Melody of the Holoverse

Episode 23: The Beneath

I still think about it, you know—that place. It comes to me every night, hindering my symphony of dreams.

Every scent.

Every shade.

The details so vivid my senses nearly short-circuit.

But as always, the truth sinks in, and I turn away from the dragon before she finds my silent tears.

I know my role.

I know there's nothing left for me there—that the soothing blue jays have fallen and the lustrous petals have withered.

I'm meant for something more.

I accept that.

Yet, as I reminisce about a once marvelous paradise, I can't help but long.

How nice would it be to go back just one more time—to dance in the lilies once more as our hands and hearts connect like stars to a greater constellation?

How nice would it be to feel true happiness once again?

* * *

Morning, hinted by the gentle chirps of the blue jays and the lethargy clinging to my limbs like a lover.

Foggy mind.

Scattered senses.

Warmth splashed across my face as the sun's rays soak through the window.

Another day.

Leaving my sea of dreams, I weakly opened my leaden eyelids, finding myself in that soothing room of bamboo walls and wooden floorboards. Dressers clung to the side, beneath the various pieces of artwork and calligraphy.

A familiar scene.

A cozy scene.

But also, an unnerving one, unease trickling in my chest like droplets of poison.

And the anxiety only worsened as I spotted the empty futon next to mine.

This is how it always is, isn't it? He's always the first one out there.

I'll see him.

Why, then, was I so nervous?

With a writhing stomach, I stood tall, then dragged myself out of the room and into the hallway. There, I made my way straight for the oak door nestled in the back. Dreadfully. Cautiously. With each step, the beats of my heart roared, loud enough to pound violently against my eardrums.

Eventually, I made it, but as my fingers pressed against the handle, I froze.

What are you so nervous about? This isn't any different from yesterday.

But the hesitation persisted, and I had to swallow hard the lump in my throat before willing myself to take the plunge.

I opened the door.

Instantly, my nerves steadied, my senses embraced by the wondrous elements of Mother Nature. A kind breeze brushed against my skin as my nostrils indulged in the sweet aroma of the cherry blossom trees.

But what captivated me most was the man resting at the veranda's center, seated beside a small table as he enjoyed every piece of the scenery. In his hand lay a warm cup of tea, steam drifting from the top.

My jaw hung.

Sensing my arrival, the old man turned his head, and a grin stretched across his face.