/jp/ - Otaku Culture

>>44759525
third entry!
=
Oh, that dream again. What is it called when a dream is made of memories? I dunno, dona Patchouli probably does; maybe I should ask her? Meh. Stretching with a smile similar to those in the memories of four, perhaps five centuries past, I take one glance at the position of the Sun to pinpoint time: midday, time for lunch -- the gesture was quite frankly not needed at all with the aromas of Sakuya's food saturating the air with warm colors and revitalization.

Smiling, I jump the fence inside, appreciating the ever-proud and imperial mansão, its gardens personally tended by me, architectonic philosophy on the outside like that of a pampered and crimson-bathed clay dollhouse, lacking in windows to fit the patroa's taste. It would suit nicely the green grass plains of the País Cafeeiro or the Hispanic Monarchy at the height of their golden age.

I walk through the arches on the side, a hundred and one species and colors of flowers framing the white wood, not even trying to hide my smile with the state of the backyard: the scarlet slabbed porch littered with fairies lying on the ground talking and smiling, resting. A mountain of dishes by the side pointing that they had just eaten.

Then, a blink. Each fairy now has a mini-pillow to aid their rest on the cold ground, a natural ward against this particularly warm day; the dishes were nowhere to be seen, probably done and stored; and, on my side and wiping her hands with technique -- because that's a thing --, stood the calm and collected Izayoi Sakuya.

"You are late," her voice a magnet, face neutral. "Sleeping on duty again, hm?"

"You know how it is: the world is a windmill, always grinding us up."

Within another blink, a steaming dish of baião de dois and salad; sirloin; steamed potatoes with a side of red beans was in my hands, my smile widening with the sheer aromatherapy. To think two thousand years ago emperors would dine on this and call it 'Celestial food'.

Sakuya, however, just stared at me, nodded with a slight smile, and I knew she'd blink out of existence the next moment, one hand reaching for her forearm. Her lazuli gaze took a confused note and went from my grasp to my eyes, and my smile grew.

"... Thanks for the food!"

"Meiling, it's my job." Ah, always so serious.

"And?" I laid back, releasing my grip on her pale beauty, watching the fairies resting for a moment; they're always so quick to nap... I'm proud. "You look very pretty today."

She blinked, perplexed, and held a bunch of each side of her long skirt and stood on her ankles, as if analyzing herself for any imperfection on the neatly weaved blue dress, its borders decorated with ruffles and açurenas vermelhas e azuis, the patroa's favorite flower. I watched the show with a big smile, back against one of the arches.

"I look no different from yesterday."

"... And?"

Sakuya sighed, taking on that criada pose she worked so much to make a natural state of being; "If only you could be this attentive in your guarding duties -- but, thanks, Meiling." Said placid like the complexion of a statue, one that belongs to a museum, yet a statue nevertheless.

I smile with my name leaving her lips, the intonation not as cold as the rest. No amount of composure born of elegance and perfection will hide the effects of a compliment from the natural ki. With intentions of keeping the pressure of my affection on her, I was about to say more, but one distant and simple ringing of a bell ended it all. The first ringing was barely halfway through and Sakuya was already gone, probably kneeling in front of Remilia and ready to die and kill in her name without a moment's hesitation.

I take a bite of my food, the glorious taste doing nothing to mitigate the bitter taste that took over my tongue. Such adoration with rewards like being thrown into a deadly reflection of this world, with her powers sealed, to strife on and on... Just the thought of having to fight a furious Reimu chills me. Jesus!

I love Remi, no doubt of it, but her thirst to swathe drawn-out boredom foils her better judgment more often than not.

... Maybe I'm just jealous. The lengths Sakuya goes to satisfy her and make her happy makes me want to pull my hair out! Why not me?!

Is it really that wrong to desire such adoration for thyself? To long for nights where the bed is not empty and there's this golden ring around your finger promising that each day won't just blur with the others? Love burns, sometimes like a fireplace in the first yué of the year, others like the sertões and caatingas where water may as well be perpetually boiling.

Sighing, I look at my plate, food left half-eaten. I don't feel like eating anymore. I leave it on the fence, one of the fairies would take it to the kitchen -- or maybe throw it to the skies to see how far it goes --, and returned to guarding the gates, the day now colorless, trying and failing to bane the cynical imagery of white hair and blue eyes on arms not mine