7 years

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Ghost of the Past (aka Sealed with a Kiss)

By: A. K. Rini Uta is watching the burst of water from the fountains at the Italian Garden in Hyde Park. The water gush out and shooting high to the sky, forming shades of rainbow on their tracks. Uta sinks even deeper into his wooden chair, stretching out his long legs to make himself comfortable. He crosses his arms on his chest, humming contently when the warm sunlight caressing his face. It is almost eleven. If it were at his hometown, he’d be sweating ungraciously if he ever decided to sun bathing at this hour. However, here is London. In spring. Like other Londoners, Uta is appreciating every inch of sunlight he can get when the sun is out and shiny. He read the weather forecast this morning, saying it will be sunny all day. He then decided to discard all of his work for an hour or two under the sun. No, this is not him being lazy, he assures himself, but his body needs Vitamin D like everyone does. Uta smiles at the sight of a little boy and girl playing with their dog near the garden fence. It’s a big dog, a St. Bernard, and it is torn between looking after its young masters or to succumb to his instinct for catching the oblivious squirrel not far from them. The little guy is way too busy collecting food than to pay more attention to the dog. Or, he knows that the dog will stick to his training, which is protecting its masters no matter how strong the urge to hunt the squirrel down is. The dog does exactly that. Snorting a bit, the loyal animal turns its head when the little boy gives him a pat and his sister tells them to follow a brunette middle age woman toward a small path aside the Serpentine. Laughing cheerfully, the three humans’ and the animal’s silhouettes are slowly swallowed by the trees as they walk passing the Peter Pan statue. Peter the naïve kid who cherishes puerile dreams and pursues, refusing to grow up. Or, he is simply being brave; being brave to choose what his heart longs for instead of following what the society requires him to be. He is awarded by his dream and becoming the symbol of a prevailing dream. At least he does for Uta. The tall man tosses his head to the headrest and sighs. He always does that whenever he is thinking about how he keeps his dreams alive and how his stubbornness to pursue the said dream made him taking the biggest decision he ever made in his life. Not that he regrets it, not with all the achievements awarding him in his pursuit, telling him that he had done the right thing by coming to this city, living out his dream. He likes London. Since the very first time he stepped down his plane, stepping out the airport door or when he rode down the highway to the city, he has always been enveloped with the warm welcoming atmosphere of the city. It is the same atmosphere with what he used to feel back at his hometown. As he made his stroll in the city, walking in and out the alleys of London, visiting the stores and the squares, the intimate feelings grows stronger. This is the city that embracing differences and letting its people to live in confidence of being unique yet still keeping them in order. However, like any other places, sometimes discrimination does happen. He experienced it once or twice too, since his facial features are anything but to be looked over. He maybe tall, has high nose and cheekbones like a Caucasian, but his skin is tan and his eyes are slightly slanting. He is the result of tolerance of his own nation too, where the genes of three social classes used to be established by the colonial government; the three social classes that were expected to remain distant one to another are running together inside his blood. He is proud of what he is, of what his country has become. He has many friends like himself. They are carrying and living the diversity in their beating pulse proudly. However, sometimes prejudice happened, stereotyping bubbling, discrimination took place. It ripped away his chances for so many times, but he doesn’t bitter. Like his struggle in this city, he just keep pushing his limit and proves himself in contrast with the low expectation those people had for him, proving them wrong. His hometown is struggling with such struggle too. It has always been. However, her people have never been dismayed. Tolerance back home may faces challenge, but just like his dream, like Peter’s, it will always prevail. He has no doubt for it. Uta reaches for his coat pocket and takes out a pink invitation. The said invitation arrived this morning and it sent thrill to his spine. On that meticulously made invitation, printed with curving letters, is the name that he knows all too well. The name is resemblance to his own: Uria. It is his brother’s name. His identical twin brother’s name. His brother is getting married next month. He swipes a thumb over his brother’s and a woman’s name printed beneath his. His brother has found the love of his life and decided to build his own family with her, anchoring himself to the domestic bond. Uta smiles to himself. Uria has always been the responsible one indeed. Ever since they are kids, his brother has always pleased their parents with his obedient trait. Uta, in contrast, is known for his antic. Deep down Uta thinks his parents has prepared their heart to see him spread his wings and flies away from them to pursue his dream like Icarus who was soaring to the sky, flying after the sun. Hopefully, their ends will not be entangled together. “I know you might be here,” a soft voice startles Uta, makes him straightens his body in instance. When he turns around, his gaze meets a fond gaze from a pair of jade orbs. “Millie,” the man clears his throat and makes a room for the petite ginger to sit next to him. “Did you come to drag me back to the studio?” He eyes her suspiciously. Millie laughs and shakes her head, letting her curls dancing mid-air. She stretches her body and takes a deep breath, greedily savouring the fresh air and the warm sunlight. “Nah, I know you. You’ll be back after another hour, and you need to take a break, anyway. You are more productive after some break, so Cecil asked me to come here to give you some company. She did notice I need some break too.” They are sitting in comfortable silent, watching how the world is turning around them. How peaceful it is when people and nature are mingling together. It is neither too silent nor too robust, just a fair amount of lively noise offering tranquillity. After some times, Uta breaks the silent by taking out the invitation and shows it to his colleague. The ginger takes it from his hand and reads it thoughtfully before her eyes widened, dawning in understanding. “This is the reason why you are a bit weird this morning!” She exclaims. “You are contemplating to go home…” Uta chuckles. “I don’t need to contemplate anything, Millie. The second I received the invitation, I knew that I need to go home. It’s my twin brother’s wedding, no matter what. I need to be there for him.” “Are…are you sure? I thought you’ve vowed to never go back, for the city broke your heart for too many times.” Thin bittersweet smile breaches Uta’s face. “I could never hate her, though. She will always be the one place I could call home.” “It always amuses me how you refer your hometown with female pronoun. I thought London makes you feel that way too…” “He does. Both of them do…” “And…, there goes the male pronoun for London,” Millie laughs. “Well, Freud did say that England, principally London, has masculine virtue. He is the very polar of the feminine and seductive Paris. I guess I’m just giving affirmation to his opinion. London is strong, yet it has a condescending nature of a fatherly figure. He lets his children to grow up with their own unique personality, but always keeps them in a certain traditional conformity and self-control.” Millie lets out another fond laughter. “What about your hometown, then? What kind of female figure it was?” Uta’s opal orbs sparks with glint of amusement as he talks. “She is beautiful by nature and had all the potential in the world to build herself with gentle character. However, the colonial government forced her to be strong and bold, to be the melting pot of extreme diversity. In fact, only the boldest of them could survive living there. She is a no romantic also. You will hardly find parks like this there. She is a hard worker. Efficiency in time and work is the ultimate requirement of survival there.” Millie wrinkles her nose. “Seems like a tough city to live in. No wonder you escaped here.” Uta laughs and shakes his head. “I came here to escape the constriction my family laid for me, not from the city. I love her dualism, actually. Because once you see her at night, you could see her initial soft nature all around her. She was forced to be tough to support our country’s growth, but at the same time she is always ready to offer comforts for her children. You could feel it when the twilight is falling.” “I’m not quite understood it. Maybe because I’ve never been there,” Millie cracks an apologetic smile. “However, I understand the constriction you are feeling. My family is like that too, to an extent. Maybe not as hard as Asian family, though. I think that’s how family is. They are just trying to help us walk the path they had been familiar with. However, when we could show them that our path of choice works too, they’ll be supportive.” Uta laughs. “Maybe…" They fall into another silent. The sun is radiant on top of them, but the breeze is teasing them with her cool fingers. Millie sneezes and chases away a pair of doves that approaching them for treats. Uta laughs and offers her his scarf, which she accepts after making a face. Uta smiles again and watching her putting down the scarf. A thought crosses his mind. “Hey, Millie,” he says. Millie raises her head, arching her brows waiting. “Do you want to come with me to see her, to see Jakarta yourself?” **

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