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DAY (MONTH) 1 -Suzume-
-ˋˏ ೱ ˎˊ-
Morning
The air inside Suzume's house held a peculiar kind of stillness, a dreamlike quiet that made everything feel as though it had been suspended in time. The house, nestled deep within the countryside, felt like an isolated pocket of the world, as if even the passing of hours had lost its importance.
The morning light streamed in through the ivy-clad windows, casting long, dappled shadows on the worn wooden floor, as though time itself was reluctant to intrude upon the peaceful sanctuary.
Outside, the world continued unfazed, unchanged-but within the bubble that Suzume had crafted, the weight of time seemed optional, a faint echo of something that no longer mattered. It was as if the house itself held its breath alongside its two reluctant inhabitants.
Suzume moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, her bare feet making no sound as they glided across the smooth wooden boards, worn down from years of quiet use. Her long, dark hair was tied loosely in a braid that fell over her shoulder, a few loose strands framing her delicate face.
She wore a simple, cream-colored dress that draped loosely over her small frame, the fabric swaying gently with each of her movements. She seemed to blend seamlessly with her surroundings, her presence a natural extension of the house itself-barefoot, grounded, and seemingly untouched by the chaos of the world outside.
The kettle on the stove began to whistle softly, its high-pitched sound filling the otherwise quiet room. The scent of earth and herbs clung to the air, mingling with the faint perfume of drying flowers that hung from the ceiling beams. Potted plants crowded the windowsills, their leaves reaching lazily toward the light, while larger pots sat tucked into every available corner of the small kitchen. Green tendrils of ivy crept up the walls, curling delicately around the edges of the old curtains, their tips brushing against the worn wood of the windows. The house was alive with quiet life-plants growing, the soft crackling of the fireplace in the adjoining room.
Suzume, in her quiet way, had already begun the day's tasks. But it wasn't just the tea she prepared or the small, mundane chores she attended to-it was the time.
Time, after all, was her battlefield, and in this bubble, where days could stretch into months, she had to maintain order. Clocks had been set, each one carefully calibrated-some to follow the passage of time outside, others to mark the slowed flow of time within. Calendars were adjusted, days marked off meticulously.
She would not allow them to lose themselves to the quiet suspension that hung over this place.
But while Suzume seemed at peace, Satoru was a presence that felt almost invasive in her quiet sanctuary. He sat at the small kitchen table, his tall frame hunched slightly, arms crossed over his chest. He seemed too large for the space, his silver hair was tousled and unruly, strands falling over his forehead in a wild, unkempt mess. His blue eyes followed Suzume's every move with an intensity that bordered on irritation. His black shirt, untucked and wrinkled, hung loosely over his lean frame, and his dark pants were creased from sitting for too long, a far cry from the polished, invincible figure he normally presented to the world.
