Chapter 24 — “Himari’s Dream”

The nights grew longer.

The sea outside howled like a living thing, crashing endlessly against the cliff below. The house groaned, breathing in rhythm with the tide. Mizuki slept soundly, her body curled against Himari’s.

Himari lay awake, listening to her heartbeat — fast, fragile, too alive.

She closed her eyes and saw water.

---

In her dream, the sky was white and colorless. The ocean spread out like glass, stretching infinitely.

She stood barefoot on the edge of a cliff, wind slicing her skin.

Below, a body floated — pale, drifting, hair fanning out like seaweed.

It was Mizuki.

Her face was turned upward, eyes closed, lips parted as if whispering something through the waves.

Himari tried to scream her name, but her throat made no sound.

Her feet wouldn’t move.

And from behind, arms wrapped around her — soft, gentle, and ice-cold.

> “You promised we’d never be apart,” whispered a voice. “Why are you running?”

Himari turned, and saw herself — smiling with Mizuki’s blood on her hands.

The dream dissolved into red light, and the sound of waves became laughter.

---

She woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.

Mizuki stirred beside her, rubbing her eyes.

> “Himari?”

“Just a bad dream.”

“Was I in it?”

“Yes.”

“Then it wasn’t bad,” Mizuki murmured, smiling faintly before falling back asleep.

Himari sat there, watching her.

Mizuki’s chest rose and fell gently, her expression calm — too calm, too peaceful for what they’d done, for what they’d become.

Outside, dawn painted the ocean gray. Himari pressed her palm against the windowpane. The glass was cold, almost wet, as if the sea mist had climbed up to touch her.

She whispered to herself,

> “We should never have come here.”

---

Days blurred together after that.

Mizuki began talking about the sea as if it were a person — a friend who listened, who forgave.

She would stand by the cliff for hours, whispering things Himari couldn’t hear. Sometimes she smiled at the waves, sometimes she cried.

> “Do you ever think the sea remembers?” she asked one afternoon.

“Remembers what?”

“The people it’s taken.”

Himari felt her stomach twist.

> “Let’s not talk about that.”

“But we have to,” Mizuki said. “It’s honest. The sea doesn’t lie.”

---

That night, Himari dreamt again.

This time, she was underwater. The light above her was fading, replaced by an endless, suffocating blue.

She saw Mizuki again — reaching out, smiling that same gentle, ruined smile.

Her lips moved soundlessly, but Himari understood the words:

> If you love me, follow me.

Himari reached for her hand. Their fingers brushed — then Mizuki’s body dissolved into salt and foam.

The sea filled her lungs.

She woke screaming.

---

Mizuki held her, whispering soft reassurances.

> “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just a dream.”

“No,” Himari whispered. “It’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“A warning.”

For the first time, Mizuki didn’t smile. She simply looked at her — quietly, intensely — and said,

> “Then I’ll make sure it comes true.”

---

After that night, Himari noticed Mizuki drawing again — always the same image: two girls standing at the edge of a cliff, holding hands, smiling.

Sometimes, one of them was missing a face.

The air in the house grew heavier. The sea louder.

Himari could no longer tell if she was awake or dreaming.

She found herself tracing the walls, feeling for cracks. Listening for whispers.

Every time she looked at Mizuki, she saw the ocean — vast, consuming, inevitable.

And deep down, she began to wonder:

Was she the one being drowned, or the one doing the drowning?

---

One evening, as the rain fell against the windows, Mizuki sat by the candlelight, sketching.

Himari watched her, unable to look away.

> “Do you ever regret it?” Himari asked quietly.

“What?”

“Loving me.”

Mizuki didn’t answer right away. The pencil stilled, hovering above the page.

Then she looked up — and smiled that same gentle, terrifying smile.

> “I don’t regret love,” she said softly. “Only what it turns us into.”

---

That night, Himari dreamed again.

This time, she wasn’t standing on the cliff.

She was falling.

The wind tore at her hair, her skin, her heart.

And just before the water swallowed her, she saw Mizuki above — reaching out, not to save her, but to join her.

The sea opened its arms.

And the last thing she felt was warmth.