Yuri Worlds
[64] Masquerade
Of course, she was a man back home. She had to be. Her entire identity was constructed around and affected by the stuff that men were supposed to do. Be separate and alone. Face conflict with solemn indifference. Use his strength to protect. But also, be comfortable crying, like the example Dwight set forth. It was confusing.
Misaki kept on a warm public face while she struggled through internal uncertainty about the concept of an erection. The notion kept migrating to the subdued presence she now knew intimately. And other sensations could only be parsed in a separate language. It was like missing letters from an entire alphabet to even imagine articulating male sensations. A flat chest was reserved for youth. The lacing, looping, and bracing presence of her bra seemed more like a fusion with her skin. The language of being in this place was still foreign, with softly shifted shades of colorful brilliance, but it was like playing a melody with different pitches rather than entirely different instruments.
She endeavored to keep this strange development to herself. Yuka had poured all her heart and hopes into recovering the girl she loved the last time Carrie popped out to do scary things. Her poor fiancée deserved peace, or at least as much as was allowed while dealing with her curious but excited moms.
Neither of the moms was opposed to providing their approval; they just wanted assurances that they wouldn’t discover tomorrow that something else had come up and the previous reversal would be again reversed. That wasn’t something that either of them could possibly provide, but they did show them the documentation of the strange, mind-controlling "dark entities" and "radiant beings" that nipped at Misaki‘s wrist and manipulated what she thought.
The strange mental block that seemed to affect how others saw and thought of the wristbands didn’t appear to extend outside their presence, with photos working great. Both moms were certain that they would’ve recognized something as distinctive as a black wristband, while also being sure that they’d seen them before. Misaki and Yuka expected open-mouth horror at the most vivid photographs of what was inside, writhing and reaching like some alien movie parasite. But those weren’t their first reactions.
Absolutely, the two of them were unsettled and aghast, but Misaki also detected a piercing curiosity and probing focus from the two moms. Fuyuki was the first to attempt to put that feeling into words, as she noted, "I’ve seen something like this before. I mean, in my engineering studies, we did some work with ferrofluids. And I had a biology class that nearly made me retch because of pin mold growths. Little fuzz balls. I’m not sure if that’s it though."
After hearing a description of what Fuyuki meant and seeing some images on the anime version of the Internet, Misaki joined two pieces of the puzzle in her mind and had to come to the obvious conclusion that whatever crawling creature hitched a ride on her between realities had to be of the same sort as what was placed within the wristband. By naming conventions, her mind automatically went to Dark Entity.
Misaki expected Kei’s reflections on the images to be less scientifically grounded and more nebulous with her intuitive disposition. However, her first reaction actually touched upon images from an old telescope detailing theoretical and inferred structures of dark matter and dark energy laced and looping around the farthest regions of space as the invisible, intangible firmament on which the gentle stellar structures hung. She spoke about the sense of negative space between the root-like branches of the observable universe. Light and dark linked together in flowing necessity. Macrocosmic branching neurons with lurking, supportive glial cells.
Fuyuki kissed her wife’s forehead in loving tribute to her precious mind. Kei admitted that she’d been reading books on neurology and astrophysics lately because she knew that an upcoming part of Fuyuki’s next manuscript contained painstaking efforts to compress and express broad, complicated concepts like that to children, and she wanted to be able to offer some modest, meager expertise in editing. That immediately earned a second round of delighted, heartfelt kisses.
Kei appreciated them warmly but cleared her throat and focused on her daughter as she struggled to articulate more than her initial analogy. "I don’t feel maliciousness. But it’s just a photo. And I know you both have been through some terrible things that I struggle to understand and desperately wish you didn’t have to endure. But I don’t see a monster here. It’s more like a wild animal or an abused dog locked inside a cage and trained to respond a certain way in the presence of blood. That’s just how I feel looking at this single frame. You surely feel differently, and I’m sure I would as well if I saw it in person. It’s such a strange notion, but I feel bad for it. Although, I can confidently say one thing for sure: You two should go kick this company’s ass for all the things they’ve done. You have our support in your marriage and all your endeavors."
Fuyuki flailed and whimpered that her wife had just jumped in like that. Kei cocked a colorful eyebrow and questioned whether her wife had a difference of opinion on the topic. Groaning quietly, Fuyuki had to admit that her thoughts were in exactly the same place, but she pouted over the fact that Kei got to say it first and in such a cool way. Kei snuggled her wife in apology and kissed her on the forehead. Misaki‘s fondest wish was that all this love before them was a mirror into their future.
What kind of daughter or daughters might they have, and which of them would be the mother first? That sure felt like a sentiment that Ayame hinted at last time. Misaki shared a quiet hollow in Yuki‘s soul and would’ve been content there for an eternity. Giving up a piece of her spirit for a beautiful daughter who shared the best parts of each of them would be a cinch. But that was definitely thinking too far and too fast for the first week of their relationship.
As Yuka anticipated, Kei quietly whispered notions of elopement while Fuyuki expressed all the proper and mannered nuptials that needed to be planned, all the extended relatives contacted, and how Shumai philosophy could be integrated into the ceremony without stepping on anyone’s toes who disagreed with it. Yuka knew how to comfortably deal with her mothers, so Misaki figured now was as good a time as any to take a moment and have a follow-up spiritual examination with the nurse mom. Once again, the strength of having Yuka with her would probably prompt different results, but having friends to support you also meant sometimes there were things that you had to do by yourself.
As soon as she explained her intentions, Yuka was eager and ready to confront whatever strange secrets Ayame might have concealed. Misaki tried to downplay the seriousness. A minor checkup after her health scare with the most experienced medical expert nearby. Maybe this was a bad idea, and double-teaming the redhead was even more of a necessity than combining their forces against Grandma. She really had no idea, but opted to take her phone with her and reassure Yuka that if anything came up, she would immediately send off a message. Yuka checked her phone and squeezed it just as lovingly as if it were a second Misaki, then gave a brisk embrace to the real deal.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Soon, Misaki was all by herself again. She felt around her entire body. Really, the prospect of going to a medical and spiritual professional felt thoroughly ridiculous. Not because of the spiritual part as much as because she was practically free of any sort of complaints. The achy spots around her chest were thoroughly smoothed away. The little points of discomfort were absolutely absent. She hadn’t even needed to poop lately, and the last one had been with an economy of time and effort. Some spectral remnant of past headaches did resurrect when she tensed up, but it was so minor that even the most concerned hypochondriac would’ve rolled their eyes if she led with that.
The spot in her mouth had already further receded from a questionable divot to just the faintest implication of a secret hickey. A couple of small nails on her toes could use a trim. She tested one without bothering to track down clippers or a file and immediately resolved the issue on her own. Short of poking her eye until her hair got in there, she physically had nothing. But, as Maharu showed her, not all ailments need to be physical. She wasn’t depressed though, nor did her mood feel affected by much more than the expected amount of anxiety, uncertainty, and concern for so many things she didn’t understand and didn’t know how to grapple with. She would think of something, even though Ayame clearly had a pretty decent bullshit detector.
She was another one of their group who wound up with her own room for relaxation and enjoyment, mentioning it when they first checked in. Accounting for the last of their fellow vacationers, Misaki also knew that Maharu and Haruka were paired up together. They had a strange connection, but Misaki had no idea how to begin probing it with their equally inscrutable presences for far different reasons.
A sudden, invisible needle seemed to jab her outer left thigh as she thought about Haruka more and tried to delve into strange places that felt like voids. She suppressed an internal, irritated series of curses as she adjusted her clothes to shake loose some new tagalong trying to take a bite out of her or a jagged seam. It didn’t seem to help, and she had no clue what it might be aside from a microscopic burr caught on her clothes from the mountain forest trek, a random splinter from the tatami, or some spirit being a dick. Either Ayame could fix it, or a hard skin sucking from a good vacuum would. Probably for the best, it was on the outer thigh rather than the inner. But it was once again the left and the left end of the left. Perhaps it was mere coincidence, but she was beginning to think that made less and less sense.
Ayame‘s room was not far from Grandma Okura’s. Misaki politely and patiently knocked a few times. It took several lingering seconds for Ayame to answer with frantic muttering, scuffing stumbles, and awkward, uneven steps toward the door.
She arrived wide-eyed and carefully shaking her head before she brought a smile to her lips and warmly greeted Misaki. The interior of the room was shockingly messy for less than a day’s inhabitation. Misaki wondered how that was even possible with the entourage of ninja maids always following them around and keeping everything in order. Although they hadn’t yet disturbed the confinement structure they made for the wristbands in her and Yuka’s suite. That wasn’t much.
This was a veritable disaster, and she had the silly suspicion that those ninja maids were cursing Ayame’s name and planning an assassination strike. Fortunately, there was still enough space for sitting on what bare tatami remained. Unfortunately, sitting immediately irritated her little spot like a knife jab. It didn’t take long to explain the problem.
Ayame hopped up from where she’d started to settle down and carefully examined Misaki. Pulling aside her shorts, Misaki felt her heart race and her worries flare that when her flesh was revealed, they would both see the kind of sunken, scary, dark mark that Yuka carried. There was nothing. No discoloration. Not even any obvious red or pink to denote scratches or anything else bad. It just randomly hurt from an otherwise normal patch of skin. Great.
Misaki looked over at the nurse expectantly as her initial expression of concern dwindled to quiet relief and a faint smile. She wiggled her eyebrows and explained, "Slight abrasion and skin irritation. Not quite enough to show, but you have delicate skin. There are a few options. I gave Yuka something similar for her issue, but I don’t know if she still has that ointment. I have some sample packs, but barely enough for one treatment. It’s just over-the-counter quality and not what I’d be able to get you at the clinic, but even this should provide a comfortable analgesic effect. What do you think? I can also bandage, but that may be more trouble than it’s worth."
It took Misaki several seconds to register that it wasn’t a serious issue. She asked Ayame a few further questions, and she pointed to the possibility of sitting on a rough floor mat or brushing up against the wrong thing during her earlier walk that she overheard about during breakfast. Misaki released a deep breath and expressed relief, since she was all ready to declare it another awful thing she would have to overcome. Ayame gently brushed her hair back and chuckled.
“Silly. Don’t be like my girls. They get so scared over the littlest bumps and bruises like they’re broken bones. Yesterday was a big deal, and I’m glad nothing happened to you. If you have time enough to be freaked out, then it’s not as bad as it could be. Just a nude three in the free tree arcing over a blue moon. That’s all there is to it.”
Misaki found her attention wandering slightly as the woman segued into platitudes, but it was caught by the random thing she said right toward the end. "Miss Takamune, what was that? Blue moon? I don’t understand what you mean."
The nurse was glancing towards her bags for something, but she turned around with her eyebrows arched and asked, "What was what? Are you asking me about moons again?"
Tension flowed through Misaki as she realized the woman appeared to have another gap in her memory. Or Misaki had bigger issues of her own than she thought. But she repeated as much of what Miss Takamune initially said as she could remember leading into the strangeness and then reiterated that odd sentence verbatim. She expected a similar response to what happened last time, when the nurse basically started to psychoanalyze her. But that wasn’t the response she got.
Instead, Miss Takamune dipped her eyes down as though she were half asleep and spoke in a half-voice close to mumbling, "Open channel. Glimpsed masquerade. Spot watching. Break." When that last word was spoken, Ayame stretched into a wide yawn and brushed her bright red hair back. She cleared her throat a few times and noticed Misaki staring at her with anxious concern.
Earnestly, Ayame puffed a breath and responded, “I’m so sorry about that. This weekend has been a rare opportunity to just take it easy from all the stress at work, and my little darlings and I must’ve just nodded off there or something. What was that you were trying to tell me?”