Part 1: No Relation
Ch1: Dreaming (i)
Life as Always
Sem:
I have to pull my hair into a high ponytail; that’s the standard if you keep your hair long. A check in the vanity mirror tells me my collar is upright and stiff, folded at the right angle and balanced on both sides. Buttons are closed all the way up to my collarbone, silver bumps of beads that bear the slender ‘H’ of the school.
My satchel hangs off the back of the vanity chair, and I swing it over my right shoulder, assured from its lightness that I don’t need to remove any textbooks. I glance over my face one more time.
There are a few stray hairs that need to be plucked.
I reach for the tweezers without looking, and in the mirror they glint silver—
I blink at them, glancing at my hand.
Since when were they silver?
No, they’re not silver. They’re the red they have always been.
I start with the right eyebrow, my expression emotionless from the slight twinge of pain, then move onto the left. My mouth murmurs in the process, reviewing the lessons of yesterday:
“The oldest member of the Seven is the Honorable Liege, who joined in his thirties, becoming the youngest to ever serve the glorious nation of Mainland by seating in the primary body of government…
"The Trade Center in Merchants District was an idea first established by Biteirnen Gilleas Sennes~Aris…
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"Essece powder has a ban and is only licensed to hunters and is part of the goods delivery to Mercredia…”
I pause.
Mercredia…
“Moving on,” I say aloud, “And today’s lessons include…”
I drop the tweezers back into its cylindrical holder, running through the topics and what I’ve read ahead on the current Yerehis movement for Arts.
“… The signature of the Yerehis movement in comparison to the Donnahis movement is that the focus is on pondering the joys of living as part of society, whereas the Donnahis movement is on the pondering of society in smaller, intimate groups…”
I see the flag-bearer skimming by the window pane with the vivid red square of cotton out of the corner of my eye.
Cotton is a material from the Fourth Otherworld, used by those humans as fabric for clothing and other cloth-made materials. And every morning I see it, I have to be reminded of her.
It’s the signal that it’s time to leave, so I glance in the mirror one last time, give the end of my ponytail a small, sharp tug, and turn for the door.
/
[Nameless] :
The sky is always a storm-grey to me, even when the day is clear blue, because that’s the way I see it. Because these are the days I’m always waking up to.
It’s a sluggish feeling, turning into a panic that jolts action through my limbs, but it is futile because I won’t be able to move.
The paralysis lasts for a while, and the worst thing is, if I don’t keep trying to move, I’ll just stay in this conscious agony for who knows how long.
Like someone is suffocating you underwater, though you can breathe just fine, the air rushing in and out of your lungs.
It would be nicer if this allowed me to be half-asleep, if I am not fully aware and fully in my body. At least then I wouldn’t feel as though I am flailing for my life.
What accompanies me as I will my arm to move, my leg to move, my eyes to blink as the dryness starts to sting—
Have I really done it this time? Has it manifested?
And luckily—
Like a snap in my joints, I bolt upright, finally allowed to take control over my body.
Not today then… I’m spared…
A glance at the clock tells me I’m going to be late again.
Why bother checking? You know it’s always going to be the same when that stupid paralysis is going to say, “Hello, rise and shine.”
I just pull whatever out of my closet and wear it, grabbing the red cap with that anime character who I don’t know, as always, and stuff all of my unbrushed hair into it after a quick twist. My feet are too loud as they pound down the stairs, skidding me into the toaster as I swing into the kitchen and grab two granolas from the cupboard.
My eyes meet my grandmother’s, who is reading a book of poetry; the breakfast table already cleared.
My cheeks flame without my consent, I clench my teeth, and I run for the door before she can say anything.
As it slams shut behind me, my hand finds my back pocket to check for the pack of gum.