/jp/ - Otaku Culture

my entry for the Hong soap opera-bowl. It contains forbidden love; family themes and too much melodrama!
==============

The days in the Mansão do Demônio Escarlate blur rather easily, especially when your entire job is to stare at the Lago Enevoado. But that doesn't mean they are boring days, quite the opposite. Every single one starts with a cup of recently grounded strong café fresco and, if I'm feeling like it, maybe a slice of cake or a pão de sal com ovo. Many would say it's not enough sustenance for a woman like me, but the way the criada prepares them would change their minds like the flow of the seasons. Following the nice breakfast with some warm up capoeira, just to keep the blood flowing, and a quick walk through the gardens, and I can say for certain when I stand by the gate of the proud casarão, "I'll do my work with a smile."

Particularly when my mind wanders to the people of the mansão I'm sworn to protect.

My patroa Remilia, always so taciturn and with a knack for the dramatic, rarely shows by the gates, so I don't get much interaction with her in the present days. It used to be different in times past, when we journeyed side by side through the lands, just two cangaceiras and a little blonde baby; irmãzinha Flan is quite the opposite: first is that she's not my real sister, she just likes to say it when we are alone. It's adorable and hits the right spot in my heart, that maiden spot longing for a small thing to nurse and care just like I used to with her when she was tiny like a doll. She's not the most stable person, no one in her situation would be, but she tries very hard, and baby steps mean the world for some people.

Doutora Patchouli Conhecimento, the shut in and our resident 'know-it-all'. Her personality is like her librarium, dusty and with a scent that's best described as 'ancient'. Like with Remi, we barely have any contact, but I like to think that our sparse interactions are enough to maintain a certain degree of friendship. Koakuma, the súcubo, is the opposite: she often visits and is friendly like the sunshine, and although keeping my ki tense is a must with her around -- you never know when a hot cup of chimarrão will come flying towards you --, she always manages to put a smile on my face with her gossips and near-infinite well of conversation.

There are the fairies, too. I love them, despite all their shortcomings, which there are many, and challenged nature. Their only saving grace is that they are too adorable for their own sake... and, sure, when they put their minds to it, they DO things...

... but putting a fairy's mind on something is a challenge on its own. 150 of them? Deus me livre!

Glad I am not the criada chefe, only she's capable of that.

Ah, the criada chefe; Sakuya Izayoi. Her name is like Sichuan and crisp scallion simmering on a pan with a lot of garlic, onion, and pepper. Pungent and entrancing, never releasing when it gets hold of you. Like the many times her blessed name downs in my mind, I reach for the thing by my side, sometimes my only companion for the entire day of guard, an old artifact that has seen many, many things in its life: the ruas of Brazil yelling against tyrants, the vielas and winding pathways of Argentina, the death mist of Colombia, Uruguay picking up its pieces, Paraguay celebrating, all that in just one side of the sea and within the last century, what to say about the other where I am right now, on this weird land of Gensokyo, even more to the east from my homeland?

Anyway, with the old héngdi in my hands, I moist my lips, thinking of pinkish ones I hope one day will be mine, and play a silly little lullaby that goes by the name of: 'Minha Sakuya Izayoi'.

It's a music of forbidden love. Of two co-workers, of two women, of a human and a youkai. Love not meant to be, but that exists and saddens me to no end to deny it.

The sun listens, the wind listens, maybe a curious fairy or two listen as well, but as the music reaches its final note, it is just me. Loneliness reflects silver hair and blue eyes, a long dress and a bow neatly dressed on the head, like a proper crown, a clock of prata hanging always in arm's reach and many more hidden peixeiras than the eyes met.

I wonder if she'll ever hold me dear like she holds the concept of elegance and perfection.

I lower the héngdi and although my heart yearns for pale arms, I know trying to reach out for illusions is not a very bright idea. Oh, well. Just another day as the gate guard: watching the hours pass by, shushing anyone curious enough to get too close to the mansão, and longing for love that will never be, the days blurring all the same.

That's Hong Meiling for you, chê.

>>17210053
It's required for you to turn gay in order to set foot in gensokyo.

Amibazh almost exclusively does fine art parodies. I think I learned way more about art history than I would have at a university (except not really, of course).