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With painstaking deliberateness, Yukari Miyuri lights the sixth candle out of nine, watching the flame burst to life in a spark of fire magic, putting out the blacken matchstick with a flick of her wrist. She then sweeps up the cracked piles of cooled wax on the floor, loosening flecks with the tip of her shoe, or a rough kick of her heel for the stubborn survivors.
Night had fallen hours ago, and this will be her last shift of the day, the final exchanging of candles, and tomorrow morning, the molten wax remains will have to be removed with her broom and shoes again.
Insistent, inorganic pipes hiss on the wall behind her, coated in something not quite like rust, browned heat stains running down the seams. Their contents remain unknown, with the occasional sound of rushing water, an expulsion of steam, or sometimes the sound of sludgy, viscous fluid falling through one of the pipes, like mud or oil. It bothers Miyuri a lot, for some strange reason, or at least she has yet to get used to it—“it” being the parallel and perpendicular lines of bulging pipes and wax drippings, the lack of curves or imperfections in the temple. But she’s sure there must be some within the walls, because, if she listens closely, she thinks she hears the turning of gears, or maybe a wooden wheel cranking, coming from somewhere within the main room down the hall.
She’s never taken a look at its interior.
Mortals aren’t allowed in the main room, which Miyuri has mentally dubbed the “throne room,” and whatever lies in there, she’s curious but cautious; it’s the only room she has yet to visit, but she’s too afraid of what she may find inside. It isn’t Miyuri’s business to know what a god does, she’s long since decided that, and that helps keep the impulse down of opening those dark wooden doors, engraved with fire and torches and a nine-tailed fox, along with fear of running Kagura San-sama’s patience thin.
All she knows, is she be responsible for lighting the candles on wall sconces, all eight of them that lined the hall and the one straggler in the center before San’s throne room, despite that room being one of the last places San frequented, where she retreated into its chambers only at night to do whatever it was that gods did in their privacy.
Miyuri takes her task as an opportunity to right her wrongs, because if lighting a few candles proved too much for her, then maybe San will finally replace her for another servant that won't spook at mice darting across the floor or pass out at the idea of having to feed a god her cooking. That last note depresses her; she is good at cooking, she knows she is, probably better at cooking than lighting strange candles with flames she watches with wary eyes, but it only took one incident where the stove top suddenly burst into flame when she ignited it, her mind more focused on trying to stay conscious than boiling water, and she screamed, and San led her out of the kitchen to the hall before the throne room and explained she would need to get used to fires, so light these candles, until just one of candles’ wax reaches halfway, then replace all candles and clean up the wax. Which Miyuri has proved more than capable of doing these last few days, though she grows antsy as this is all she has been doing.
Why were these candles so important to San anyway, she asks her thoughts again, and again, she comes up without good reason. They’re just scentless, white wax sticks, and they don't seem to have any discernible magical properties, from the nervous way she holds a candle in her hand and turns it over, looking for any sigils or seals but finding neither.
Even Aika Himena-sama seemed aware of the importance of lighting these candles and left without fuss, just a remark to let “the Instructor" know she was there, when just before, she called Miyuri over, looking down with that mischievous twinkle in her eyes that made Miyuri nervous.
"Are you busy?", she had asked, and Miyuri answered, cursing the stutter of her tongue, "C-candles, Miyu is lighting the candles, Aika-sama," and shyly revealed the contents of her satchel, rows of clean white sticks that clicked together softly.
Usually, Aika wished to interrogate Miyuri about something, like the whereabouts of San or ask her opinion on the latest "mortal gossip" that she assumed Miyuri had any knowledge on. Or maybe, she knew Miyuri had no real understanding of the topic at hand and was more interested in the way Miyuri squirmed under her gaze to come up with answers. Once, after a particularly winded rant about a subject that Miyuri cannot recall for the life of her, having zoned out at the beginning of her tirade, Aika simply smiled and said, "You're cute, LOL.", and that had been the end of that conversation, all before Miyuri could register that she just rambled nonsense to a god.
Miyuri sweeps up more fallen wax, eyeing the floor near the first candle she replaced, the center standing sconce, little white pools already taking form.
She doesn’t understand the relationship between San and Aika. She believes that Aika is above her mistress in terms of power, from what she’s garnered from the tail end of their conversations and San dismissing them with a, “Stay safe, Hime-sama.”
Apparently, they’re mates, or at least that’s how Aika described her and San’s relationship, but it’s hard to believe anything she says, because she’ll say things like, “Are you trying to steal this cutie's mate away, Miyurin?”, and San firmly says, “Hime-sama.”, while Aika girlishly giggles.
They hardly stuck around each other at all, but Miyuri doesn't dare ask what Aika means to San, because she’s sure San would say something about mortals not understanding the relationships between gods, and that they don’t operate on the same terminology, not bound by the same sexes and genders and orientations and labels that humans had. Because Miyuri has heard it before, not directly, but from overhearing a conversation with San, Aika, and her mortal “bestie,” whose name Miyuri can’t quite recall as it had been foreign to her, spoken that Aika wasn’t straight nor gay nor bi, and San interjected that those words were meaningless to a god.
They are that they are, and no mortal seemed to understand that.
What did San see in Miyuri; the little fire dancer mortal who had too many mistimed steps with the Youth Association at the Hikarizuka Fire Festival, who may or may not have her poor performance attributed to being distracted by the unparalleled beauty that was a god’s legs, crossed one over the other (and being forced to perform in front of a god during that god's designated festival may have also contributed). Then, there was that unfortunate ordeal where Miyuri passed out when that god uncrossed her legs, stood, and performed with the Youth Association. So flawlessly and excellently did San perform her steps, in tune with her body and legs, taut muscle and sweat dripping down her thighs in the flames—Miyu has never seen anything like it!
Even remembering it now makes Miyuri shiver and sigh shakily, struggling to keep her breathing even.
At the end of the festival, San had approached the chairman, eyed all the performers behind her mask, lingering on Miyuri for a moment longer than the rest, then turned to him and said she’d like “this one” to come live with her at the shrine, like picking out a puppy, and considering the whole ordeal at the time, Miyuri felt almost certain that San planned on bathing her and collaring her and then have Miyu sit on the floor right next to her new master’s legs!
But Miyuri was meant to simply serve at the shrine, not live within it. She sees herself as being one of the worst suited for this position, out of the much more capable members in the Youth Association.
Though, they were boys… Maybe San prefers the company of girls, though Miyuri knows she should never entertain these thoughts. San has Aika, who is equal or near-equal in power, but Miyu doesn’t find herself minding being underneath San—in terms of power! … What was San’s relationship with Aika like? They hardly ever kissed, and the few times they did, it was Aika who initiated it with sporadic pecks on San’s cheek before going for her lips, with a drawn out greeting of, “Hiii cutie~”, followed by one of her light giggles, as if she was putting on a show for an audience, and would San sigh but hold onto Aika’s hips. This, and only like this, would be the time where San initiated a kiss, a deeper one than the light pecks Aika left, but never has she seen her mistress go out of her way to run into Aika’s arms and smile and kiss her on the cheek, and say, “I missed you.”
Maybe it was because San wasn’t interested in anyone at all, only performing these acts out of some necessity that only Aika would understand.
And… there’s always the chance that San didn’t pick Miyuri because she wanted to, but because she was the only girl in the youth association out of all boys and men, and some stroke of loneliness made her mistress pick Miyuri rather than any sort of connection. And Miyuri’s still not exactly sure what their relationship to each other was, because San always looked at Miyuri curiously and droned a firm, “Miyu.”, when Miyuri got stuck stuttering and rambling about how yes, her day was pleasant but there was a problem before because she wanted to eat something but she knows she’s not allowed in the kitchen by herself so she went into town if that was okay with her mistress even though she knows she should have asked first but she was so hungry and San-sama was nowhere to be found.
Miyuri finishes the last candle, sweeping up the remaining wax with great care; her mistress is quite particular about cleanliness after all, because she had praised Miyu for how nicely the floors were swept.
“I knew you were perfect for this task,” San had told her with a soft smile, “you’re a natural.”
Slipping the satchel off her shoulder, Miyuri rolls her shoulders back, craning her neck side to side. With this, she is free to go home, and she wonders if Mizuki Rui-san is still awake playing games, if Miyuri can eat and shower and make time to join her, her arms stretching up over her head—
“I see you’ve finished up.”
The satchel drops to the floor with a smack, a loud crack of candles against candles, and Miyuri turns with a cry, "San-San-sama!"
A rapid fluttering overtakes her heart, not strictly caused by surprise. Her mistress is dressed down for the night, without her usual mask and belts and threatening array of guns strapped to her forearms and hips, but her hair is still up in buns, not yet let down, the sight of which Miyuri had been graced with only once before.
San's face has a softness to it, mainly in her cheeks and eyes that Miyuri wasn’t expecting when she removed her mask in front of Miyuri for the first time (she had asked Miyuri for a name, testing Yukari-san, Miyuri-chan, but not satisfied with either, until Miyuri awakened from her stupor and suggested "Miyu," and that got a smile out of San), but maybe in another year or two, Miyuri suspects San to tone into quite the handsome woman, matching the sharpness in her brows—because, really, that’s the main draw to her face, what Miyuri eyes were first glued to and the only way she can keep her gaze somewhere on San’s face without ducking back to the floor. But even now, San is extraordinarily pretty, maybe in a way only gods could be, from the bangs framing her face to the hard-set brows, dark green eyes looking at Miyuri curiously, before Miyuri’s head tips forward, hair shielding her eyes as they trail down, down to San’s marvelous legs…
Rui has warned her multiple times to keep her fetish under control, and at least, it seemed that since working here, her fetish locked itself tightly away in her mind, out of fear of repercussions, but with San’s kindness and maybe some part of Miyuri’s own complacency, it grows again.
San's thighs are hidden away under cloak, sadly, but Miyuri is still graced with the dimples of San’s knees and the subtle muscle of her shins through tight black leggings… and she feels a wave of dizziness come over her, shame sharply burning her cheeks, her gaze completing its journey to the floor, before San could use… whatever powers a god has, whether that involves reading minds or casting a lightning bolt down on Miyuri’s head or using mind control to have Miyu speak her innermost desires!
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” and Miyuri briefly makes eye contact with her mistress through her bangs; San looks halfway unapologetic with a hand resting at her hip, and Miyuri swears she sees something of an amused quirk in her lips, but she can’t maintain the eye contact. Miyuri doesn’t dwindle on it, instead managing to stutter out a response along the lines of, “no- no, Miyu should have been more careful,” that she chokes out, staring at the way her pointer fingers press and squeeze against each other, and she thinks for a moment that Aika does a similar motion with her own hands sometimes.
"Aika-sama!” Her own voice startles her, loud and reverberating against the walls, making herself flinch at San’s unperturbed stare, already used to Miyuri's outbursts it seems, "Aika-sama was here- was here before," she finishes dumbly.
“She still wants you to call her Hime,” is all San has to say about that, as if knowing Aika came for one of her spontaneous visits again, before San’s attention is drawn to the floor.
San reaches down for the satchel, and out on Miyuri’s tongue is a rushed, “S-s-sowwy!”, ready to prattle about how she should have been the one to pick it up, but her mistress pauses with a subtle frown, standing again and opening the flap, its contents revealed to Miyuri.
Several candles are cracked.
A rock suddenly sinks in Miyuri's heart. This is the third time she messed up. Water lines her eyes, her vision blurring, heartbeat pounding in her ears, and the gnawing idea that, if she had been the one to pick up the satchel first, then maybe San wouldn't have noticed, and Miyuri would have been able to bury any broken candles. But it seems that, no matter what task she’s been given, no matter how easy, she still finds a way to get it wrong, because she’s anxious, good-for-nothing trash that has a disgusting fetish for legs and a penchant for making mistakes.
San has yet to say anything. Miyuri doesn’t dare to look up at her, something dreadful lining her stomach, blurs giving way to blackening edges around her vision. She needs to be the one to say something first.
“Why- why-” she starts with a watery sputter, stubbornly blinking at the bits and pieces of white candles on the floor- “why do you make Miyu light these candles?”
Why did you pick Miyu ?
San doesn’t speak for a moment, before saying, "Because it's beautiful."
Miyuri throat closes, cheeks still warm from embarrassment, suddenly spreading down to her neck at the proposal. “Uh- What?”
“The fire,” San continues.
“Oh- oh, yeah, the fire,” Miyuri mumbles.
“The candles aren’t important,” San says, voice lowered, eyes trained on the wall. She steps towards it, a passing glance down to Miyuri, a look Miyuri can’t quite place nor meet with her own eyes, arm outstretched to keep her cornered; Miyuri is apparently not to be dismissed, and she swallows, awaiting her punishment.
An open palm suddenly rests between Miyuri’s shoulder blades, where she twitches away from her mistress’ hand before warmth seeps through her shirt, and San gently ushers her to the closet candle sconce, the last one Miyuri lit before San arrived.
"Look closely, Miyu," she says softly, just above a whisper, leaning into Miyuri’s ear – San must be unaware of the shot of electricity down Miyuri’s spine that settles ticklishly and warmly across her scalp, because she continues and asks, "do you see anything?” and unprompted, she specifies: “Do you see the god in the fire?"
"Uh, no, not really," Miyuri nearly lets slip out with leaky emotions, thinking that this must be a cruel form of punishment or a test, where San expects her to answer ‘no’ so she can teach Miyuri some sort of lesson about the discrepancy between mortals and gods once and for all, being a topic that she has yet to breach around Miyuri, and then San will start treating her coldly like all other mortals and stop treating her so… strangely, like a fragile clock that needs delicate tweaking or it’ll fall apart into gears and springs and bits of metal, never to be put together quite the same as before.
But San’s voice steadies her, her hand rubbing up Miyuri’s back as a gentle probe for an answer. Miyuri isn’t looking at the fire though, because, looking at San now, her mistress clearly sees something there, strong brows furrowed in concentration, sparks of hot orange gleaming in her eyes.
“The fire, Miyu,” San says, and maybe for a moment, when Miyuri sheepishly turns back to look again, she does see a shape or a silhouette dancing in the flame, or maybe it’s just the shadows flickering on the walls, the flames playfully twitching this way then that.
A pipe lets out a slow hiss overhead. San moves closer, her arm coming up to Miyuri’s shoulder and pulling her close against her body, and Miyuri feels faint; why would San want to bring Miyu close?
Despite being a comfortable distance away from the fire and San's own moderate body heat, Miyuri's face flushes warmly, her ears burning with steam, her heartbeat rattling in her ribs; but, in spite of everything, she does not pass out.
San smells faintly like rosemary and lavender. She's steady and doesn't tremble, not like the way Miyuri does. The fire dances precariously. Can she see what she sees?
"Yes, San-sama."