Chapter Text
“You didn't lie, Himeko, when you said that this planet would be perfect to spend our free time.”
Leaving my smartphone text notes aside, I turn to look at Kafka's face through its reflection in the large mirror we used to analyze the details of the stitching and the way the coats sold at the store fit our bodies. We'd been shopping in this store for an hour, one of the best ateliers Belobog could provide—or so Bronya, the High Guardian , told us, when I asked her about a place where we could buy good quality clothes to survive the current apex of eternal winter .
“In all the conversations we've ever had in this life, Kafka,” I say, searching her purple eyes through the mirror image. “I don't remember lying to any of them.”
Kafka gives me a big smile, the kind no one, not even her, can fake, which surprises me a little. She is surrounded by several stacks of boxes, which contain several of the coats she has tried on and critically analyzed. Initially I thought I had caused a great deal of trouble when I placed an assiduous collector inside such a store, but the employees were quite receptive and even silently celebrated each new coat that Kafka decided to buy.
I sometimes forget that Jarilo-VI, that little planet-shaped snow globe, was long ago restricted from any communication with the galaxy. Since Bronya asked me to put her in chat with the members of the Space Station Herta, and its endless platform of intergalactic contacts, some researchers and tourists have shown an interest in visiting the frightening icy mountains or learning a little more about the history and culture of Belobog.
For local merchants, who have long made their living selling goods domestically, it's refreshing to find new faces who can open their wallets and buy something.
"Does this mean that every insult you've ever said to me is true?" She turned, facing me directly with one of her calm mischievous glares.
“Did you have any doubts?” I replied in a comical tone, sitting on the victorian sofa where some of the boxes were stacked, with exaggerated care to not crush any.
“Yes, a little,” she turns her attention to the mirror, preoccupied with analyzing the heavy coat she was trying on at the moment. What appeared to be some kind of faux fur, slightly pink, circled the collar, providing extra protection against icy winds. “You offend me so much whenever I drag you along on a dangerous adventure. I thought it was your way of saying you like me.”
My throat closed up. A flush took over my cheeks before I was able to get my emotions under control.
The stellaron hunter chuckles, making no further comment on my shy reaction—which, frankly, just makes it all the more awkward.
Ever since we met, Kafka has had this inexplicable effect on me that makes my heart skip a beat whenever she compliments me or engages in some unassuming flirtation. I keep looking for alternatives to understand the causes of this problem, but I can never reach a satisfactory conclusion.
At first, I thought her ghoulish ability, Spirit Whisper , was behind these strange feelings. There are dozens of reports from the IPC and the Xianzhou Alliance about her ability to hypnotize others by the simple act of speech, plunging her victims' minds into a world of sensations and senses that make them follow her commands without hesitation. But when I questioned Dan Heng, who was once a victim of this strange power, his account was very different and nothing like what I feel.
The young dragon described something like a heady chill that forced his brain to paralyze his own legs and generated agonizing pain every time he tried to move even an inch. Dan Heng was forced to accept a command, cling to a feeling, and was punished for even thinking about denying it. Unlike him, I have the right to doubt, the option to make a choice and to have my own thoughts. I don't think Spirit Whisper would let me offend Kafka and her various ancestors without punishing me for it.
Even thinking about that power, something was still off. Kafka doesn't just affect me with her voice. The way she moves, her style, her mysterious personality… even her body. Everything about this woman seems to be a reason for my emotions to rise beyond my emotional control capacity.
“What are you thinking?”
When I realize it, Kafka is leaning in front of me, her face closer than it should be, giving me a very clear view of her make-up face and the beautiful purple haze in the irises of her eyes. I startle for a second, pulling my head back and pressing my shoulder blades into the couch upholstery, making the flush in my own face more than faint heat.
“Wh-what?” I choke on my own words, pulling my neck back as far as I can, even though it hurts somewhere along the way.
“You always get that faraway look on your face when you're thinking about something,” She straightens, going back to looking like a model in the new coat she was probably about to buy. “I was just curious to know what it was about this time. Will you tell me?”
I take a deep breath, trying to think of countless ways to lie that I'm not thinking about her or her mysterious abilities. Would it be rude to say what I think of her hypnotic power? She would probably hate me and make me their new victim, or even worse. I've fought alongside her enough to know how your sword and guns are the least lethal weapons in her arsenal.
“I was thinking about…”
“Would you like anything else, miss? ”
A male voice stands out, approaching us with hurried and light steps. The owner of the establishment, a tall adult man with dark hair, wears a vest of the same color over a white dress shirt with long sleeves, assumes a pompous posture beside us, hoping that his gloved hands can show some more product.
Kafka averts her misty eyes from me, flashing the young man a polite smile. For the first time, I thanked capitalist ambition to free me from an awkward moment. While a coat collector debated prices and denser specs of the coat she was currently trying on, I occupied my time trying to calm down the red in my face, which now seemed more like a cold-weather commonplace occurrence than an outburst of mixed feelings.
“Okay, I'll buy this coat too,” Kafka studies the heavy piece of fabric one more time, adjusting the sleeves and pleats that specifically fit her body very well. "No need to put it back in the box, I'll use it for the rest of the day."
“A great taste, miss! No doubt eternal winter calls for denser models at this time of year.” He shares a laugh with Kafka, then looks directly at me. "And you, Miss Redhead, did you choose something to your liking?”
“I just came to bring my friend, sir,” I reply, sharing the same polite smile as the others. “I'm not buying anything today.”
"Nonsense," hissed Kafka.
Kafka's arms moved so fast I could barely see them in my field of vision, soft hands gripping my wrists and forcing me to my feet in a sudden jerk. I stumbled for a moment, tripping over my heels, but my companion's strong arms wrapped around me, preventing an embarrassing fall from occurring.
Her hands stopped just above my hips, bringing me back to full balance in front of the large mirror.
I could see my face completely flushed by the reflection, right next to the seductive smile Kafka always maintains when she pulls me into her banter. The newly purchased coat, which, on closer inspection, was decorated with almost imperceptible embroidery in the form of small butterflies and plants, already smelled of its sweet perfume even after just a few minutes of use. Compared to me, who was only dressed in a white sweater and dark pants, Kafka looked like an Aeon of Beauty or something like that.
The click of her heels against the hardwood floor was audible as she spun around me a trio of times, the mists in her eyes narrowing to a critical stare. When she finally finished thinking, she stopped at my back, resting her hands on the sides of my waist, leaning her body against mine to rest her face on my right shoulder.
“We're the same height, pretty much the same measurements,” Kafka says, her lips discreetly brushing the skin of my neck from an angle the attendant couldn't see she playing with the emotions in my heart.
“That’s true,” I sighed, an automatic response, accompanied by a tremor down my spine that Kafka's hands contained by tightening their grip a little.
“You have a classic style,” she says, lifting her face and resting her chin on top of my head as she goes up on her toes. Having her away from such a sensitive area led to an unexpected sense of need. “Bring me something light, long, a dark overcoat will do.”
A simple sentence was enough for the man to run back to his assistants, disappearing from the scene for a few minutes before returning with a group of five boxes that were opened and placed on the sofa.
The first two options were more bluish tones, with white buttons adorning the construction of both. As pretty and charming as they looked, they didn't suit me at all, so I discarded them after a single look.
The remaining three made a fierce dispute, each one having adornments and a different style, but sharing the same black tone in their fabric. Kafka helped me try each one on, fixing the red strands of my hair each time they got out of order—such a simple gesture, but one that made my body feel lighter every time I felt the tiniest touch of her fingertips.
“I think this one is perfect,” I say when trying on the last overcoat, an option that won me over for the lack of details and the appropriate length. It was thin, light and comforted me so well that it felt like there were fluffy clouds around me. “How many credits will it cost?”
“Put the overcoat with the others,” Kafka cuts off the man’s response almost immediately, catching surprised glances from both of us.
“You don't have to pay for me…”
I start to speak, but the hunter's index finger comes up almost immediately to seal my lips and vocal cords.
“It's a gift, Himeko,” She lets out one of her characteristic giggles, looking me deep in the eyes, warming my entire body. “Just accept.”
“Okay.”