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i.
The first time Yachiyo woke up (that she could remember), she was 15. One pitiful, lanky prince. She was 15, too. One dashing, brilliant knight.
They’d go on long walks together, trying to come in sync with each other’s steps, on the green fields next to the river. Picking up dried branches that snapped off days ago from under a tree and acting like they were in a fight to the death.
She would pretend to lose, because she never wanted to hurt Yachiyo. And Yachiyo would act like she’s mad about that, because she wanted to see her pleading face, the one that’s like a helpless puppy. And then sometimes the knight would try to bribe her way back into the prince’s good side with some wild flowers or wild berries that she picked off somewhere. And sometimes they’d share.
She was handsome. Very much, undoubtedly so. With amber eyes that seemed to glow and a smile that could rival the dazzling sun in May, it’s no surprise that she was to be loved.
But she had always thought her love was one sided. That she couldn’t possibly deserve the princess. She is a dunce.
Yachiyo got her words in with the king, so that he’d bless their union. The princess turns her head down just enough to show flushed cheeks and leans into the knight standing by her side. She grins, almost dumbly, still unable to believe that she could hold the princess now. She is a top-of-the-line buffoon.
But because she is Yachiyo’s top-of-the-line buffoon, Yachiyo will let that slide. In return, she should let things slide for Yachiyo, too. Things that Yachiyo is sorry about. Sorry she slipped something in the knight’s tea and settled her into bed minutes later when she’s already dozed off with her head on the table. Sorry she stole the knight’s armor and her sword and shield. Sorry she rode her trusty war horse into battle, but died in such a lame fashion, anyways.
(But, know what? Yachiyo doesn’t need this forgiveness. That was exhilarating. And she managed to put out a very good amount of enemy soldiers for a pitiful, lanky prince’s first time in battle, pretending to be a knight. If she could see her, she would cry in jealousy.)
So remember that, my dense, foolish, very handsome knight. Don’t forgive me. Hate me and then live for me, too. Live and make my sister happy. Live on for so long that people start praying for you to drop dead. This is an order from your prince.
ii.
The next time she woke up, she was an old man, snowy white beard and weary wrinkled skin and all, about to die from terminal cancer. And she was a dog, with faded blue eyes, left to fend for herself on the street.
When Yachiyo first saw her in this world, she laughed so hard that the old man’s lungs almost failed. She remembered, from the other worlds, from their previous time, she remembered saying that she was like a puppy, and she remembered the girl profusely denying it. Well, what now?
Just thinking about it makes her want to laugh again.
This was probably the world where she was most lovable. She couldn’t tease, couldn’t judge. The only thing she could do was run into Yachiyo’s open arms, nudging her head into her palms, wagging her tail when she heard familiar footsteps. Like the food Yachiyo makes. Let Yachiyo pick her up and settle her onto her lap.
Desperately try to find help when Yachiyo collapsed. Stubbornly wait at the gate because there were to be no animals in the hospital. Lie down for months next to the grave, Yachiyo’s grave, the one that the universe didn’t even bother to let any wild flowers grow nearby.
Why couldn’t she be this lovable in those other worlds?
(Why couldn’t she love Yachiyo like this in those other worlds?)
iii.
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Or so they say. After the fifth or sixth time, Yachiyo stopped bothering with what the color of her eyes meant. She stopped bothering, altogether. It doesn’t work that way.
No matter the color of her eyes, Yachiyo would be hopelessly in love all the same.
Like in this world, she has brilliant golden eyes, she’s a cardiologist. And Yachiyo, Yachiyo, oh, she doesn’t know, some kind of congenital heart disease. The only noteworthy detail, really, is that she’s never going to be able to afford treatment.
To be perfectly honest, even if she had the money, she wouldn’t treat it. It’s a little sick of her, she admits it, and though it gets awfully painful at times, she doesn’t really hate this broken heart. It’s what led her here, it’s what allowed her to find her. If she got it treated now, if she’s all good now, what reason would she have to see her, to tease her, to flirt with her?
(It’s very sick of her, she admits it.)
One time Yachiyo feels the unfortunately familiar twist in her chest, and then she just doesn’t bother to open her eyes again. She rushes by and starts pressing on her chest so hard that Yachiyo fears her ribs would break. She keeps pressing, and pressing, despite the body underneath her going cold and all the nurses trying to pull her away. It was only minutes later that she would relent, would get up and stumble out of the room. She leans back and slides down on the door. She bursts into tears, like a child who just lost her favorite toy.
What a waste of time and tears. What’s there to cry for? Yachiyo would find her again.
That ugly witch cursed her. Yachiyo would remember it all. Because she would forget everything. Yachiyo would never die. Because in eternal life is where she was to rot. Because a life that never ends is a life where she watches her forget. Time and time and time again.
iv.
In most of these worlds, she doesn’t like bellflowers. The one that stands for a silent, endless love. She says a bellflower is too much like Yachiyo. Yachiyo understands that she wants her to stop. That it’s all for naught.
But she knows, they both know. Yachiyo is stubborn. And her grave feels so quiet and empty, so Yachiyo brought some bellflowers.
This time, she’s a soldier who lost her life in the second World War. And Yachiyo is simply late.
But it’s alright. Even if she didn’t exist, Yachiyo would still be in love. Endless love. The kind that calls for bellflowers.
v.
This is one of the very lucky worlds where Yachiyo gets to grow up with her.
She was Yachiyo’s best friend and Yachiyo was hers.
They pool in what little money they got from their parents for breakfast, until they save enough to buy a fantasy book from the used bookstore. Huddle together in a corner, sneakily checking out comics that are “much too serious for kids their age”. Make their way up to the top of the hill behind their town to play with little firework sticks and watch the stars. Say stupid things they don’t mean and mess around with each other right in the middle of the streets.
She would drop by Yachiyo’s place when her parents aren’t home again. She showed Yachiyo the treehouse that she’d been working on all by herself. For them. A hiding place for them. Others find out, like they always do. Someone threw the first ugly words, and then someone threw the first punch. They’re all children and they’re all terrible at fighting.
And in the end nobody won, nobody lost. All that’s left is Yachiyo and her, at their hiding place, faces flushed and palms sore, every breath straining against their ribs. But they’re smiling, and they’re laughing, telling themselves little lies. Like they’re so grown up now that they’ve gotten into a fight together. Like they can do anything now that they’ve defended their hiding place from the others.
Like that’s all there is and ever will be to this world.
vi.
In these worlds, the ones where Yachiyo is so lucky to have grown up with her, there are many different ways things could and would play out. In some, she would get married, and Yachiyo would be her maid of honor. In some, she leaves for the big city and Yachiyo stays rotting away in their small town. In some, they’re trainees for some kind of entertainment agency, and then debuted in the same idol group. In some, they’d haunt and hover over each other, sticking together until they become two old ladies with three cats and a dog between them.
In some, Yachiyo is stupid, impulsive, and she acts out her ideas. Her bad ideas. Like getting in the way of her and her girlfriend. Like dating someone only because they resemble her. Like kissing her.
And because she’s Yachiyo’s top-of-the-line buffoon, of course, all she’d ever do is make that dumbstruck face like a clueless dog again, and then get flustered, and then get upset, and then forgives Yachiyo, and then kisses Yachiyo, and then acts out her ideas, bad ideas, even worse than Yachiyo’s ideas.
You’re such a dunce. You just let me use you, take advantage of you. You just let me drag you through the mud without so much as a complaint. You just let people call you names, let them call you sick, call you ugly things, and you just try to protect me. How could you be so kind and so naive?
How could you push me out of the way to take all of it like that? How could you protect a damned, selfish, impulsive fool like me? How? Why? I never asked. Why do you keep doing it?
It’s all well and good for you. Death is the end, for you. Death means you forget. Only I live on. Only I remain with my broken memories. Only I decay in my endless life.
What now? What do I do now? You left. You’ve left me. You’ve left my memories. What do I do now?
vii.
It’s not like Yachiyo loves her every single time.
There’s quite a great deal of time that Yachiyo spent hating her. Time that Yachiyo spent to become a damned, selfish, impulsive, cruel person.
She stole her boyfriend. Flirted with her wife. Killed the person she loved. Play around with other people behind her back.
She wanted to hurt her. Crack her chest open and squeeze her heart until it becomes smoldering ashes. Carve fresh scars into wounds that haven’t even had the time to heal yet.
She wanted her to be in pain. Wanted her to feel what she feels. That agony when her heart is torn from her chest. That desolation of having to go on living even when she’d died. Because that’s the only way for Yachiyo to keep herself from losing it all. It’s the only way that she can avoid the solitude staring back at her from the other side of the sun.
But she always forgives Yachiyo. Somehow she always forgives. Always held her embrace wide open.
It’s almost like she understands what Yachiyo is going through. Almost like she knows the loneliness within. The hollow of Yachiyo’s rotting eternity.
And she wants to make up for all of it. She wants to make up for the worlds where she’d forgotten her. Left her. Killed her. The worlds where she didn’t love her. Didn’t protect her. Didn’t come to her side. It’s almost like she wants to make up for all of it. Tens and hundreds and thousands of worlds and even more.
Almost.
But it helps Yachiyo breathe a little easier. Makes every time she wakes up a little more pleasant. Makes her wonder sometimes. Is their happy ending there yet? Is happily ever after a long way away? When will this sick joke end? When will she return to Yachiyo’s side?
viii.
There are some worlds where Yachiyo couldn’t find her.
And Yachiyo should have felt relief. Because that meant she wouldn’t have to witness her forget all over again.
Wouldn’t have to use that smile that she’d practiced so much it almost feels like a reflex when she hears the word “Hello” so lightly, so casually, so devoid of emotions. Like they’re strangers. Like they’re nothing. Like Yachiyo was nothing.
(She was. Time and time and time again she was.)
But she doesn’t feel relief. She just feels like crying. She only ever feels like it. She never cries. She wouldn’t ever cry for her.
I’ve already given you my heart. Why would I allow you to take my tears?
ix.
Actually, in one of the countless worlds Yachiyo’s walked by, there was one where she found her first.
Yachiyo remembers it clearly. It was in Paris. She’s a struggling artist selling her works on the side of the street. She was a third year architecture student.
She looked at the pictures at Yachiyo’s side and said she felt like she’d seen these scenes somewhere before. Yachiyo smiles. She’d done this before, but the strings tugging at her heart don’t hurt any less.
And then she crossed the street in a hurry, probably to get back to whatever she was doing, and Yachiyo sat there, watching the sun go down. Hoping that she’d pass by again in the evening time.
Suddenly Yachiyo heard her voice. She’s yelling, screaming, I know you!
I don’t know how, but I know you!
I remember you!
Yachiyo doesn’t believe her ears.
In a split second, she’s gone. And never to come back. If the pavement and the streets could speak, they’d tell Yachiyo that. Instead the universe just lets her hollowed out heart twist and tear. Time and time and time again.
x.
Yachiyo hates those kinds of worlds. The ones where she couldn’t find her. The ones where they missed each other. The ones where they barely, never met.
She’d rather she kill her like the first time.
She used to be a dragon. The kind that’s all flaming, majestic. The monster kind that made people tremble at it’s sight. And she was a faraway land’s prince.
The witch made Yachiyo. The witch made Yachiyo guard the tower. The witch made Yachiyo guard the tower with the princess.
And she was the prince who was to rescue the princess from her captive, from her curse.
They should have killed each other from their very first meeting. But she wasn’t very prince-like, then. More a starving traveler who could barely carry herself on her own two legs. And Yachiyo wasn’t much of a majestic flaming dragon. More a little lizard with pink scales and a pair of wings.
The plan was that Yachiyo would show her true form at night and then burn the prince into crisp. That’d make a fine meal. But she ran off into the nearby woods and tossed at Yachiyo some apples that only God would know how or where she picked them. So they’re temporarily on hold.
The second day, she caught some fish from the river, roasted one over open flame and spend a stupid amount of time meticulously picking out all the bones before tossing it at Yachiyo again. So they’re still temporarily on hold.
The third day, it rained like hell. She takes out a tent made from some foreign fabric and tells Yachiyo to get in. Obviously, that didn’t fly. But Yachiyo did let her sleep under her wings. They’re still on hold.
The days after that and after and after that, it rained. And then when she offered for Yachiyo to get in the tent again (like some kind of top-of-the-line buffoon), Yachiyo decided that enough was enough. She couldn’t believe that she’s being annoyed into using her human form for the first time. But maybe it was worth the prince’s jaw dropping to the ground for a solid five minutes.
Are you… a boy or a girl?, the prince asked.
Yachiyo bared her claws and scratched through the armor plates on her arm. What in the world do you think I look like?
She hurriedly tried to apologize, No, no, I meant no offense. I’ve just never seen anyone like you…
Weirdo. Of course you haven’t. I’m a dragon. Not like you common humans.
That night was the first time she didn’t fall asleep by Yachiyo’s side. And that made way for the following nights, refusing to sleep under the dragon’s wings again. Like she’s afraid of intruding or something. Yachiyo, annoyed, scratched at the plates on her shoulder. She, provoked, proceeds to scratch back at Yachiyo’s neck. Moments later, seemingly realizing that she’d crossed a line, the prince looked down abashedly, saying that she’d take responsibility. That once her quest was over, she’d take Yachiyo back to her kingdom. Yachiyo eyed her scrappy tent and nodded quietly.
But, well. The prince was to slay the dragon and rescue the princess from the tower.
Surprisingly, Yachiyo didn’t feel upset, deceived, or betrayed or anything. She’d only feared that her fire would scorch her. Or that her claws would hurt her. She’s such a dunce. How could that worn out sword pierce through a dragon’s scales?
But Yachiyo knew that if she didn’t kill the prince, the witch would never leave it alone. So she let that worn out sword sink into her neck. Let herself be killed. Let the prince rescue the princess. Let there be happily ever after. Is that not how all fairy tales end?
On the other half of this fairy tale, the witch was angry. Furious. Fuming. She cracked Yachiyo’s chest open and tore out her heart. Carved a curse into the barely pulsing veins.
(Yachiyo watched as her blood pool and drown all the grass at her feet. She told herself that it’s okay. All fairy tales start with a curse. So did theirs. And they will be alright.)
xi.
Maybe a life without death had dulled her mind. Immortality made her foolish. And indestructible life had made her vulnerable.
Because, even though she knew surely that every time she woke up, she’d find her again, she couldn’t keep herself from wondering. From worrying.
Is this the last time?
Is that really her?
Could she have found the one for her? Could she have already gotten her happily ever after?
What if she’s perfectly happy?
Without me?
Isn’t it foolish? Yachiyo wants this curse to end, more than anything else in the world.
But even more than that, she’s afraid. That once it’s all over, she wouldn’t be able to find her anymore.
xii.
Yachiyo has said this before, and she’ll keep saying it. Time and time and time again.
She’s a dunce. Top-of-the-line buffoon.
She’s too nice, too kind-hearted, too easy to take advantage of. She’s easy to fluster, easy to move to tears, easy to fool. She likes to tease, to mock Yachiyo, but she also loves to care for, to protect her.
She’s never happy about Yachiyo’s stupid, impulsive actions, but she’d still let herself be get dragged along. She’d never let Yachiyo do anything reckless on her own.
She would always forgive, regardless of whether Yachiyo deserved it or not.
And because she’s like that, because she has that kind of brilliance within her, the kind Yachiyo couldn’t ever match even if she set her entire soul ablight; because she’s like that, it’s only fair that Yachiyo was the one to bear the curse.
It’s only fair that Yachiyo is the one left to toil in fragments of their memories. To rot in eternity’s desolation.
It’s only fair if Yachiyo has to walk through ten, twenty, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand worlds. To find one where she would return to her side.
Maybe it wasn’t a curse at all.
Maybe it was the promise of the world.
The promise of the world to Yachiyo. The promise that let Yachiyo and her come together in ten, twenty, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand different worlds.
Out there somewhere, in this very same spot, Yachiyo knows there’s a girl who wouldn’t break her again. In that world, she had returned. In that world, they are alright.
It’s the half of this fairy tale that’s promised to become whole.