₊ 𖦹﹕𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗦𝗬𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗦！(🩸)

⩩ ┊❝ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ❞

序幕一 . . . 000
@/mxtsuro | AO3 & Wattpad
Myrddin Emrys © 2025

﹒  ◠  METEMPSYCHOSIS    ⊹    ﹒
— “ reincarnation ” !
This is the cock that crowed in the morn, that waked the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn.
★ . Caldecott » +

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ⠀ᰋ
── ★ ˙ a lone butterfly, its wings a kaleidoscope of colors, fluttered past, a messenger from a world she had left behind  ̟ !!

Fuyuki City
1st of September 2004, 22:30 PM

          The night was bitter, the kind of cold that did not just brush against your skin but sank deep into your bones, curling around them like a patient predator. It was not the sharp bite of winter yet, but the creeping, inescapable chill of autumn’s end, heavy with the promise of frost. It weaved its way into Galateya’s body, settling in her joints and weighing down her already exhausted limbs. Fuyuki City---or so she guessed from the signs that loomed overhead, indecipherable to her---unfurled before her like an endless maze of unfamiliar streets, each corner shrouded in darkness.

         The wind had picked up, dragging her long, white hair across her face, the strands clinging to her pale cheeks like silken threads. Galateya barely noticed, though; her thoughts were like tangled roots, too tightly coiled to untangle. The cold, too, was something she only half-registered, like a dull ache at the back of her mind. Her navy-blue oversized coat, meant for minimal humid temperature, was utterly inadequate against the brisk night air. The skirt barely reached her knees, and her thin fabric did little to shield her from the chill that seeped through the fabric, settling like frost on her skin. But she did not shiver. Her mind was far too tangled to pay the cold any real attention.

           Her last memory felt like a distant dream---Germany, the familiar library in their manor, the warm glow of the old chandeliers casting soft, golden light over the room. The shelves, filled with thick, dusty books, towered over her small frame. A large oak table stood in the center of the room, where her little hands had struggled to hold a pencil. Her textbooks---simple primers filled with large letters and colorful pictures---lay scattered across the polished wood surface. Galateya remembered staring hard at the pages, her small brows furrowed in concentration, trying to understand the basic sums and letters her tutor had assigned for her primary school exam.

          Galateya was only three, but she had been determined, as always. Despite her young age, she had always been quiet, thoughtful, and far more focused than most children her age. Even then, her world had been a careful routine of study, guided by the watchful eyes of her family’s tutors. But on that day, her usual focus had been fraying. The numbers and letters blurred in front of her tired eyes. She had been struggling to stay awake, her small body slumped over the oversized chair in the manor’s grand library. The weight of the day had pressed down on her, and before she knew it, her head had drooped, her cheek resting against the cool surface of the table.

           She had not meant to fall asleep. But now, as Galateya stood in the cold, foreign streets of an unknown city, that memory felt like it belonged to someone else, a distant echo of a life that no longer made sense. The warm, familiar space of the library was gone, replaced by the icy wind tugging at her small body. She was so cold---colder than she had ever felt before. The white strands of her hair whipped across her pale face, and she clutched her arms around herself, her thin navy-blue coat, suited for gentle autumn afternoons, woefully inadequate against the harsh bite of the night air.