Saki, in the end, has almost zero regrets. Every step she has taken, for thousands of years, has led up to Leugocyte’s downfall, once and for all. Soon, she too will be amidst the stars, reunited with her brothers in their eternal slumber.
“You’ve done well.”
Their voices grow fainter by the day, but to not etch them into her memory is sacrilege. Grigio, Mitsurugi Saki — what say you — is the only person still walking these grounds that can. Isn’t that what she’s committed every single one of her mistakes for?
Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Saki’s grey is neither.
“Tsuru-chan!”
Saki blinks.
In front of her eyes lies another that could not possibly be categorized as red or blue. Minato Asahi’s brothers may put on her brothers’ powers like a costume — nay, adapt them for themselves, and fight to protect their homeland. But their younger sister is all smiles and candy, colouring everyone’s hues in neither red, nor blue, but a brilliant orange.
“Yes,” Saki responds, monotone.
Asahi’s smile is unwavering. Silly girl, there is still hope in her eyes. But would Saki have preferred another version of her, one dulled by the inevitability of planet Earth’s fate?
Such a version is impossible to imagine. Who is Minato Asahi, without her upbeat swinging of Saki’s hands, or without her eager hands stuffing dessert-sweet into Saki’s mouth, or with the glimmer in her eyes that rival the stars itself?
“It’s boring sitting here for a while,” Asahi says, “Let’s walk around!”
The thing about Asahi is this: not even Saki’s words are aware of how to shape themselves into the saying, “no,” anymore. At least, not on a humble walk. So Saki complies, letting the heavy thumping of her space-black boots harmonize with the lighter clicks of Asahi’s ballet-pink flats.
Flowers bloom, unaware of the unavoidable. They, too, are not red or blue. Instead, they dare to combine the two together, standing in a royal fashion.
Purple hyacinths, Saki realizes. To them, too, she must make an apology.
Mitsurugi Saki, in the end, has almost zero regrets. The lone regret she has falls entirely within the girl next to her, for when Saki rests among the stars, she will never meet Asahi again.
To Minato Asahi. The world as you know it will end next week. And with that too, I shall be gone.
“Wah! Tsuru-chan, look! They’re so pretty!” Asahi exclaims in the back.
Yes, indeed. They are. Saki’s heart hangs, lower and lower. Maybe, the very rope supporting it may be weaved of these purple hyacinths. And within a week’s time, this rope will snap.
“I suppose they are,” she replies.
She turns to Asahi. Asahi had mentioned weaving flowers into her hair — how would these appear, should they be nestled within the crooks of a braid?
Saki will never know. The world will soon become extinct of these flowers, and she will never see Asahi again. Will someone grieve the sight, when Saki is gone — will someone’s wracked sobs cross the galaxy, telling the universe over and over?
Minato Asahi. Even if I may no longer be conscious of receiving it, please forgive me.
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FILL: TOKUSATSU YURI SHIPS UNITED FRONT
Date: 2024-06-24 01:19 am (UTC)Canon: Ultraman R/B
Words: 534
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Next week is the end of the world.
Saki, in the end, has almost zero regrets. Every step she has taken, for thousands of years, has led up to Leugocyte’s downfall, once and for all. Soon, she too will be amidst the stars, reunited with her brothers in their eternal slumber.
“You’ve done well.”
Their voices grow fainter by the day, but to not etch them into her memory is sacrilege. Grigio, Mitsurugi Saki — what say you — is the only person still walking these grounds that can. Isn’t that what she’s committed every single one of her mistakes for?
Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Saki’s grey is neither.
“Tsuru-chan!”
Saki blinks.
In front of her eyes lies another that could not possibly be categorized as red or blue. Minato Asahi’s brothers may put on her brothers’ powers like a costume — nay, adapt them for themselves, and fight to protect their homeland. But their younger sister is all smiles and candy, colouring everyone’s hues in neither red, nor blue, but a brilliant orange.
“Yes,” Saki responds, monotone.
Asahi’s smile is unwavering. Silly girl, there is still hope in her eyes. But would Saki have preferred another version of her, one dulled by the inevitability of planet Earth’s fate?
Such a version is impossible to imagine. Who is Minato Asahi, without her upbeat swinging of Saki’s hands, or without her eager hands stuffing dessert-sweet into Saki’s mouth, or with the glimmer in her eyes that rival the stars itself?
“It’s boring sitting here for a while,” Asahi says, “Let’s walk around!”
The thing about Asahi is this: not even Saki’s words are aware of how to shape themselves into the saying, “no,” anymore. At least, not on a humble walk. So Saki complies, letting the heavy thumping of her space-black boots harmonize with the lighter clicks of Asahi’s ballet-pink flats.
Flowers bloom, unaware of the unavoidable. They, too, are not red or blue. Instead, they dare to combine the two together, standing in a royal fashion.
Purple hyacinths, Saki realizes. To them, too, she must make an apology.
Mitsurugi Saki, in the end, has almost zero regrets. The lone regret she has falls entirely within the girl next to her, for when Saki rests among the stars, she will never meet Asahi again.
To Minato Asahi. The world as you know it will end next week. And with that too, I shall be gone.
“Wah! Tsuru-chan, look! They’re so pretty!” Asahi exclaims in the back.
Yes, indeed. They are. Saki’s heart hangs, lower and lower. Maybe, the very rope supporting it may be weaved of these purple hyacinths. And within a week’s time, this rope will snap.
“I suppose they are,” she replies.
She turns to Asahi. Asahi had mentioned weaving flowers into her hair — how would these appear, should they be nestled within the crooks of a braid?
Saki will never know. The world will soon become extinct of these flowers, and she will never see Asahi again. Will someone grieve the sight, when Saki is gone — will someone’s wracked sobs cross the galaxy, telling the universe over and over?
Minato Asahi. Even if I may no longer be conscious of receiving it, please forgive me.