“I hate winter.”

A chill spreads through my heavy clothes. The crunching of snow underneath me echoes in the forest as evening gives way to night. Snow seems floats down from the moonless sky without end onto the bare branches of the forest trees. I didn't expect the meeting to go on so long, and in the end it just turned into a party. I'm not against a good party, but if I had known I would have taken a scarf. I wave goodbye to the mermaid as I leave the lake. How can she stand living in the lake at this time of year? It's hard to believe she doesn't turn into an ice cube. I shake myself out of my thoughts with a shiver. The snow is light, and the cold is bearable enough to make it home without stopping at the village. I haven't visited the village since the incident last Autumn. I didn't cause as much of a ruckus as certain youkai. The incident's events have blown over, but I'm not in the mood to visit such a place tonight. I'm still considered a youkai by some, at least half of one. Yet, in the darkness of the new moon I'm just another human.

It's not lonely walking down the snow covered path by myself. I've gotten used to walking in silence. This would almost be tranquil, if it weren't for the cold. In moments like these it's easy to get lost in my thoughts, take my mind off the weather. At least there are less people getting lost in the forest. Most people have enough common sense to stay away from somewhere known to lead people astray this time of year. Which means I can hole up at home without worrying about someone freezing to death lost amidst the bamboo. As the forest trees become sparse my train of thought is knocked away with a yelp by a mouthful of snow. I groan in pain, my foot snagged on a tree root covered in snow.

I suck in air through my teeth, but it just makes my mouth feel colder. I don't want to get up right now, but freezing isn't something I planned on doing tonight. I lift my head up to see a lowered hand. People don't travel this path often, it's surprising to see someone out here so late at night.

A woman in a white winter coat outstretches her hand, “Wo

“Are you Letty Whiterock?” asked the man with the shovel.

“I am,” said Letty Whiterock.

And then he beat her with a shovel.

>>2044
Wrong thread, pal. This is an old contest.

It was the witching hour.

There wasn’t a lot of light. Oil had to be conserved and anyway she was used to this much. The scratch of feather on paper drowned out the faint night sounds from outside, and if it hadn’t, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Her cheek nearly brushed the desk, the candle night-blinded her, the wooden chair, set up in a poor position, bruised her behind. She didn’t notice. She could no longer even register the oppressive sulfuric odours of alchemy that suffused her home and workshop. She was past caring about the sea of often dangerous junk that covered every available surface – except for her working desk, of course, which was exactly as clean and clutter-free as if it’d just been magicked into existence that very moment. Her eyes were baggy, but burning with a brighter light than you’d be likely to find at any other moment for this particular witch. She wrote and drew feverishly, covering each pristine page of a thick blank book with diagrams, tables and sketches at a hand-cramping pace. Her long hair was limp and oily. She hadn’t changed from her practical, thick, worn set of gathering overalls, covered with layers and layers of dirt.
Underneath, she was literally running on fumes, having augmented her concentration and stamina several steps beyond exhaustion through alchemical means. If it had been possible for her focus to wander, she might think of Reimu’s mothering, advising her against precisely this sort of overwork. That moment, however, her pupils were dilated, her heart pumping hard enough to put her through a marathon, her mind operating beyond consciousness. The black lines raced across the pages: size, colour, consistency, texture, position, reactivity to light, air, all painstakingly written down over many tries. But this was it. It was the culmination of nine days of nonstop research, gathering, reading, searching with inhuman single-mindedness, with no food and no real breaks. The last leg.


Her sample this time was a thumbnail-sized frog, coloured striking iridescent blue. It sat splayed on its back, neatly vivisected with its pinkish-purple insides in plain sight. Its organs, the biggest no larger than a grain of rice, lai

Mima you dick. Your cute student is crying like two feet away from you. Wake up and get a clue.

2000 years later, but I have to say that I really enjoy your writing isolex. Hope to see more from you.

And mima, please come back. We all miss you, expecially your student. Really.

Living in Eientei as a medic-in-training doesn't mean that you're limited to simply being a student there - since you are a Guardian, you have plenty of lessons and practical tests in between patrols with rabbits along the way. You need to be prepared at all times, since you may have to escort sick villagers to Eientei in the middle of the night.

Other times it's a simple escort mission involving Reisen and medicine delivery, like what you are doing for today.

"Alright, Erin. For today, you'll help Reisen sell medicine at the village. Today's going to be a busy day with this long list, so try your best and lend Reisen a hand, will you?"

"Got it."

"We'll do our best!" She exclaims, perhaps a little more chipper than usual.

You and Reisen hop off the verandah and put your shoes on.

"We'll be off now!" Reisen call out, waving to Kaguya and Eirin.

"Have a good trip!"

>>1989

>cross-board linking

You need a forward slash before the board name as well as after.

Latest main thread the time of posting is at: >>/underground/14411

Lewd stuff goes to: >>/at/36385

>>1992
No wonder I feel I am missing something. Thanks for the tip.

A nice and sweet short. Shorts like this have a cozy feel to them.

That was beautiful. Thank you.

Bittersweet, yet so heartwarming...

>>1961
Sorry, mate, but no dice. I was provoked into writing the first short, and goaded into the second one, and while I do provoke easily, that's as far as this line goes. There are other things waiting my time and pen. Keyboard. Whichever. And they've waited long.
My only regret is this flowered affection for dullahans under willows. Who's going to name Benben their favourite DDC now?
>>1960
>subtlety
That's funny. Always fancied myself more of an "on the nose" sort of wordsmith.

That was good.

Cant really offer much else.

>>1965
It's fine. I'm just glad people are appreciating the Banki. Cheers, bossu.

I don't care that I'm too late for a Christmas story, that was really good!

The underrated characters really are the best. Shame no Mystia though, but I can appreciate the best umbrella youkai around.

>>1944
<3

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-

The flat of my tongue licks the roof of my mouth. The meat didn't actually melt under my teeth back then, but I now had a craving for dragon that probably wouldn't be fulfilled. My method of cooking that kind of meat leaves it chewy. But it's still tender enough that it doesn't make your mouth sore. Mudo also had a way with seasonings that leaves the spice lingering in your mouth. It wasn't a hot spice, but a herbal spice that rises into your nose.

The dreams are becoming more vivid.

“So,” Lady Patchouli peers over her book at me across her table, “these are the books that might interest you the most.”

“Thank you, Lady Patchouli.” I take the book from Koakuma, who closes her eyes and smiles as she hands me several books. The pile isn't heavy, though there are easily over five hundred pages together.

“Seven hundred thirty three pages.” Lady Patchouli turns a page. “Of which, twenty eight are most relevant to your condition. If you'd like, I can have Koakuma show you.”

“Who is showing something here?”

I turn my head behind me as much as I can. “Milady Remilia! Excuse me for using the library in my spare time.” The words come as naturally as breathing.

“It's fine.” Lady Remilia sits to the left of Lady Patchouli. “The library is a place where everyone comes to learn. What they learn is their own business,” She eyes the books in my arms, “so as I'm a good mistress, I don't meddle in personal affairs.”

Magnificent. A really well written, bittersweet story, thank you for writing this.

That's okay... I just wanted to wash my eyes from the inside anyway...

That was great.

I didn't laugh that hard in a long time.

Absolutely amazing.
I demand more.