EFFORTS TO SAVE ASAHI

A gentleman wearing a fedora, looking quite formal, came to pick up the tea set he had ordered from her aunt's shop. His eyes were drawn to the paintings hanging on the wall. Like the other noble visitors before him, he asked Mizuki’s aunt where she had gotten those magnificent paintings and who had drawn them. Mizuki’s aunt told him about Mizuki, who had created those awe-inspiring artworks. At first, Mizuki’s drawings had only been spoken of in this small town, but thanks to this gentleman, her fame was spreading far and wide. Upon hearing the news, Mizuki immediately burst into tears. Even though she was eager to share this joyful news with Chieko, what did fame really mean when her very existence seemed to vanish more and more with every picture she drew?

Chieko had to find a way to save Mizuki. The girl brainstormed about the future, calculating her chances of escaping the witch who was going to destroy her life. Her mind became tangled, and her consciousness blurred and began to shut down. Every time she blinked, the image before her eyes would blur, refusing to come into focus no matter how hard she tried. While she had taken a break from painting, she didn’t know what could possibly drag her back into the abyss, and that terrified her. She felt defenseless, and the more she tried to flee from the turmoil in her soul, the more she drowned in the silence of her own darkness. The muffled whispers of despair, laced with fire, echoed in her mind in a language no one could possibly understand. Yet the thought of blowing the whistle Chieko had given her never occurred to her. Just then, Mr. Asahi’s song began playing on the record. The lyrics of this emotional song, faint but familiar, reached the little mouse's ears. The melody seemed to be trying to remind her of something she couldn’t recall no matter how hard she tried. While she was dedicating herself to erasing the forgetfulness that plagued her mind, her tiny feet, rooted to the ground, began to relax and take hesitant steps. Somehow, her steps quickened, contradicting the size of her feet, and she hurried into the unknown, unaware of where or why she was going.

Her mind was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t even notice the countless beings she rushed past. She moved in sync with her uncontrollable legs, unable to understand what was happening. Then, suddenly, grumbling noises fell from the sky, interrupting her dulled awareness. These sounds, heard again a few minutes apart, accompanied her path. Her legs, bending right and left, gradually slowed and finally stopped in front of a house. Now, she could clearly hear the words of the song that had captured her attention. She didn’t remember ever visiting the house that appeared before her eyes, where the music was coming from. And lacking the will to question why she had come, she headed straight for the open window, seeking the source of the melody. Grabbing onto the flowered vines around the house one by one, she climbed up to reach the window. As soon as she got there, she quickly scanned the interior. The mouse barely paid attention to the girl inside, lying half-reclined on the floor, clutching her heart with her left hand and trying to take deep breaths amid sobs soaked in pain. It was as if the mouse was searching for something else in the room—something it needed to see. Her eyes drifted away from the girl's sorrow-stricken body and landed on the paintings. Her pupils widened. Something in her believed she had found what she was looking for. Intrigued, she wanted to take a closer look at a partially veiled portrait. She leapt onto the table by the window and found a safe way to descend to the ground. Once she landed, she walked right past the girl without acknowledging her, gliding toward the easel.

Curious, she tried to see the drawing on the canvas. She attempted to pull back the tulle covering a quarter of the painting, but she wasn’t strong enough to uncover it fully. The fabric resisted, refusing to be unveiled. She tried and tried, but couldn’t manage to bring the whole cloth down. For her final attempt, she summoned all her strength and tugged the cover down with a sudden yank. Underneath the fallen tulle was a drawing of a man with a sweet smile. In the center of the canvas, a man with flowing black hair was depicted playing the violin, standing against a background painted in hues of yellow and blue meant to reflect light. Yet in the bottom left corner, swallowed in black, there was a girl crawling on her knees, reaching her hands toward the man. From outside the canvas, one could tell that the man was casting rays of hope upon the girl, as beams of light fell onto her from around him. But despite being gifted this light, the girl still looked broken—and the mouse didn’t miss that. Who could this man in the painting be? There was something eerily familiar about this face—sweetly smiling, yet tinged with despair. The mouse was certain she had never met or known this person, yet… the more she looked into the painted man’s eyes, the more she felt them pulling her in. No matter what she did, she couldn’t remember who this man was or what that signature on the canvas meant. The painting whispered to her, calling out for help.

To give her a clue about the mysterious knowledge she needed to recall, the painting sparkled the signature in the lower right corner with glittering dust. When she focused on the curves of the signature, she felt the withered flowers inside her struggling to breathe. She sensed a few strands of love in her fading heart. Fragmented memories being uploaded piece by piece were coming to life. In the memory, a letter and several stacks of drawings—though not clearly visible—were held between his fingers. He had gone to the most secluded corner of the town, a place deeply intertwined with nature. He was living the life he had always wanted; the crowds surrounding him admired and loved him. But he could sense the falseness in that love and praise. Most people listened to his songs simply because they sounded pleasant, without understanding the hidden feelings embedded in his lyrics. They couldn’t grasp Asahi’s emotions. The moment the mouse realized that these drawings, which were trying to reconnect him to a life he believed he no longer belonged to, had been made by Mizuki, he was devastated. He was on the verge of feeling joy over meeting, after all these years, the person who had supported him tirelessly and anonymously. But that joy was quickly crushed. Mizuki had been the only one who truly made him happy, yet he had dragged her into nothingness with his own hands. As something began to sprout in his heart—now no different from the darkness itself—his tears wouldn’t stop flowing. When he saw the girl clutching her heart and writhing on the ground, he wanted to help her.

He cursed himself, the witch, and even fate for leading the one person who had always supported him into this cursed trap. His heart, a mix of pain and love, grew warmer. The warmer the particles in his heart became, the more he discovered he could slowly reclaim his imprisoned will. He pushed himself to regain full control over it. He rushed to Mizuki’s side. Her body had no strength left—not even enough to move an inch. When her bloodshot eyes met the mouse’s, he pointed first at the painting, then at himself. Mizuki didn’t understand what the mouse was trying to tell her through gestures. After the mouse tried to explain a few more times, she finally got it—and let out a gasp of disbelief. What she thought she understood was that the mouse was Mr. Asahi, and no matter how you looked at it, that made no sense. The mouse’s nonsensical words went in one ear and out the other, unable to find any meaning within her mind. Realizing he couldn’t explain things with speech, the mouse started looking for another way. He scanned the room. On top of a pile of books stacked on the floor, he spotted a tiny notebook and went to get it. Climbing up the margins of the books arranged from largest to smallest, he reached for the notebook. After successfully retrieving it, he began looking for a pencil. Fortunately, he saw a fallen graphite pencil lying on the floor.

He rushed to grab the pencil and returned to Mizuki. Although it was initially difficult to handle because it was larger than the mouse-sized body his spirit inhabited, he gradually adapted to it as he moved it across the page. The more he drew, the more realistic his illustrations became. As far as he could recall, this had all happened as part of the witch’s trap. He was depicting what the witch had done and explaining, through drawings, why he had ended up in this state. Mizuki began to make sense of the chaotic lines and piece together the events. Seeing Mizuki’s posture drenched in sorrow made Asahi feel like his very existence was burning. Meanwhile, in the witch’s house, a firefly fixed in place before the snow globes began blinking its light continuously, now wrapped in a blinding glow as if sounding an alarm. Inside that snow globe, the statue resembling Asahi—normally frozen in place—was now shouting out love with a dazed, enchanted gaze. Pink cherry blossoms fluttered from the top of the globe. The witch, caught off guard, closed her eyes in confusion, then opened them again and stared at the globe. To resolve the disturbance, the witch placed her fingers on the snow globe. Through it, she was able to monitor Asahi—where he was and what he was doing. The moment she witnessed him explaining everything to Mizuki, she summoned her crow, which she had enlarged and empowered many times over using her potions, so her plans wouldn't fall apart. She ordered the crow to bring Asahi back to her in one piece. The crow immediately took flight, slipping out the window and heading toward where Asahi was. As Asahi’s heart warmed, his frozen memories began to thaw, and with each thawed piece, memories flowed back into his mind. These essences—gathering within the snow globe—rained down, needed for the witch’s beauty. When all the particles settled on the ground, the witch collected them through a mechanism she had built inside the globe. She knew she would make the girl suffer until the final essence in her heart was extracted. The mouse could not bear to see the girl suffer. He wanted to renegotiate the deal with the witch. However, trapped in the world of darkness, unless his existence confined within the snow globe could escape and reunite with the body imprisoned in the witch’s house, he would simply vanish. He had to retrieve the snow globe that contained his essence from the world of darkness and bring it to the witch before the final promised hour. Even though he had known this all along, due to the alienation over time, his lost memories, and fragmented self, he had no idea what he was doing or what the witch had told him. He couldn’t remember anything of his own, nor could he control his mind. He merely obeyed the commands given to him.

But now, he had started to remember fragments of his true self:

The mask on his face—molded from clay mixed with the blood that dripped from his soul day by day, crafted meticulously with careful attention to every detail—could neither shed tears nor reveal even a hint of the vile feeling that had overtaken the self he tried so hard to suppress. His entire mind was like a scene of apocalypse. His body, stiff and unmoving like a statue carved from stone, showed no signs of life as he continued to exist. His thoughts could not go beyond the belief that he was paying the price for a burden heavier than the gears of the universe’s perfectly designed system—a belief that only grew stronger each day. Even though he had yet to find his true self, he had created and clung to a character—a persona he had imagined and brought to life. Without accepting that he had fabricated this identity himself, he acted as though he was that character. Even when a few people passed close by, he became dizzy. In order to adapt to the world, he had no choice but to follow the commands imposed on him by the group he was born into. No one could see through the artificial expressions of happiness he wore. Not that it mattered. Even if someone could hear the cries behind the complaints he hid, there was no one in this world capable of helping him. No one around him had experienced the feeling of being drenched in the mud of their own storm clouds. They had never heard the screams that adorned his helpless sighs stretching till dawn. And yet, they pretended to understand him. He hated all of them. His heart, which had started to decay years ago and was now only a breath away from becoming part of utter nothingness, was being pulled into the depths of a pit whose bottom he could never quite see. The sprouting seed within him wasn’t enough to save him. Nothing made him feel worthwhile except the musical notes he had carefully drawn on wrinkled pieces of paper.

Once again, his mind was troubled by a question he couldn’t answer: “Can I cleanse the dull stains—thick as the tar-like sorrow clinging to Asahi’s feelings—left by souls who, having fused with the darkness of apathy and forgotten every trace of their true selves, have recklessly devoted themselves to possessing everything in this world?” His origins traced back to a noble family. Yet he couldn’t fully grasp the meaning of the word “noble,” which had long since been painted over with pretentious gloss, while burdening him with loads that weighed as lightly (!) as the storms raging inside him. According to the mindset instilled by noble society, a true noble was expected to look down on others and suppress all those unnecessary human emotions. Despite having withdrawn from all things related to the world of the nobility, he still found himself bound ever more tightly to it—singing for noble guests on important occasions—due to the pressures from his family and the expectations of the nobles he knew. He saw himself as a puppet of those who had surrendered to luxury and glitter, yet never grasped the true weight or purpose of life. As clouds began to slowly drape the sky, as if wishing to plunge the world into darkness, the townspeople retreated to their homes. For a few hours, life dulled for the lower classes. While weary laborers struggled to shake off the fatigue of the day, the upper echelons prepared to enjoy life until dawn—wearing clothes that cost far more than the combined expenses of countless families.

They had already begun to fill the hall and sway with the music. The chandelier, lit by diamonds that joined hand in hand to illuminate the vast ballroom, twinkled in rhythm with the song as if dancing along with the crowd. Behind the dazzling white beams cast from the chandelier, the linked diamonds seemed to clash, momentarily darkening—as if quarreling. Shaking from the tension spreading into their hearts, the gems turned black with rage, glimmering in defiance, striving to outshine their rivals like warriors in battle. Beneath this spectacle, the fabrics performed their own choreography. Hands as graceful as finely sculpted faces moved delicately within bundles of colorful textiles—some decorated with lace gloves—while dresses of varying styles flowed elegantly below the knees. The rosy hues brushed onto women’s cheeks, the dagger-like lashes, and the irises that caught and reflected the light… All these women had spent hours getting ready—some came to have fun, others in hopes of finding love, and some simply to see Asahi.

Had any of those merrymakers, gathered for different reasons, ever fallen into despair? Or was he the only one drowning in sorrow amid a life so enviable on the surface? He tried to resemble those around him—burying his pain in the furthest corner of a black hole, striving for happiness—but he still couldn’t grasp the true meaning of the word “noble,” a word now buried beneath flashy expressions.

There was nothing he could do except play the role life had handed him. Even if it didn’t align with reality, he had to hide his disappointments and sorrows and pretend to live a magnificent life. He was expected to follow the example of other nobles—attending balls, enjoying lavish pleasures. He was supposed to chain his emotions, suppress his turmoil in a sea of fire, and issue commands to those beneath him.

Yet… he could not conform to the rules of the title given to him. Deep within his cold exterior, a volcanic wave powerful enough to pierce the heavens awaited awakening. Maybe—just maybe—he would one day win his war against despair and raise a crown of flowers into eternity, a symbol of his long-awaited freedom. In contrast to these rare hopeful thoughts, everything he once valued now felt void of meaning. He couldn’t even remember if he had truly loved those things in the past—whether they had ever made him happy. And once again, the question plagued his mind: “Can I cleanse the murky stains left by souls fused with apathy—souls who recall nothing of their true selves and smear my emotions with their disillusionment—through tears that refuse to fall? Were all those lives the poets wrote about—those that find joy despite everything—just lies? Or was it just me, needlessly surrendering to despair?” The endless stream of tangled answers he conjured to his own questions overwhelmed him. The more he tried to break free from the wires of pessimistic cycles, the more he clung to nothingness. And as if that weren’t enough, the sharp echoes of those trying to escape the hidden hell of the world pierced his ears relentlessly. His trembling hands clutched his ears. Then, he stepped onto the stage and sang.

His chest expanded, only to collapse within milliseconds, before widening again, unable to sustain its breadth. The air he inhaled couldn’t keep up with the rapid movements of his ribcage. His mouth opened in defeat, trying to take in more particles of air, but slowly closed in failure. His fingers trembled uncontrollably.
The more he tried to breathe, the tighter his chest squeezed, forcing his body to the brink of collapse.
To make matters worse, he battled a pain nestled deep in his heart—one that made moving almost impossible. He knew he didn’t have the strength to endure this pain on top of struggling to breathe.
All he could do was pray to make it through the performance.

As he sang for hours, he realized that the notes, the melodies he once felt so vividly, no longer stirred anything within him.
Even music—the companion of his sorrow—was turning its back on him.
And because he no longer had the strength to face his pain alone, he couldn’t bear the thought of being estranged from music too.

He would beg the muses not to abandon him, playing his violin in some secluded place, far from human presence.
As he walked, tears kept falling on the violin cradled in his arms.
He wondered if he was being punished for offering the violin’s precious tunes to people who didn’t deserve them.
His feet moved of their own accord beneath the dim light, barely distinguishable behind the thick gray curls cast across the sky.

When he neared the pond beyond the town square, he quickly realized that the time had come to scream out his pain.
He would pour out his heart to the moonlight—once, as a child, he had imagined it as a glowing cluster of hope that lived in his chest—and wish not to be severed from the music that tethered him to life. He tried to express the rebellion in his heart through unintelligible violin murmurs, aimed at that lonely light of solitude that sought to brighten dreams. From his pupils, shining faintly in the dark, fell invisible droplets—tears of a clarity no one could see. With every attempt to breathe, molecules refused to reach his lungs, and sharp pain stabbed into his chest. One scream followed another, until silence settled like ash. The cries of a being that found no place in the world; the tears shed from a face shaped by numb lines… A little girl had come, drawn by the sound of this strange ceremony. A magical moment had bloomed before her—something she’d never have had the chance to witness otherwise. She began to feel, in every limb, a warmth from the deadly melody of a song that thawed frozen parts of her soul—parts she hadn’t known existed. It was a frame so enchanting, even the hands of the most gifted painter could never have captured it on canvas.

The gentleman who played the violin beautifully was clearly not of this world. The girl, like him, could not find the door to the dreamlike utopia that lay beyond the tunnel of suffering where time's hands had no power. To find someone who shared the same fate, someone like him, was priceless. Even though the girl did not know him, was it fair for a soul that could silence everyone else to endure so much pain? Both of them, brought together by the night, shared the companionship of loneliness, symbolized by the endless sky. As they cried their pain out to the heavens, they could ease their loneliness, even if only for a moment. Drawing inspiration from the sky, one painted, the other wrote lyrics and composed songs. For them, the sky symbolized the paintings of dreams they couldn’t integrate into reality, and the moonlight, which brought life to those paintings, reflected the energy they had lost. The girl could not allow the gentleman to succumb to a sorrowful end. She couldn’t let him, with whom she shared such feelings, merge with that fate.

The notes, once vivid in her mind, had grown foreign over time, merging into one another; words followed one after another, connecting with the notes. That night, as her slender fingers danced across the piano keys, she felt like she was in an impossible dream where the rays of happiness could never truly come to life. She didn’t want to lose the happiness she had found after all these years; she opened her eyes to the days when nights merged with mornings.

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

THE LONELY SIGNAL IN MY HEART
The antidote I’ve sunk into doesn’t help me forget you.
The lonely signal in my heart is losing more and more hope in love.
Is there a magic that could deliver to you the feelings I couldn’t say?
If there is, surely the river torn from love will lose its shimmer once I speak.

Even if the love inside me is completely drained, would it gather again when I see you?
I would ask myself, “What is true love I’ve never felt before?”
I can feel it inside me, even if I haven’t found the answer yet.
Maybe we’ll meet again in a future where we are together.

Why doesn’t our completely separated fate intersect in the palms of moonlight?
It’s obvious I won’t be able to erase everything and start anew,
I guess this secret in my heart will last forever.
Still, for centuries, our mark will be the beacon I set in the sky.
A trace that belongs to you, that I can find even when I lose my way, even if you’re not beside me.
Maybe we’ll draw a dream where we meet one last time, with drops from the immortal heaven.

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

I’m still weak compared to the storms torn from my face.
Even if I break apart my shattered nights while seeking a cure,
My steps would return in fear, to that pitiful unknown.

With trembling fingers, I wiped away the time I’d saved to escape.
In the sparks of agony within my heart, my dreams are about to fade.
Even if no one sees it, a globe full of hatred surrounds me.

I was trying to escape, but my breath couldn’t reach through the crowd.
Why can’t my voice reach anyone at all?
Was the play of my life meant to end this darkly?

In the depths of my tears, all my wishes are burning.
Those I thought loved me are fading away like flaming stars.
A gate opens to the land of those torn from the world.
As it grows colder, the pieces of life that come alive burn my soul.
A match lit with my broken hopes isn't enough to warm me inside.

Tonight, my soul is invited to the ball of those defeated by fate.
The storm sharing my pain is fiercer than ever before.
Even if you don’t know me, my heart still expects that we’ll meet one day.

Even if you're far away, I hope I can see your hands reaching to save me.
Though continuing hurts more, I keep on waiting.
The happy days I long for can’t just be illusions, can they?

In the depths of my tears, all my wishes are burning.
Those I thought loved me are fading away like flaming stars.
A gate opens to the land of those torn from the world.
As it grows colder, the pieces of life that come alive burn my soul.
A match lit with my broken bones isn't enough to warm me inside.

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

SYMPHONY OF THE NUMB

in front of my faded eyes,
all my dreams disappear one by one.
on the cliff of a reality that screams impossibility,
i try to hold on to life.

this meaningless world grows blurrier each day.
the memories scatter into the blackness,
my heart fills with the darkness of hatred.
this sorrowful smile keeps shaking my soul.

i think i’ve lost everything that made me happy.
i’m becoming more and more alien to everything,
i can’t escape the gloom within my soul.
i’m drowning in the silence of the chaos inside me.
tell me,
what exactly is happiness?

the muffled whispers of loneliness embroidered with fire,
echo in my mind again.
mounds of loneliness fall from my pupils...
the pitiful past wanders through my veins...

my existence is splitting into pieces.
my self is vanishing between dream and reality.
tell me,
why does breathing hurt this much?

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

THE BOTTOM OF MY TEARS

The poison of your ruthless love spread through my mind.
Your cursed gaze burned my soul with nothingness' magic.
A heap of pain gathered in my cup,
The stains of our separation's portrait still remain in my heart.

In my ears, the screams that burn my existence,
The years forgotten in our story...
Your heart will never be bound to this lost heart, will it?
Can’t we change everything from the beginning?

I tried countless times to forget you,
Each time, I was left face-to-face with impossibility.
My heart has stopped beating now.
Over time, I've gotten used to sinking into the bottom of my tears.

The chorus of my feelings sings the anthem of separation.
Slowly, the waltz of loneliness in my mind chokes me.
The tremor in my soul intensifies, deeper still.
Goodbye, cold and burning in my heart.
I’m completely detached from your eyes full of regret.
Tell me, are happy endings only for dreams?

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

The transparent loneliness leaking from the oil lamp formed beams of light and flowed from the windows of houses into the crystallized dullness of the night. The moonlight reflected upon the mass of water that had surrendered itself to the depth of the night, creating a blurry image in that deep darkness. This image wavered like the flames of a candle shrunk down from melting, on top of the swaying shadow. As I watched these lengthening and shortening ripples, I drifted into dreams, accompanied by a melancholic melody echoing from the radio. Even though I didn’t want to, I was gradually getting carried away by these notes. And just then, pain-filled words began to line up endlessly in my mind, and I started to write them on paper to send them to you.

The trembling piano notes from the radio, the misty flame spewed by the oil lamp, the dozens of pieces of paper scattered on the table... Noticing the ink had run out in the pen I held between my fingers, I transfer a bit more ink into the nearly-empty pen, then begin writing all the feelings that appear and vanish in my mind. I keep writing until I express my emotions on the paper in the best way possible; I like what I write, then I don’t, scribbling over the page again and again. After all that effort, I finally finish what I’ve written. Before sending it to you, I begin reading it one last time, and the cold expression etched into my face gives way to a faint smile. I can’t help but wonder all night whether you’d like what I’ve written, unable to get you out of my mind. When morning comes, I take the letter into my hands and set off to send it to you. (...)

✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥✥

Let’s close our eyes and scream our pain
From the boat at the edge of the sky.
My opened pupils are now part of the darkness.
I’m searching for the truth before I completely disappear, falling from the light that crashes in the sky.

Even though my hunger continues in my existence,
Let’s scatter the drops of gloom with the cloud reeds, not caring about those around us.
After all, when no one stays by my side, I’ll sink again into that ocean.

Will everything be okay when I find my direction?
I had lost my feelings in the dust spinning around.
Can we save my heart from the whirlwind created by the past?

My body has no more strength to rise again.
Dozens of faces are waiting beside me for me to suffer.
Everything I touch reflects a shadow of black.
The memories of my childhood were dragged into cruelty,
While the hatred fell from my torn wings.
The pain of the spear melting in my soul is deeper this time.
I only really wanted to be loved a little.

Please, save me one last time,
Even though I know you won’t come, I still wait for help from you.
I would be all alone, whenever the pain in my soul shows up.
I think the thought that those around me care for me is just an assumption.

Even though my hunger continues in my existence,
Let’s scatter the drops of gloom with the cloud reeds, not caring about those around us.
After all, when no one stays by my side, I’ll sink again into that ocean.

Has the lightning calling the emptiness in my chest still not stopped?
Is the right place I should go the separation waiting for me in front of me?
Why am I again alone with loneliness?

My body has no more strength to rise again.
Dozens of faces are waiting beside me for me to suffer.
Everything I touch reflects a shadow of black.
The memories of my childhood were dragged into cruelty,
While the hatred fell from my torn wings.
The pain of the spear melting in my soul is deeper this time.
I only really wanted to be loved a little.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

The dim light clusters passing through the street cast shadows, and the leaves rustled with the howling of the wind, their mournful whispers echoing. The ashes of sorrow, ignited, flowed drop by drop from the white dust particles tinged with shades of gray. Children who had yet to taste the cruelty of life, with no trace of sorrow on their faces, were jumping over the puddles, scattering the water droplets in all directions. Their laughter blended with the melancholy symphony of the rain and wind, creating a mesmerizing atmosphere. As the symphony seeped into my soul from my ears, every step I took was accompanied by umbrellas in all colors passing by me, heading into the unknown. As everything around me deepened into darkness, I began to hear a beautiful violin melody from a small house, now fading and on the brink of collapse. With every note drawn from the violin, a different memory would emerge clearly in my mind. Each one left a different kind of pain in my soul.

Do you remember, too, how every night two pieces of light would appear between the shaped clouds? Although they were so far apart... they were still bound to each other. Despite their dimmed glow, they always sent their love to each other. Even when their dreams were swallowed by darkness, a warm smile would spread from between their trembling pupils. But now, not even a trace of love remains in their hearts. They drifted apart, just like us. Do you know, even after all this time, I still can’t make sense of some things? How can a small goodbye burn my existence so much? I think my soul is gradually withdrawing from this translucent body. The bubbles of love formed by the silhouette of your presence in my heart are dulling, turning into a small wisp of smoke. All my hopes of meeting you are fading away. In fact, my feelings for you are slowly diminishing, line by line. With the clash of your departure, which continually resurrects in my mind with what I feel for you, you left behind a faded heart. Tell me... Can I love someone again with a heart that has vanished?

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

THE FORBIDDEN LOVE OF SOULS

Our ignited love was like the end of the sky.

It threw us into nothingness with every step.

We were like stars that couldn't find their way in eternity.

As we shined together, we only sank to the bottom.

Is losing everything while loving the price of our love?

I think love was just making impossible feelings for us.

When your light mixes with my darkness, you too will fade like memories.

Will you still love me, even if I push you away from life?

Is the meaning of love always suffering?

Or shedding tears until you lose your identity?

Now I understand better that you shouldn't love me.

Please give up your love and let me die.

This is the love story of souls forbidden to each other.

Is the meaning of love always suffering?

Or shedding tears until you lose your identity?

Now I understand better that you shouldn't love me.

Please give up your love and let me die.

This is a love story of forbidden souls.

The feeling inside me was like a relentless hurricane.

It extinguished the ashes of my first love as it suffocated me.

You can no longer keep this love alive with a small spark.

Get away from me before you disappear too, never come back.

That day when your light met my darkness, I sacrificed my life for you.

Please don't cry, for this soul that can give you nothing but pain.

Don't mind if I disappear with screams.

Just send your hatred to the hell I fell into.

Is the meaning of love to always suffer?

Or to shed tears until you lose your identity?

Now I understand better that you shouldn't love me.

Please give up your love and let me die.

This is a love story of forbidden souls.

We would live a future that no one can reach,

If I could break my undying curse.

Maybe we never belonged to each other.

Is the meaning of love to always suffer?

Or shed tears until you lose your identity?

Now I understand better that you shouldn't love me.

Please give up your love and let me die.

This is a love story of forbidden souls.

She dedicated the songs she composed to the light that illuminated her life, trying to share her emotions with the melancholic stars that could still hold fragments of herself. But no matter how hard she tried, she could never succeed. The strong gravitational pull connecting her dreams now urged them to separate, and it tarnished their love with vile threats. Occasionally, blows were dealt to both sides. The last dangerous blow blinded her eyes for hours. When she regained her sight, it was as if the nightmare she had cursed to end now lay before her, its horrors unfolding. The clouds of hope within her were being exploited by the dream thieves, and her fate companion’s body vanished into the unknown, melting and erasing with each passing second.

She could neither stretch out her hands nor run to stop it from happening. For the first time, tears flowed from her eyes. She didn’t want to accept the reality, so she closed her eyes. But they burned open again, forcing her to witness the scene. Along with the completely vanished body, the pale guardians of wooden thrones declared their rule once more, as the lost colors of fatigue were inhaled into the universe.

The presence of the witch and the concept of contracts between the realms add a mysterious and almost supernatural element to the story. The rat’s journey toward the girl’s house, the eerie stillness, and the way the witch controls both worlds through her magic creates a haunting atmosphere. The moment the rat sees the girl’s paintings and the signature in the corner of the canvas, there’s a powerful realization and a sudden connection to the past, drawing all the disparate elements of the story together.

The symbolism in the images, like the snow globes and the trapped figures, evokes a sense of entrapment and fate. The rat’s struggle to break free from the witch’s magic and the emotional conflict experienced by both the girl and the gentleman reveal the central tension of the narrative: the battle between accepting fate or fighting against it.

Would you like to explore more about the witch and her role in this world? Or perhaps dive deeper into the girl’s and gentleman’s pasts and the significance of their shared history?

Although the girl hid her feelings for the mouse, she realized that the one who had drawn the pictures to make her feel better and sent her several supportive letters was the very person she had been wondering about. She was about to feel the joy of finally meeting the person who had supported her all these years without revealing who they were, but all the joy caught in her throat. Something began to sprout in her heart, which was no different from darkness. Tears kept flowing. At that moment, she saw the girl clutching her chest and struggling on the ground. She wanted to help her. She was cursing herself, the witch, and even fate for leading the person who had supported her all this time into this pit with her own hands. Her heart was warming with a mix of pain and love. The reclusive soul, one of the particles of nothingness, was in a hell within her chest, where the butterflies could never soar, fading away with each passing moment, surrendering herself to transparency. The death ink, darkening layer by layer in her veins, was announcing that the end was near. Her deceased heart wanted to warm up one last time, even though she knew it could not beat again. The threads sealed into her limbs were choking her existence.