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"I wish I was just a doll."

Alice Margatroid mutters these words to the wind.

"A doll never complains, and is loyal to the one that takes care of her, eh?"

Leaning towards the silvered windowpane, Alice puts one gloved hand under her chin, while the other dusts off her chalked sides. For the usual seamstress, this kind of stain is common - but for Alice Margatroid, this is a mark of how flawed extended periods of life can be - the very irony of gaining even more knowledge comes at the expense of a weakening body, at least as one ages.

"Why did I do that," she thought, "if in the end, I am alone?"

The ordinary black magician was her shoulder for every time she needed someone to lean on. She suddenly remembered how they first met - it was the most unpleasant way of meeting a friend-to-be, after all. Alice Margatroid missed the yells she uttered for when her magician friend almost always broke into the same window Alice is looking at. Marisa Kirisame was not the type to enter a house properly. Yet, the seven-coloured puppeteer put up with the magician, for their one interest was common. Eventually, the rainbow opened up to the monochrome - the two sweared to be a companion to one another at all times.

"But why, of all people, did you break your promise to me?"

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This is something I wrote up a while (four or five months?) ago. I wanted to make it longer but never got around to it, so I thought I would post it here as it seemed like a likely place for it to belong. Please read warmly~.

- + -

"You come here again, Nanashi, to this hallowed mausoleum. What is your request this time?"

"Why do you call me that, anyway?"

"Nanashi?"

"Yes."

"It fits. I still remember when you first threw yourself at my feet, wanting to become a student of Taoism." She smiled softly atop her... It wouldn't be fair to call it a throne, even as I was sitting in a kneeling position, she still was barely taller than me atop her modest seat. "You had no direction, no name, and no legacy. Yet, your heart burned with a feverent desire I hadn't seen since Mononobe joined my cause." She ran her fingers across the arm of her chair as she spoke, "I wanted to give you a legacy, serving under me, perhaps you would make a name for yourself here in this strange land of fantasy as I did, during these recent events." Her eyes wandered away from mine, lost in thought.

A silence passed between us.

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I remembered Miki's face as she died.

She looked like someone who'd tripped. That's all she had time for. The bayonet of Suzu's rifle was plunged into her chest, then used to swing her into Usagi's thrust just as the human found the trigger, blowing a hole through Suzu and Miki both. Only then did her eyes widen with fright, as she reached out to me, asking me to catch her.

Then she was gone.

The magic – the madness – came instantly, my whole psyche narrowing to a razor's edge. I attacked – and in that very instant, several bodies hit me as one. As I fell, I knew the other one, the engineer, had lagged for just that reason, had seized Yuko and thrown her into her mates, neatly knocked us all down like ninepins. Knowledge already buried in my coward's heart blossomed crystal-clear in my consciousness.

The Sisters had hidden their mirth behind paper fans as they spoke of their primitive firecracker, their tiny soup-can ship, their bulging clown-suits. But I saw men willing to strap onto a towering pillar of explosives and ride it into the sky, trust their lives to archaically complex clockwork and their ability to keep it ticking. The Watatsukis regarded the tech, I, the technicians. They were the pinnacle of their people: engineers, scholars, geniuses. Heroes.

And before that?

They had been warriors.

I knew.

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I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING

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I open my hand, revealing that the coin is gone. There’s a surprised shout of glee from beside me; Cirno again, wings of crystalline ice glimmering agitatedly behind her back. She looks caught up in something between a mixture of awe and dangerous interest.

Unfortunately…

A meaty palm slaps the table, rattling our mugs. “Horse-fuckin’-shit. Do it again. I wasn’t ready that time!”

…He’s glaring a hole through my empty palm, eyes abominably wide. I swear I can count his capillaries- that can’t be healthy, right?

“Sure thing.”

I comply in the shittiest way possible, plucking a quarter out from behind the startled fairy’s ear, leaving her gasping and him on the verge of apoplexy. My smirk stretches just a little bit wider.

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I was sent to investigate the situation.

The situation is an all-out war between two nations.
The fighting is currently at a standstill and both sides have dug into defensive positions. Gunshots are exchanged daily, and a few buildings change hands over and over again as both sides try to capture the same city.

I walk down the empty, war-torn street littered with annihilated cars, bomb shrapnel and bullet holes. Which side originally owned this city no longer matters: it no longer belongs to anyone. The residents left before the fighting began, either drafted to the army, or if unfit for military service, just sent away. Right now it's either a location of great strategic importance or just a hellhole depending on whether you ask an officer or someone doing the actual fighting.

Kicking an empty, rust-colored can, I let out a sigh and wonder exactly why I was sent here of all places. If they want to spy on humanity, they have better ways than sending one agent into the middle of a battlefield where everyone who's not an ally is to be shot on sight. Perhaps this is a punishment for something I did earlier. Perhaps it's for that one time I ate one of Toyohime's peaches before knowing we're not supposed to do that.

Sighing again, I walk into one of the office buildings along the street. Maybe this was a shop once. Empty shelves line the walls and there's a counter which could have had a cashier at it. Thinking about what this place could have been brings a smile to my face. A quiet bookstore, perhaps. Opening the door would ring a bell small somewhere.

Regardless of what it once was, it will now serve as a hiding place. Not here, though. Upstairs. With luck, there may even be a somewhat intact mattress somewhere. Then I could sleep for a few hours without getting a sore back. It was yesterday – or was it two days ago? When was it that I found that safe corner on the outskirts of this city and last slept? Well, that doesn't matter anymore. Not now that I've found this place in the middle of the no-man's land between the two fighting sides. It's been deceivingly quiet for the last two days in her

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So, in order to help myself remember some Chinese idioms, I started writing stories narrated by Meiling, that are adapted versions of stories that birthed some Chinese four-character phrases. I'm absolutely certain that if I write something about it, I won't forget the idiom. Or so I hope.

One fine winter day, a little girl screamed,
“And then you multiply, the solution is nine!”
And all the class laughed, for to all it seemed,
The answer was something she could not divine.

The students all left, the day bell rung,
The little girl strode fuming, her mood poor.
Yet next to her, another girl sung,
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, we all make mistakes, to you I assure.”

“Not me, not I, because I’m the best!”
“I know, I know, you are most definitely strong.”
And so the two little girls kept talking in jest,
Together they went, the hours just ticking along.

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My Mistress loves to eat.

Each day, I prepare enough food to feed at least three large families, and each day she single-handedly devours every single thing placed in front of her. She is a kind Mistress, but eccentric, and prone to acts of whimsy. And so, I do everything within my power to fulfill any request she may make of me, however ridiculous it may be.

As she consumed her mid-morning snack of fried tengu egg seasoned with ground hakutaku horn, washed down with a pitcher of puréed curry, I recounted the events of my morning shopping trip. She seldom shows any sign of listening, but it's better than silently listening to the disgusting sounds of gnawing and slurping as she practically inhales her meals. Just as I was telling her of my run-in with that immortal girl, fresh from what looked to be a rather brutal and violent fight with the aliens. A fight that she lost, if her injuries were any indication.

“Youmu~!”

From her tone, I can already tell she wants me to do something.
I can barely contain my sense of dread.

“For tonight's dinner, I think I would like some liver. Ooh! With onions! Liver and onions, Youmu!”

Liver and onions? I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing! My Mistress was, for once, requesting something conventional! No exotic ingredients, no outlandish recipes, just a simple meal of liver and onions?

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A little swish was all the noise that Ran's entry into the Yakumo household made, clutching a large paper folder under her arm. It was banged up, scratched and had many patches of paint, ink, general dirt and what appeared to be oil or fat on it. As Ran opened the folder and took out the sheets inside it one could see that the paper was pristine and fresh, staggeringly so in contrast.

"Thank you, Ran." said her master in her usual lofty tone. "Please hand me his notes." Ran did so. "You may sit." Ran did so.

Yukari Yakumo began reading. And slowly, a smile spread over her face.

“Aww… there, there, Aya, I’ll get you another! Just hold on!”

She dashed back into the dilapidated cottage, a lone structure amongst a clearing full of piles of ash and ruins. Its roof is two different colors, hastily repaired with irregular pieces of wood. The windows have long since been boarded over. The entire dwelling has a slight lean, having gone far too long without skilled hands to tend to it.

Inside, she rummages through carefully organized boxes and chests and storage containers of all types, all showing their age. The air inside holds heavy, long since deprived of anything new. Three beds adjourn the home. Two lay perfectly made, covered in a layer of dust. By the window, where the sun used to shine in on early mornings, sits a typewriter. Its mechanisms rusted with age, it still holds a sheet, as if it had been prepared for writing and simply abandoned, so long ago.

She finds what she is looking for: Packaged bread, long since past its usefulness as a foodstuff for people.

She tears into the package, halfway out the door as she does. She greets her dear friends, quickly dispensing it.

“There, there. Isn’t that what you wanted? Eat up.”

So she softly coos, gently placing the rest of the food down. Lavishing her friends with compliments.

“My, Aya. You’re eating so much today. You’ll run me out of house if you keep this up!”

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