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Welcome to Siegfeld Institute of Music.
You are Yumeoji Fumi, and you are transferring in at your sister’s request.
It’s been a long time coming. Due to circumstances you can’t be bothered to remember and are honestly unimportant in the larger scale of things, you hadn’t applied for Siegfeld as soon as you could. Shiori did, though, and constantly nagged you in an effort to get you to join her.
An endearing nagging. You love your sister.
Walking down the halls to the cafeteria, you feel people’s stares on you. You’ve made a bit of a name of yourself as the transfer student, the new girl who dared challenge Akira for the throne, the popular candidate for Frau Platin. She’s an interesting girl, but she always refuses to meet your eye. Probably doesn’t think you’re worthy.
You’ll show her. You’re looking forward to challenging her more.
You sit with Shiori and her friends the first day during lunch. They’re kind, if not odd and awkward. Mei Fan is a bit skittish but friendly. Yachiyo is more relaxed, though she’s always watching Fumi. A stark contrast to the candidate for Frau Platin, but you suppose it’s not often that a new student transfers in.
“So, Fumi-san, how are you finding Siegfeld?” Mei Fan asks, opening up her lunchbox. You pass Shiori her bento, matching your own. Shiori’s been asking for your cooking more often, and who are you to deny your sister of it?
“It’s as I expected. It certainly lives up to its name as such a draconian school, but hearing stories about Siegfeld from Shiori has helped me be comfortable here.” You respond. Shiori’s only talked your ear off about Siegfeld and thought she was really happy here, it’s clear that she’d much rather have you in Siegfeld with her. “I think I’m going to like this school.”
“It’s certainly not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure. Even the strongest can and have cracked under the pressure.” Yachiyo comments, glaring at the sweet and sour pork in Mei Fan’s lunch before unpacking her own lunch, a simple fruit sandwich.
“You offend me.” You slather her chicken katsu in ponzu. Mei Fan and Yachiyo look at you incredulously. You almost laugh. “I’m not one to crack under pressure.”
“Onee-chan is really resilient.” Shiori nods, not batting an eye at your food habits. “She has to be to use ponzu in everything she eats.”
“Hey!” You nudge Shiori playfully. “I don’t put it in everything I eat.”
Shiori gives you a look. You sheepishly take a bite from your lunch. Maybe you did go overboard with ponzu sometimes.
Sometimes.
“Anyways…” You pause, swallowing your food. “Shiori and I have loved Elysion and have always wanted to perform it. Finally getting that chance has been really exciting.”
“The chance for it,” Yachiyo hums thoughtfully in between bites. “Well, there are two free spots.”
“Frau Platin and Frau Diamant.” You nod. You knew the roles well. The lead and the rival, most Siegfeld students described them as, were supposedly only a hair’s width apart in skill. “I heard that was a new addition. What was that all about?”
“It’s a whole complicated mess.” Yachiyo waves it off. “In short, students were afraid that Frau Platin had a lot of power as a solo position, so they added a sixth Edel role this year.”
Convenient. You’ve seen Akira and what she could do. You were a bit scared you wouldn’t be Frau Platin. Not that you’d ever voice that to Shiori.
“To hear that Siegfeld was in such a concerning and deplorable state almost made me not apply here, but I listened to my gut and applied anyway!” Mei Fan grinned. Yachiyo snickered. Shiori didn’t look too amused, though there was a small smile on her face too. You awkwardly rub your neck. You don’t get it.
The bell rings. Lunch is over. Yachiyo snakes up next to you without you noticing. “Don’t suppose you need a guide to help you around?”
You open your mouth to speak, before Shiori cuts her off, brows furrowed. “That’s alright, Yachiyo-senpai. I’ll help Onee-chan around.”
Yachiyo sighs, shrugging. “It was worth a try.”
You blink. You look to Mei Fan, who seems jittery. You two lock eyes and she freezes, looking away, before looking back with a strained smile, as if to try and say everything’s fine, really!
In the end, they go as a group. Shiori, Yachiyo, and Mei Fan give each other strange looks. You can’t help shake the feeling you’re being watched.
Akira and Michiru are strange, you decide. They’re childhood friends, or so you hear, but from the way they act, one wouldn’t expect it. Akira is cold and imposing and distant to you despite her being fairly amicable to Shiori, Yachiyo, and Mei Fan.
Michiru just refuses to leave you alone.
“Trying out for an Edel position?” Michiru’s at your side before you realize it, and at this point, you don’t even question it. Class today is practicing a famously difficult dance, one which only you and Michiru have cleared. The others in your class stumble over your own feet. It angers you. What have they been doing this entire time for you, a newcomer, to beat them out? Have they ever actually practiced? You wash down your frustrations with some water, wiping what little sweat was on your brow with the towel around your shoulders.
“Of course. Who wouldn’t?” Being an Edel is everything in Siegfeld. No one would miss out on the opportunity, and especially not you, who’s worked for this since you were a child. “Though, I’m a bit confused on how exactly you’re missing two Edels.”
“It’s a long story.” Michiru waved you off, grabbing her own water bottle. “But none of us current Edels were fit for the position right now, nor do we want them.”
It made sense, you supposed. Mei Fan, you could see as being unfit. She’s been through trials and tribulations, you can see, but there’s a sort of hopeful naivety to her that’s not ready for the responsibility yet. Yachiyo, on the other hand, doesn’t seem like the type to even want the responsibility, despite her intimidating, overwhelming talent. She isn’t fit for the role either. The thought of which of the two will succeed crosses your mind for a split second, before you continue your train of thought.
Michiru hides. It’s something you can’t even begin to understand. “Not even you?”
Especially not me, you imagine the answer in your head, and it almost seems like that’s the answer Michiru will respond with. Instead, Michiru shakes her head.
“Nope. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes type of person,” she admits.
“Then why apply to Siegfeld? Somewhere like Seiran may be more your speed if you prefer behind the scenes work.”
Michiru hums, taking a sip of water to think of a response. “It’s not that I necessarily prefer backstage work more, just that I’m more suited to the role, y’know? It’s satisfying doing all that, sure, but the stage is…” she trails off. You nod. There’s not much else that compares to performing. The bright lights on top of you, the crowd dazed, your fellow performers bringing you to tears or to laughter… you couldn’t imagine a life without it.
“The stage is something else,” you finish for her, and she gives a grin.
“Exactly.”
“Fumi?” Your name from her lips sounds weird. Like a muscle that hasn’t been exercised in months. It fits better than Yumeoji-san would, so you don’t mind too much. You give a small, questioning hum in response. “Did you want to try more difficult choreography?”
You nod. “Want me to lead, or do you want to give it a shot?”
Michiru blinks, almost as if she hadn’t expected you to ask. “Do you want to lead?”
You shrug. You don’t mean to meddle, but you notice Michiru holds herself back— no, she doesn’t hold herself back, she simply… stifles it enough not to outshine Akira. Specifically Akira. You want to see what Michiru can do. “It’s just practice. Besides, seeing things from a different perspective helps, doesn’t it?”
Michiru purses her lips and leaves it at that, but you have a feeling there’s more. More that she isn’t saying. More that she isn’t willing to admit. Part of you wants to pry. Common courtesy and politeness hold you back.
You think you’ll be good friends with Michiru.
You’re in the practice rooms, the dance of Elysion running through your veins.
You’re alone, for once. Shiori hovers over you in excitement, Mei Fan and Yachiyo in tow. Michiru is… Michiru. As much as you appreciate their company, you like your alone time.
There’s something off you can’t place. You stare at the mirrors in the practice room, seeing Akira standing in the doorway. You turn. She gives a small nod.
“Lean into the turn more. The whole point of the dance is to exaggerate the tragedy. You have to look like you’re falling into despair.” That’s the only thing Akira gives before she leaves.
You furrow your eyes and follow Akira’s instructions. You find that it works better than what you did before.
You run after her. She stops in her tracks.
“Dance with me,” you demand. Akira blinks owlishly.
“What.”
“Dance with me,” you repeat, and before she can even open her mouth, you drag her back into the practice room. Loosely, though. You give her the option to break away if she truly is busy, but she doesn’t fight you, and so you take that as a confirmation.
“Frau Platin, Yumeoji Fumi. Ready to begin,” you say into the near-empty room. It feels a bit brighter now that you’re not alone.
“Frau Platin, Yukishiro Akira. Ready to begin,” Akira echoes behind you. You turn around and give her a smirk.
“Presumptuous.”
“You said it first.”
The auditions come and go in a flash. The only thing you remember is Michiru, Yachiyo, Mei Fan, and Shiori staring intently as you perform. It’s not long until—
“Welcome back, everyone. Summer’s over, and fall has just begun. Most would be enjoying the crisp autumn air, the falling leaves, and the beautiful nights that’ll come soon, but for us Siegfeld students, autumn marks something else…”
You take a deep breath. “The first preparations for Siegfeld’s seminal play, Elysion.”
“Fumi-senpai’s speech was super invigorating,” Mei Fan grins, entering the student council room and bouncing over to the seat marked for Frau Rubin. “I feel like I could perform Elysion right now!”
Yachiyo immediately takes to her seat across from Mei Fan, Frau Perle’s seat, giving a cat-like stretch. “Agreed~ though, I don’t think any of us was as energized as Shiori.”
Michiru giggles, scooting the chair for Jade inwards to the table. She smiles wide, a bit too wide for you to think it’s fully genuine. “Shiori was practically beaming after Fumi’s opening speech!”
Shiori settles to your right, next to Yachiyo, pink in the face. “I didn’t mean to be. I’ve just been really excited since onee-chan became Frau Platin…”
“We’ve noticed.” Yachiyo snorted.
You grin at Shiori. You had welcomed the students back and introduced yourself as Frau Platin, much to the surprise of the student body. Shiori’s announcements following your introduction were said with a praise-filled tone that made your heart warm.
Frau Saphir and Frau Platin, together as sisters. One step closer to Elysion.
“I’m excited to see the Elysion we will all build.” Akira sits across from you, standing out like a brilliant Diamond. She’s not as upset at losing the position of Frau Platin as you expected. In fact, she has this stupid grin on her face that near matches yours.
You make eye contact. She clears her throat, settling down and adopting a more calm demeanor, but it’s clear you’ve fired her up too.
You take satisfaction in that. Akira is always so cold towards you. It’s nice to see that parts of it are for show.
“Right, the first order of business…”
The first incident that happens is when you and Mei Fan are alone together.
Mei Fan is considerably less jittery when talks alone to you, without Shiori or Yachiyo. In fact, as you two go over your lines on a slow afternoon in the dorms while the others are out, her words flow freely.
“‘Are you not afraid of my flames? Their hot embrace will turn you to ashes.’" Mei Fan recites.
“‘The stars in the sky burn brighter than your flames ever could.’” You respond coldly. The Fire goddess’ role is to teach the Celestial goddess passion, though something about Mei Fan’s performance is off.
“‘Is that a challenge?!’”
“Mei Fan, stop.”
She yields, resembling a little like a kicked puppy. “I could’ve done better.”
“I’m glad you recognize that.” You give a small smile. Mei Fan is nothing but passionate. The matter is just drawing it out of her. “What did you do wrong?”
“My delivery was too…” Mei Fan snaps her fingers. It’s a habit repeated every time she forgets a word in Japanese. You sometimes find yourself doing the same thing when you forget a word. “It’s on the tip of my tongue. Stilted? I usually show my emotions outwardly, but I feel like it isn’t enough for the Fire Goddess, y’know?”
You nod. You have a similar problem. The Celestial Goddess is cold and indomitable, traits that in normal circumstances, you could easily perform. It doesn’t feel like enough. There’s a piece of the puzzle missing.
It’s a feeling that’s persisted for a while now.
“Hm… passion…” Mei Fan slaps her cheeks. You laugh a little at the display. “Augh.”
“Think of something, anything that gets you angry.” You suggest. “Take it, and hold onto that feeling, condense it.” You flip through the script, finding a line that Mei Fan has been having trouble with. “Try this.”
Mei Fan nodded, taking a deep breath in. Her face scrunches up. Looking closer, you can see that her eyes get watery. “‘What do you know about me!? Mind your own business! Stay away from me!’”
You gape. “Wow.”
“Was that too much?” Mei Fan asks sheepishly, blinking away the moistness in her eyes.
“That was powerful.” You shake her head. “Curious what kind of situation elicited that reaction from you.”
“Well,” Mei Fan starts, turning as jittery as she usually is around Fumi. “I, um. Was angry at someone for a while. I considered her a good friend, but she just… left without warning.” Mei Fan let out a nervous laugh. “Ironically enough, I tried to channel her energy in that performance. She was an angry kind of person.”
“Sounds like she was hurting," you comment.
Mei Fan bows her head. “She was, I think. She was always kind of closed off about that, but I wished she’d said something…” Mei Fan trails off.
“It’s hard to be honest, sometimes.” You give an empathetic smile. “You’re an honest girl, Mei Fan. Most people are too scared to be like you.”
“It’s hard to imagine her as scared.” Mei Fan admitted. “She was always so… passionate and uncompromising, aiming for the lead. It frustrated me for the longest time how she could just give up so easily after losing it! Someone so passionate like her just giving up? It didn’t make sense!”
“Does it frustrate you now?”
“A little. Not as much as it used to, but I was right. Some part of her core refused to give up. I know she’s performing on stage still, and if that’s so, then we’ll cross paths. There’s a lot of things I want to say to her!” Mei Fan beams once more, before jerking her head back up to meet Fumi’s eyes frantically. “Ah, we’re supposed to be practicing!! I’ve already said too much. Let’s go through the script one more time, Fumi-san!”
You shake your head. Mei Fan’s passion certainly is infectious. “Alright, from the top.”
“I didn’t know you were good at fight scenes.”
Akira once again appears in the doorway to the practice room, watching you. You’ve long since accepted it as something that just happens. You give a small shrug, regarding the shinai in your hands. The motions feel familiar to you.
You’re surprised Siegfeld even has this. A few weeks of wandering each corridor and going through each door to search for specific people have some benefits other than the organization of Elysion.
You shrug. “I guess I’m a natural at it. Though considering Siegfeld barely focuses on fight scenes, it’s not going to be put to use much often.”
“I see.”
You feel something akin to self-consciousness as Akira stares at your movements. “Are you just going to watch me?”
“I wish to learn.”
You stop, making your way to the cabinet with all of the equipment in it. You grab a second shinai, throwing it to Akira. She catches it easily. “You’re not going to learn anything by just watching.”
Akira stares at the shinai now in her hand hopelessly. You hold up your shinai, showing your grip, and she mimics it.
“It’s light.”
“It’s made of bamboo.”
“Hm.”
You roll your eyes. Yukishiro Akira is a mystery, but slowly, you’re piecing together the pieces. You teach her step by step what to do, and in a matter of minutes, she’s already gotten the basics down. There’s a grin on her face, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“‘You are nothing but a falsity.'” Akira recites, pushing her shinai against yours.
An improvised fight.
“‘Ha, you should look at yourself in a mirror!’” You snarl, shoving Akira off of you. Your entire body is tingling with energy, hair on end. “‘I’m not leaving. I refuse to go back.’”
“‘You must return to the Celestial World.’” Akira’s voice sounds ethereal and otherworldly. A being from the cosmos where the Celestial Goddess descended down from. “‘You must go back. Look and see the pain you cause them.’”
Fumi takes a deep breath, looking back at—
Ruthless, dignified, a strange coldness.
Multiple bright lights of a stage not yours.
Kind, hallowed, blighted smile.
—the mirror of the practice room, your reflection blinking in confusion as Akira eases, shaking her character off her like a coat.
“Your performance is lacking, Yumeoji Fumi.” Akira states. You frown.
“I know.” You try not to grit your teeth. Shiori’s always hated it, told you it would hurt your teeth. It’s so like Shiori to worry about you while she’s the one on the hospital bed. You unclench your jaw. “I’m working on it.”
“Talk to me.” Akira takes a seat on the wooden floor. This is odd, even for Akira.
“This is odd, even for you,” you voice, but sit nevertheless. “but fine. I’m having issues with Shiori.” Akira looks at you curiously. “She’s always dragging me away for some business or other. She’s not being subtle about it, but it’s clear she doesn’t want me to be too close to you and the other Edels.”
“She hasn’t been, no.” Akira agrees, before pausing. “I can’t say she doesn’t have good reason to.”
“What? What do you mean by that?” You ask. There’s something more, something that resides in the Edels eyes, and only their eyes.
“I can’t say.” Akira stops. “Can’t and won’t, to clarify. Even if I could, I dare not break Shiori’s trust in me.”
“A secret involving me.” You suspected as much. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. “Thanks for at least being as honest as you can with me.”
“I’ve found that pushing others away tends to result in… a certain kind of ending,” Akira says, regarding you. “A good ending, from a certain perspective, but one that includes a painful journey that I hope we can avoid.”
You’re… not sure how to react to that. You want to push and pry but instead what comes out of your mouth is— “You say the weirdest things.”
“Perhaps the role of Franz Platin is getting to me,” Akira chuckles, and the urge to correct her dies in the pit of your stomach. You may fit the role of an arrogant king, but you feel as if Akira has long since reached Valhalla, watching your inevitable fall.
Yachiyo and Michiru love to talk in riddles, you find out very quickly. With Mei Fan having a tendency to ramble about anything, Akira attempting to be as transparent as she’s allowed to be, and Shiori attempting not to worry Fumi (which has failed horrendously; the edels are anything but subtle and Shiori’s always been so easy to read for others, let alone yourself, her older sister for Christ’s sake), interacting with one of the two always ends up giving you more questions than answers.
You’re filing some paperwork with Michiru while Yachiyo enters the student council room, waving a small letter. “Guess what came in the mail today!”
“A letter?” Michiru offers cheerfully, and you don’t even attempt at hiding your smile.
Yachiyo gives a sly smile as she hands off the letter to you. “I think you’ll find it’s no ordinary letter. It’s from the National Student Drama Performance Festival committee.”
“Oh, news on the Performance Festival?” Michiru perks up, interested. You give a small shake of your head as you set aside the paperwork that you’ve accepted is probably going to be put on hold until you open the letter, and probably won’t get done even after.
You skim the contents of the letter. “Looks like all of the Edels qualified.”
“Ooh, how exciting!” Michiru’s eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t quite decipher. You try to meet her eyes, hoping to find the underlying message you know for a fact is there, but she moves behind you, one hand on your shoulder and one hand pointing at the letter. “Yukishiro Akira, Ootori Michiru, Liu Mei Fan, Tsuruhime Yachiyo, Yumeoji Shiori and Yumeoji Fumi. Looks like we have the second most number of qualifications.”
“We are all Edels, after all. That kind of thing is expected.” Yachiyo gives an odd look in your direction, and you realize belatedly that she’s most likely looking at Michiru. “Though, who has more qualifications than we do?”
You look through the rest of the list. Following your names are the names of nine Seisho girls, and five from Frontier. “Looks like it’s Seisho, with nine people going as opposed to our six.” You look up at Michiru. “We’re really the only three schools who made it?”
“Seiran didn’t apply this year. Seems like they got a new headmistress, and she didn’t seem to have focused on the Performance Festival’s stage.” Michiru points further down the page, past the performers. “Looks like a few students of theirs are shadowing as our stage crew, though.”
“From what I’ve seen, it’s only Seisho and Siegfeld who’ve consistently gotten into the Performance Festival,” Yachiyo says. “Frontier has been cropping up in recent years with stars like Kocho-san, and maybe one or two students from other schools.”
“I feel like this is such a small cast, though.” Fumi furrows her brow, looking up at Michiru. “Was last year’s performance festival this small?”
“It was a bit difficult to match names like Tendo Maya, Saijou Claudine, and Shizuha Kocho.” She shrugs. “I was hoping Rinmeikan would make it this year, but it seems like their performance department shut down, and never even got to apply this year.”
“Rinmeikan?” You echo. You’re sure this is the first time you’ve heard of the school, but it feels oddly familiar.
“It’s this old, traditional school that used to have a huge presence in the Performance Festival back in the day,” Yachiyo exposits. “They’ve been getting fewer applicants to their Performance Department each year, though, so their presence just… faded. It’s kind of sad.”
“They’re a very determined bunch.” Michiru nods. “Very skilled too, if they had someone to help refine it. Their teachers… aren’t exactly qualified to help.”
“Unfortunate.” You feel a pang in your chest, quickly flipping through the rest of the letter to avoid dwelling on it. “I hope things look up for them.”
You can feel Michiru and Yachiyo’s stares on you. “What?”
“Nothing.” Yachiyo smiles, amused. “Bleeding heart, our Frau Platin.”
“Don’t talk as if you know me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You tuck the letter back in the envelope, placing it down on the table. “Anyways, get the rest of the Edels. This calls for a celebration.”
The days start to blur together, like a movie cut skipping unimportant details. You remember it clearly in your memory, but you don’t remember experiencing the days themselves. Disorienting, but you’ve been busy. This moment now, in your room alone reading the script to Elysion, is the first time in a while you’ve felt like you’re living through your life.
Being Frau Platin is more exhausting than you imagined. Not unfulfilling, you can say with confidence it’s been the most enjoyable few months of your life, but you get why most choose to hold the crown for only a year. You’re glad Shiori became Frau Saphir the same year you were Frau Platin; you’d rather not do a second year as Frau Platin.
There’s a knock on your door. You furrow your brow, concerned. It’s late at night, who could it possibly be?
“Come in,” you say, and your worry returns tenfold when you see your sister lingering in the threshold.
“Hi, onee-chan…” Shiori mumbles, a blanket around her small frame and wiping tears from her eyes— you stand up worriedly, immediately wrapping her up in a hug— as she buries her face in your shoulder. She takes a moment to compose herself before pulling away. “I had. Um, I had a bad dream. Can I— when we were younger…?”
“Of course,” is your automatic response, letting your bed. You hadn’t shared a bed with your sister in years; you were always told off when you tried to do so in the hospital, and by the time Shiori was released, both of you had gotten comfortable with the separation, sad as it was. “Tell me about it.”
“I… it’s stupid,” Shiori mumbles, and you furrow her brow. Shiori’s not one to talk about her problems in that kind of tone. You only worry more.
“Tell me,” you say, softer, gentler, reflecting the same tone you used during late-night talks before a big surgery and after when she was recovering.
“I had a dream you forgot about me.” Shiori clings to you tighter. “That you forgot our promise.”
You chuckle softly. The very notion is ridiculous to you. Shiori only squeezes tighter at your reaction, and you rub her shoulder in apology. She should know how impossible the idea is.
“I promise you that I will never forget our promise.” You begin to stroke Shiori’s hair. “I promise that whatever happens, whether we have an argument or a falling out or anything of the sort, I will never forget our promise. I will never forget being your sister.”
It only makes her sob more.
For once, you feel lost as you struggle to comfort your sister.
You wake up, and your sister's gone.
Vividly remembering putting her to sleep the night before, drying her tears giving her your bed (you tried to set up a futon, but she clung to you, and you hadn’t had the heart to pry yourself away from her, so you held her the same way you did when you were little), you jump up out of your bed. She's fine, you know this now, know this logically, but the memory of the night before a particularly risky, but necessary procedure, where Shiori had seemed much the same, comes to the forefront of your mind, and it doesn't leave. It never had.
You near sprint out of your room and to the living room, then the hallway, searching, frantically searching—
Shiori pops her head out of the kitchen. "Oh, good morning, onee-chan!"
You breathe a sigh of relief. The smell of soup wafts through the air; you recognize it as your signature ponzu soup. One of your favorite dishes to make, and one of Shiori’s favorite to eat. She always teased you for the ungodly amount of ponzu, but you think the taste reminded Fumi of home, outside of the hospital, where she could eat it in a bowl instead of out of a packed container that had to be approved by the hospital staff.
"Shiori? Why are you cooking at..." You look up at the time, before gaping. "Six in the morning?!"
"I just wanted to thank you for yesterday," Shiori mumbles, embarrassed.
Embarrassed? Shiori? She's never shied away from showing how much she cares about you, and while your own affection is more restrained, you're sure it's not hard to figure out how much you care for your sister.
"You don't have to." You smile, because there's nothing else you can do. “Let me help.”
“Let me do this on my own!” You and Shiori both pause. Shiori coughs. “Please?”
You crumble, because of course you do. She’s your Achilles heel; you’re hard-pressed to deny her anything. You sigh. “If you insist. I’ll go properly get ready. Call me if you need anything, alright?”
“I will.” Shiori beams, although strained and small. “See you in a bit.”
You feel helpless, like you did so long ago, sitting in a white, sterile hallway while your parents sat beside you, talking in hushed whispers. Shiori felt more in your reach then than she does now.
What can you do to bridge the gap between yourself and your sister?
You find out soon that you can’t. Or at least, nothing you do helps.
In fact, it only seems to make it worse.
Your behavior has been strange, you know this by the way everyone (Michiru in particular, because of course she does) scrutinizes you. You being to act like the complete antithesis of your being— or perhaps, you’ve blurred the line between the two halves of yourself; the selfish stage girl, the impervious, uncompromising Frau Platin that burned a path only a few could follow even fewer that could walk beside you as you did so, and the sister, the guiding hand and soothing voice that makes you fall to your knees to help tie shoes, to give a hug, to kiss bandaids, the side that, in the end, has always won out.
What a strange contradiction of a stage girl you are.
In any case, your worry (despite it being well hidden to anyone who isn’t Ootori Michiru and Tsuruhime Yachiyo, although for some reason Mei Fan and Akira have picked up on it as well), bleeds into your acting. Each fumbled line and misstep almost feels familiar, an intense deja-vu that follows you everywhere you go.
A terrible
terrible
deja-vu.
“Have you seen Yumeoji-san lately?” A hushed whisper you weren’t meant to hear. You stand around the corner, frozen.
“Everyone has, I think. It’s a little disappointing to see her like this, honesty.”
“I’ve heard she’s been fussing over her sister lately. Think they got into an argument?”
“Doubt it, they’re joined at the hip.”
“Maybe that’s why they argued. With how Yumeoji-san hovers over Shiori-san, I’m surprised Shiori-san hasn’t done anything sooner.
After all,
isn’t she annoyed that her talent is being stifled because her sister is Frau Platin?”
Everything blurs again.
You know logically that the other Edels have tried to talk to you, get you to open up, but—
(Fumi, can you do me a favor? Be strong for Shiori. You know she’s such a worrywart, takes after her mother, and you know she’s going to worry about you before herself.)
—you can’t. You’ve never shown that kind of side to Shiori, much less the other Edels (they can see it, and you hate that they can see it; but as much as you care about other people’s opinions, none of them mattered as much as Shiori’s.) You hated showing that side, actually. Any side that wasn’t the cool, reliable, strong older sister was unacceptable. One time you had, when you’d told her how exhausting the practices have been, she sat up worried, sat up too fast and doctors flooding in and pushing you out and they’ll tell you after it was just a coincidence, but you know it wasn’t—
You couldn’t fall now, not when you’re just about to fulfill that promise with her. Not when you haven’t even performed Elysion yet.
You
are
so
close,
Franz.
And yet…
Once you come into clarity, a gut feeling comes in before the memory does, followed by the rest of your senses. The costume of the Celestial Goddess clings to you, sweat from the spotlight gathering on your forehead, and your throat is hoarse from singing. The others laugh breathlessly, not making a sound just in case the microphones aren’t off. Everything’s bright and warm.
The curtains close. Shiori near collapses and you worry, nearly rushing to her side, but she stays on the stage floor for a moment, breathless and smiling and happy and fulfilled. The lights dim enough to let the actors walk into the wings without tripping, the dark red curtains hiding the blood, sweat, and tears you shed as you performed. Everything aches, but it’s a satisfying sort of ache.
That’s what you wished you could say.
She doesn’t notice it, but you do. She’s on position zero. She gives you a blinding smile brighter than anything you’ve seen, and suddenly that conversation you’d overheard rings in your head. It infects your mind, turning what should be a celebration of a fulfilled promise into something bitter and dark.
Shiori… would never be able to grow with her around. Shiori would never reach her true potential while you’re around. Shiori’s been content to stay in your shadow because you were her sister. Shiori could outshine you if she wanted to. Shiori would outshine you if you gave her the chance. Shiori would outshine you. Shiori would—
Doubt comes in.
The lights are killed.
The others file backstage.
You remember
and you make your choice.
At the end of Elysion’s “Chapter of the Kings”, Franz Platin remembers he had been slain once he’s reached the icy fields of Valhalla.
(She gets approached soon after. Akira and Michiru. You ask if they all know, and Akira and Michiru share a look that you’ve come to known as “we don’t want to say, but…” and you give naught else but a sigh.
They knew the whole damn time. Yachiyo and Michiru’s strange conversations, Mei Fan’s hesitant, yet honest nature, Akira’s unexpected kindness. They clash with what you know of them, a little, but you’ve come to know these versions of them as their true selves, the fullest part of themselves, the way you are right now.
They hug you. It’s a strange sensation, and one you savor. This kind facet of Akira is surprisingly nice to see, and Michiru’s sanded down her rougher edges as well. Your departure seems to have aged them the same way it has you.
You tell them that, chuckling, and they join in. You three act like seasoned veterans of the stage. You’re only seventeen. Not like you really acted like it, but the sentiment’s there.
Regardless, they give you a proper send-off and promise to take care of Shiori. They share another look at the way your brow creases before Akira and Michiru invite you out to a meal. To catch up. Before Mei Fan and Yachiyo and Shiori, it was the three of you after all.
You smile, and diverge. You give them your new number, which is actually her “current” number, the same as in her memories. Don’t be a stranger, you say, and the three of you share a smile.)
It’s raining. The haunting deja-vu is present, but now you remember. You remember everything.
You’re not sure what happened. You don’t have much of a plan, really. You mechanically called your parents the day after and told them the same thing you did last time. You mirror everything you did last time.
Everything that you could without arousing suspicion, at least, but subtlety evades you when you need it.
In any case, your bags are packed, your apartment (the same one, you made sure of that, you needed one familiar thing or else you might have gone insane), and your application to Rinmeikan is on its way. You’ve wrapped up all you could; on your desk is your final decree as Frau Platin, typed and printed.
(There’s another letter, one directed towards Shiori. An apology.)
You take a deep breath. In a way, it’s almost cathartic. You were too lost in your despair before, but now, experiencing it again with a clearer mind, there wasn’t much you could’ve done. You forget how sensitive you are, with how much you hide it from others (and yourself). You hate it, the twisting pang of disapproval, of not being good enough, but it’s something you’ve always struggled with. Siegfeld wasn’t helping. You can see that now.
At the very least, if nothing else, you kept your promise this time. You stood on stage with—
“ONEE-CHAN!!”
You whip around, startled by the voice, before a hand smacks you across the face, making you drop your umbrella.
It stings. But you’re too much in shock. It’s all overwhelming, Shiori’s heaving breaths as her hand lingers in the air, the tears threatening to— no, not threatening, already pouring down her cheeks, the angry scowl that mars her face, that only highlights their shared blood. You gingerly bring a hand up to your cheek, letting out a small gasp as you put too much pressure on it.
Shiori’s gotten so strong.
“Stupid! You’re so stupid!” Shiori screams, balling up her hands into fists. “Why are you leaving again?!”
She hits your arm— it doesn’t hurt this time, the energy’s been expended, and each following hit only gets weaker and weaker until Shiori sobs into her shoulder once more. You lower the two of you gently to the ground. You hold her in your arms, because what else can you do?
“I— I did it… I became top star… and yet you’re still leaving me behind! No matter what I do—” Her grip on your shirt tightens. Your shoulder is soaked. You tuck Shiori’s head beneath your chin. You hope she can’t feel your tears. “Every time, I try to help, I can’t! I can’t keep you here! Why do you keep leaving…? You promised we’d make a stage that no one else has ever seen before…”
“I’m sorry.” It feels empty and hollow. You ache, heart twisting, gut-wrenching, veins burning. It was easier before; you hadn’t seen the fallout because you knew— if Shiori had faced her back then, you wouldn’t have been strong enough to leave. You’re stronger now, though, and so you repeat, “I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I have to leave again.”
“But why?! Why can’t you stay?!” Her cries will forever echo in your mind, you’re sure. It reaches up to the heavens above, an unspoken plea to both the gods and yourself, please stay, but the clouds block out the sun and the rain pelts the two sisters, and your bags are packed, left on the sidewalk.
“Because…” Too many reasons come to mind. “I’m tired, Shiori.”
“T-tired…?” It’s nothing more than a whisper, a whisper of fear and dread.
You stroke Shiori’s head, and for a moment, you’re in the far past, stroking Shiori’s hair as you tell her a bedtime story. Her eyes are bright and hopeful, only clouded by the sight of the IV drip on her arm and the visitor’s band on your wrist, cursed with the knowledge that your time together is limited. You were able to distract her, if only for a few hours, regaling stories about heroes and trials, saint and temptations, tragedies and grief, love and loss, and each one captivated her, each of your clumsy movements somehow decent enough to completely immerse herself in the story you tell.
And you’re suddenly thrust back into the present.
You give a shuddering breath before you finally let the tears go. With a steady breath, you speak.
“Long ago… there was a knight.”