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BGM: Manita
They acknowledged and accepted each other’s presence, no longer isolating themselves, but actively, regularly conversing. As mundane as it might seem, it was something they had been unable to attain until then. Nevertheless, they were still somewhat fumbling around in the dark with one another, drawing closer and pushing away again. Michel, in his own ungraceful way, was beginning to open himself up to the things she said, and the White-Haired Girl was beginning to smile with greater frequency. They had taken to dining together, and her wish of learning to read was being granted. He taught her in the feeble light of a candle placed upon the table, the two sitting across from one another. Though Michel seemed to be well educated, he had not been instructed in the art of teaching, so he found the process quite grueling.
But to the White-Haired Girl, the longer it took the better; her primary objective was, after all, to spend time with him. The days passed, and eventually, she reached the point where her comprehension was adequate enough without assistance. Her next request, then, was for them to read through a book together.
No... I stopped ××××××× at them ××××× × ×××××.
Most everything I’m sent is dull, uninformative dreck. The diary of a lord... Foolish make-believe tales...
You’re not fond of fiction, I take it?
What value is there in the lies and fantasies of another?
Stories... can be invigorating. Tales of adventure can take you places you could never go.
Legends of heroes, folklore, stories of otherworldly phenomena. They can be terrifying, and they can be exhilarating.
They may not be real, but they give you a little glimpse into the author’s heart — let you feel like you’re seeing the same thing they saw.
...You are a very empathetic girl. Fiction inspires nothing of the sort in me.
However...
...?
Perhaps long ago... it may have been able to, though I can no longer remember what it feels like.
I’m sure it’ll come back to you.
×××’×× not an ××××× ×××.
...
S-Sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable again! Um, uh... how about we read this book today?
You haven’t read this one yet, then? That’s... good to hear.
It’ll be more enjoyable if it’s a new experience for the both of us.
...
It looks like... it’s a record of local legends?
The book is divided into several sections. Though it appears to be mostly superstitions.
Hehe... I am curious what kind of stories this area has.
The two of them were looking down at a simple, undecorated volume. As the White-Haired Girl had said, it seemed to be a collection of local legends passed down generation to generation. They sat across from one another at the table, her turning the pages, and Michel simply watching so as to not brush against her. Eventually, her eyes were drawn to a particular word on one of the pages, bringing her hands to a stop.
“××× ×××××”...
...
That chapter detailed the story of a witch — or, more precisely, said witch’s curse. The story went something like this:
BGM: The Maid (Piano)
But then, a long, long drought struck the village, which the people blamed on the witch. The witch was sentenced to death, and as the fire blazed around her, smoke rose high into the air. The smoke soon became rainclouds, blessing the village with an end to the drought. The crops were revitalized, and the villagers fancied themselves heroes. However, the rain also brought madness upon the people. Though the earth below them was lush and fertile, the villagers were losing their minds, and they eventually began to take each other’s lives.
The witch still lived on — in the form of a curse. Many fell victim to the witch’s curse. Though it did not only take — it also fulfilled people’s desires. The villagers had gone mad, but their wish for freedom from the drought had been granted. Thus, the legend has been passed down as follows:
“The witch will grant your wish in exchange for great sacrifice. As smoke in the sky, she watches down upon us from above. To reach the witch, climb for the heavens; but know that road is a road to destruction.”
BGM: Manita
...
People still ××××××× the ×××××’× ×××××× even now, I suppose. And that’s why ×...
...Face ××××××××××× of being a ×××××. This is not an ×××× very ××××××××× to ××××××××× —
×××××××××× one who ×××××× ××× as much as you.
What brought ××× to this ×××××× in the first place?
Mine is a ××××× I’m sure you’ve ××××× before. × was ×××× out of my ×××××.
I come from a very ×××× ××××××; we could ×××××× even afford to keep ×××××××× ×××.
Being as ×××× as × ××, it was only ××××××× that × would be the first ×× ××.
I see...
What I don’t understand, though... is why the witch is said to grant people’s wishes.
That is to say, she had reason enough to hold a grudge, but not to give people things they asked for.
All we have to go on is a few pages. There’s no saying what might have been changed or added over time, and it’s almost certain the entire legend isn’t written here.
That said, if we are to accept everything as written, you can infer what the witch’s reason might have been.
And that is...?
...
Despair that comes after a moment of happiness is far more agonizing than despair alone. I presume that is why the witch decided to grant people’s wishes.
That is... one way to look at it.
...Um, may I ask you something?
Go on.
When I first arrived here, you told me that a cursed witch used to live in this mansion.
...
After reading this legend... I’m now finding it hard to believe you made that up simply to scare me away.
I appropriated the tale, nothing more. It is said the witch was born in this house.
Wha...
Quite the place my family found for me. But it was a clever decision putting me here, I think. Not many people are likely to come near a house with such a pedigree.
But...
...
No, never mind... That makes sense.
I suspect I know what she was going to say then. “If the witch is said to grant wishes, then wouldn’t that also attract people who so desperately want something they do not care what price they must pay?”
And perhaps she was correct. Perhaps there had been those who had come to the mansion chasing after the legend, and perhaps they had encountered Michel, touched him, and lost their lives. On that day in the garden, he had said, “Many things are buried here.” Perhaps that included such visitors.
If... If the witch of legend really did exist, what would you do?
Hmm... It might be nice to talk to her, maybe.
That’s all? Really?
I feel a little bad for her, though. The only people who ever visit her are there to ask for something, after all.
I can only imagine just how lonely that must be.
I swear, I cannot comprehend the way your mind works.
S-Sorry...
Although, hmm... If we assume the legend is true, I have an idea what “climb for the heavens” might mean.
Oh?
The mansion has an observation tower. Or, I suppose, what used to be an observation tower. At any rate, it is quite a tall structure.
This is the house where the witch was supposedly born. A tower reaching for the heavens seems like the perfect place to find her... if she really is here.
Oh, yes... I remember seeing a rather tall structure as I first approached the mansion.
Would you like to see it?
Of course. Please, lead the way.
The two of them left the library and made their way to the room with the stained-glass window. At the far end of that room were the stairs to the observation tower. The tale of the witch had piqued the White-Haired Girl’s interest, inspiring her to put herself forward to satisfy that curiosity. She had, after all, been accused of being a witch herself, so she undoubtedly felt an affinity to the legend.
What a sweet girl she was.
Rectangular windows were carved out of the stone in regular intervals. Peering through one of them, she could see a village in the distance. A pleasantly cool, high-altitude breeze brushed across her face. After much climbing, they finally arrived at the top, where a door made of partially rotted wood stood. Michel pulled open the door, revealing a small room with no windows or doors in sight.
Despite it being called an “observation” tower, you could hardly observe anything from there. Her face contorted in confusion, the White-Haired Girl threw her gaze about the room. Glancing up, she saw only a darkened ceiling — and, slightly below it, a single small window through which shone a little ray of light. The beam cleaved through the darkness like the sharpened blade of a beautiful sword. The darkness draped over the rest of the room only served to make more impressive that solitary ray of light. It had a magical, fairy-tale quality to it. As if being pulled in by it, she drew toward the light.
I suspect there was once a large window in this room. If you look closely, you can see seams in the stone of the wall.
The color of the stone differs slightly on either side of the seams. I presume something caused them to seal off the window after it was built.
Though I don’t know what that something... might... be...
The man who never flinched at anything — who had long since distanced himself from such stirrings of the heart — was utterly bewitched. He had never seen her illuminated so vividly before, and he was having a great deal of trouble finding the words to describe her striking beauty. For someone who had been chased out of her home and accused of being a witch, the White-Haired Girl looked less like a practitioner of the dark arts, and more like one of the host of Heaven.
...
Michel undoubtedly felt the same way, for his gaze was affixed firmly upon her.
As a bit of an aside...
I’d like to share with you a little fact of life, my dear.
Humans have a far greater capability to hurt, betray, and forsake
others than they do to love, trust, and protect them.
And that’s precisely what the majority of people do.
Yes, I believe you know good and well...
that no matter how much you may trust someone,
they’re still going to abandon you in the end.
×-×××... ××××××× ××.
×× ××××××××× ××× ××××××?
××, ××... ×’× ××××...
...
××× ××××... ×× ××××× ×××× ×××××’× ××××××××× ××× ×× ××× ××× ××××. ×× ×××××... ×××× ××××××× ×××××××× ××××× ×× ×××××××××...
...
My dear friend...
the two of us have much more in common with each other than anyone else.
We both suffered at others’ hands — and we both deserve to have our vengeance.
××... ×× ××× ××××× ×××× ×× ××××× ×× ×××... ×××× ××××× ××× ××× ×× ×××?
× ××××× ××× ××× ×× ×××× ×× ××× ×××× ××××××××... ×× ×××× ×× ×××× ×××× ×× ×××××× ××× ×××... ××× ×××× ×××× ×× ×××× ××× ××× ×× ××××××.
× ×××× ×××× ×× ×××× ×××× ××× ××××... ×××× ××××× ×××××× ××××××× × ×××××.
...
××× ××××××... ××× ××××××× ×××× × ××××××× ×××××××××××. ××’× ×××××××× ××× ××× × ×××××××× ×××××. ××’× ×××× ×××××××× ××× ××××’×.
Go on, what’s the matter?
Make this tale into your reality.
Surrender yourself, in this moment, to this beautiful story
and remain here in the mansion with Giselle.
Watch, in this moment, this dream.
...
Who are you...?
Well, that’s a surprise.
You actually have a conscious mind?
And are you aware of who you are?
...
Ahaha... You know nothing.
Who... are you...?
Someone you once spent a great deal of time with.
...
I must say, I am impressed you made it back here, my dear...
Your soul was ground into dust.
...
It will all come back to you eventually.
And then I’ll be there with you again, my dear...
whispering into your ear for centuries to come.
And this time, I will not fail...
I’ll mold your soul into the same shape as mine.
× ××× ××× ×××××××... ××× ××× ×××× ×××××××××× — ×××× ××.
×××× ×× ××× ×××.
×...
×××××× ×××, × ××××× ×× ××××××.
×××××××× ××× ××× ××××, ××× ×× ××××× ×××××. ×’× × ×××××××, ××××××××××××××××, ×××××××××× ××××××××.
Ahaha...
What a wonderful little show these puppets
are putting on for us, wouldn’t you say?
×× ××××× ×’× ××× ×××× × ×××××× ×××××... ××× ××××’× ××× ×××× × ××××× ××××××××× ×××× ××, × ××××× ×××× ×××××.
×× ×××× × ×××××××× ×××× × ×××××...
×× ×××× × ×××××××× ××× ×××× ×××× ×× ××××××××××××× ××××× — ×××××××××× ×× ××××××× ×× ×××× ×××× ××× ×× ××× ××××× —
×××× × ××××× ×× ×××× ×× ××××× ××××××’× ××××××...
...Giselle...
Giselle...?
...×× ×××× ×××× ××× ×× ×××××××.
×××...
××’× ×××× × ×××× ×××. × ×××× ×× ×× ×××× ×× ××××× ×××.
Indeed, that is Giselle.
The White-Haired Girl standing there is Giselle.
...
× ××××× ×× ××××××××× ××××××× ×××× ××××××× ××××××××, ×××× ×× ××××× ××××× ×××× ×× ××××× ××× ×××××××.
× ××××× ×× ×××× ×××× ××××× ×××× ××××.
××× ×’× ××××××× ×× ×××××, ××××’× ×? ×× ×××××’× ×××× ×× ×× ×× ×××× ××××.
× ×××× ××× ××× ×××× ×××× ×××× ×× ××× ××× ××××××, ×××× ×× ×× ××× ×× ×××××× ×× ××××××× ××××.
...
××××××××× ×× ×××× ×××× × ×××××××× ×× ××... ××× ×× ×... ×× × ××××××× ×× ××××× ×××?
We once... read a book together...
It was... by the fireplace...
××× ×××.
× ×××× ××××× ××××× ××× — × ××××× ××. ×××...
× ××××× ×××× ×× ××××× ××××× ××. × ××××× ×××× ×× ××××××× ××××××× ×× ×××× ×××× ×××× ×××××.
You did not.
Those memories are false.
Books belong in the library.
Why would they be by the fireplace?
××× ×××. ××××× ×××× ×××× ××× ××× ××.
...
× ×××× ××××××× ×× ×××.
...
× ×× ××××××××× ×××× ××××××× ××××××× ××××××× ×× ××××, ×××××××× ×× ××××××× ×× ××××.
× ××× ×××× ×××× ××××××...
Curse them.
Slaughter them.
Revile them.
Inflict eternal suffering on all their souls.
Take revenge on the fools who laughed as we agonized.
...for if they did, it would mean the White-Haired Girl’s death. No matter how much they yearned for it, they could not touch one another, so they did so within the confines of their imagination, envisioning it in as much detail as they could manage. It was sad, but sweet — a moment of pristine, untainted beauty. The two of them emanated serenity. As fitting as the word “cursed” might have been to the mansion as a whole, at the top of the observation tower, a pure bond was being shared. A fleeting moment between a young man with a cursed touch, and a kindhearted, beautiful girl.
The dream did not last long, no — for God is quite cruel. They simply wanted to be together, that was all. Their wish was hardly unreasonable — only a quiet, peaceful life together.
But misfortune was creeping ever nearer, its footsteps growing more and more pronounced...
