THE UNKNOWN CURSE OF THE SPOTS

The owner of the tune she heard was a small mouse hidden among the grass carved in tones of green and gray, eyes fixed on the moonlight, bow gliding over a worn-out violin in its tiny hands. With the tense features brought on by her astonishment, Mizuki stared at the mouse for quite a long while, noticing that it was missing one leg—yet still stood in perfect balance, playing its aged instrument. Her initial astonishment gradually gave way to a sorrowful feeling, undoubtedly intensified by the melancholy melody; on her face drifted the needle-filled waves of an ocean made from countless humiliations she’d heard before. Enchanted by the moment she was living, she surrendered herself completely to this unique violin sound. All the painful moments she had experienced circled around in her mind like a spinning record. Though coldness seemed stacked within her soul like steps built to ascend into the cursed solitude of the moon, in truth, her very existence was burning. She could no longer remember the last time she had been left alone with a moment so scarring that it shook the foundation of her being.

She struggled, she tried, and after quite some time, she finally managed to break free from the loop of this moment. In the girl’s teary eyes shimmered the sparks in the mouse’s gaze, sparks that filled the town’s heart of darkness with innocent lava and surrounded everything. Then, fireflies exchanged glances and decided to join the ceremony. With beams burning as brightly as the majestic waves of sunlight, the fireflies flew around the mouse in circles, breathing life into this fairy-tale atmosphere. All the grass became adorned with bright yellow and green tones, and the fierce blackness of the night was carved away—like flakes of snow dropping from its grooves, scattering particles that illuminated everything. Stars in the sky sometimes twirled around each other, dancing as if to accompany the melody, sometimes breaking into made-up lyrics composed with their friends:

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In an unknown moment,
The misty flowers of the night faded into sheer fabric.

In the smoky nightmare of the old plane tree,
The ashen joys turned into rain-like droplets.

The forest's breath placed innocent smiles on the horizon.
This June night, filled with bitter melodies,

We revived the roughened dreams of lonely souls
Within the delicate steps of the tender moonlight.

When the clouds swayed their weary hook,
We illuminated the mythical sea of the night.
(...)

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Mizuki was trying to make sense of the warmth of the harsh gray she saw, the dozens—perhaps hundreds—of glitter-ornamented paintings scattered all around, and the sweet verses mingling with the legendary rhythms overflowing from the violin. Truthfully, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that this whole situation felt like a dream to her. While meaningless questions flickered across the little girl’s face, the mouse suddenly silenced its violin and gestured with its bow for Mizuki to come over. With the fading of the violin melody, all life in the garden paused—everything fell into silence. Everyone was waiting for Mizuki to join them. Throughout the entire time, the girl had not shed even a sliver of the pitiful numbness on her face. At one point, even smoldering stones scaled with fire and painful scratches joined that expression. For some reason, the warmth extending like cherry blossom branches—the pure hues of a gaze beyond desire—seemed to echo the flames hidden in that gentleman’s (?) eyes. Mizuki was certain she had seen that gaze before, or maybe she only wanted to believe that. Slowly and shyly, she was trying to reach the unknown. She took steps from her room toward the garden with budding excitement in her heart. The slow and hesitant steps she took felt like they were deliberately trying to prevent her from reaching the garden, as if time itself was being bent by a wand made of iron, causing her to remain in place. She was sure she had taken hundreds of steps but... She was like a struggling ship—at times feeling like it was touching cloud clusters, at others wrestling waves, then slowly sinking, yet still fighting the muddy water with unwavering resolve. Even though sometimes she just stood still, she kept trying without surrendering to hardship. Despite all her efforts, she barely made it to the corridor. Still, she didn’t give up. She kept walking and after a while—though it wasn’t even that long—she finally achieved a narrow victory against time and stepped into the garden.

At that moment, everyone’s eyes were fixed on the door, eagerly waiting for the girl to arrive. Among the waiting faces, some were oddly wrapped in chains of sorrow, as if they knew something the others didn’t. When the girl finally stepped out into the garden, those chains bound tighter, trying to prevent anyone from seeing what was to come.

The tiny mouse waved its fingers gracefully over the trampled daisies that decorated the ground. Daisies, their necks bent to the side from not being able to carry human weight, bid farewell to the brown dust that gave them life, and within seconds turned into bundles of silk lit like dim candles made of cloud. Mizuki turned her amazed gaze to the cloud-vehicle formed from the daisies beside her. After the moments of silent staring passed, the vehicle took her aboard and began gliding into the forest, which was illuminated in ribbons by the fireflies with the moon’s help. The light strands falling from the cracks of the boiling night sky gently carved through the translucent darkness with every step they took, trailing behind them. These rays tried their best to ease the tense harshness of the deep, dark forest pressing on their backs. They reflected off the leaves of trees that had surrendered to colorlessness, then off the soil carrying the small (!) pains of ants, and again onto trembling leaves. The ants, burdened by their loads, curled up to the side, tears in their eyes, saluting the classical melodies and the light of the stars one by one before returning to their duties. A few meters ahead, butterflies burst out from the base of the grass, flapping their wings against the wind to deliver good wishes to those in the forest. As they delved deeper into the trees tangled together, they encountered birds waking to the songs of the stars, birds who hadn’t yet shaken off the grogginess of sleep. These birds, too, had adapted, murmuring among themselves.

After greeting many animals, they finally reached a strange house Mizuki had never seen before, surrounded by vines dancing around snowflake-shaped flowers, each uniquely beautiful.As they stopped right in front of the house, the melody from the violin suddenly ceased. The door began creaking open with an ear-piercing sound. Slowly, from the gap in the door, soft white rays stumbled out, falling in the direction of those standing there. And from the light emerged a witch named Aimi, possessing a face more than perfect—though not genuinely beautiful. Her youthful appearance came from a rare potion made from fragments of hope stolen through spells cast on people. The long, wide hat atop her head curved upward like a hook, nearly reaching the sky. Her dress, exuding an air of gloom, was lined with golden embroidery at the neck and wrists, engulfed in an aura the color of misfortune. Yet, the expression on this witch’s face did not resemble the witches Mizuki had been told about—nor did the atmosphere around her. The witch warmly invited Mizuki inside. After emerging from the soft clouds and battling her soul-gnawing unease, Mizuki accepted. Inside the room—ruled by an aura of gloom mixed with cruelty and crowned with lofty ceilings—stood an excessively wide gray cauldron. Inside, an orange liquid stirred on its own, creating a vortex at the bottom, bubbling upward before popping with soft crackles. Mizuki was entirely focused on the bubbles trying to take flight when she was startled by the witch’s voice, etched into her ears. The witch asked why the red embers of smoked torches flooded her eyes, saying she would do everything in her power to make her happy, that she had dedicated herself to helping the gloomy-hearted. When Mizuki recalled the reason behind the red storm clouding her vision, tremors twisted her voice cords, and trembling words choked in her throat. She began to explain her experiences, barely managing, because she so badly needed even the slightest support. Maybe the witch could really help her with her dreams. Even if she didn’t, Mizuki had nothing to lose. She had grown quite used to her goals being mocked and humiliated.

She wanted to be supported so deeply that this desire had evolved into a burning longing. Yet everyone around her had done nothing but turn their backs. Even a small show of support would have been enough, but she had only ever received scornful glances and piercing laughter-filled mockery. She dreamed of becoming a painter, one so successful her artworks could touch souls from every corner of the world—despite being someone shunned for doing nothing wrong. She wasn’t like others who wore masks to please, who praised others just to fit in, or those who crushed the weak like fragile glass walls. For all such innocent souls who had their dreams cruelly torn apart by the arrogant, Mizuki wanted to be an eternal source of support. She had worked so hard for it. She painted in hopeful hues, wishing to make violets bloom in the layers of love within people’s souls, inspired by songs written by someone she admired.

When Mizuki finished speaking, the witch, with a warm smile, said she could help. She offered a cookie she had carefully baked, saying that thanks to it, Mizuki would be able to climb the stairs to her goals effortlessly. Hearing this filled Mizuki with such joy that tears gathered in her eyes, resisting the fall. Overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being supported, she thanked the witch over and over. The witch loved this. Yet remembering what was to come, a sly smile crept onto her face—something Mizuki could never perceive. 

Between her fingers, the witch held a small, fluffy cookie full of cute white freckles, looking as soft as clouds dyed deep pink. When the movement of her long legs stopped, she slowly extended the cookie to the girl, soaked in a wicked glee. As soon as the cookie settled into Mizuki’s palm, a buried doubt surged violently, trying to stop her. Somehow, the witch’s kindness didn’t feel genuine. But it was no use. The desire to reach her dreams toppled her into the abyss of nothingness in a single motion. She bit into the little cookie without questioning whether the witch could really do what everyone said was impossible. She chewed and swallowed it. At first, sweet aromas filled her mouth. Then came a tangy flavor—perhaps like cherry—and other exquisite tastes she had never known before. The fluffy crumbs trickled down her throat, each piercing her from within. With those piercing stones, crystal points would slowly start to emerge inside her—points that, according to the witch, would enhance her abilities as they grew. For now, only a single crystal point had formed in her soul. Unaware, perhaps those specks—sharp as dew—would become her curse.