❀Sakura Melody❀ .::Original Anime::.

Chapter 3 ❀An Uninvited Guest❀

Opening Theme:

Brightdown by Nami, Tamaki

Momoka gazed out the window for what seemed like the billionth time, feeling queasy and uneasy. It wasn’t just because of the dark storm clouds that were forming overhead, be it more of a premonition of something wary to come. Of course, after mulling it over a bit in her head, she was sure it was just her overactive imagination at work and nothing to worry about at all. Just annoying thoughts intent on clouding her mind and nothing more. But, to be cautious, she decided to talk it over with Habiki.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Momo-chan. Just your imagination trying to shake you up a little bit.”

Habiki had said from where he was sprawled out on her only couch, clearly taking advantage of the girl’s hospitality. Despite him saying so, and agreeing with her, as she stared out the window to scrutinize the black storm clouds, she was beginning to expect that something was going to happen here tonight. The thought made her stomach twist into a tight knot.

After about a half an hour passed, the rain made its choice to commence falling, as well as the wind’s choice to begin howling. Rain pelted her windows and outside, wind whipped at the tiny house’s front porch, clawing with hungry fangs at the wood. The sound made her shiver and she backed away from the window, not wanting to hear it anymore. She had been through storms like this one, but this house was getting pretty old. She wouldn’t be surprised if it blew away with the wind all by itself.

She sat down on the floor next to the couch, eyes scanning back over her large bookshelf. It was crammed with many different genres and sized book collections. Famous authors mixed in with the aspiring ones; a mess of literature. She had accumulated most of them slowly; some from inheritance, others gifts from travelers that couldn’t find any other way to thank her for her hospitality. She had read every single one a thousand times over. She even knew some of the more extensive works by heart and could recite them from memory.

Aside from chores, reading was one of the only things she really did do in her free time. She loved to read, it gave her the feeling of freedom and a sense of adventure. It took her past those wooden walls to a whole new world filled with new people and new journeys. Of course, everything must come to an end, and a book is no exception. Books that become sets, to series, to entire collections; will all have a final page, paragraph, and chapter. There will always be an ending sentence and one last word before that book is snapped shut, put back up on the shelf, and another one is taken down. The cycle repeats itself.

Some of her books were read so often-- her favorite pieces-- that the binding was completely wore and the cover was missing, along with a few pages. Some weren’t read in ages, covered thick with dust and probably home to a few bookworms. Yet she knew, without a doubt, that she had read everything from cover to cover at least once in her lifetime. Except one book.

It was old, but Momoka didn’t know the age for sure. The only she could be sure of was that it had been in her family ever since she could remember. After her family disappeared when she was small, her grandfather had been the one to take care of her. He had sometimes showed her the strange writing on the insides or the abstract pictures that seemed to appear on every page. Some were symbols, others were some kind of animal or beast that used to scare her when she looked at them. She would whimper and bury her head into her grandfather’s shirt, afraid. Her grandfather would just chuckle and mention that it was late and she had to go to bed. And, after a few minutes of complaining and moaning that she didn’t want to go to bed, she resigned and did as she was told.

She smiled to herself at those old times; they felt like several lifetimes ago. Her grandfather had died of an unknown illness a few years back, leaving Momoka to deal with everything that it took to maintain a household by herself. It was tough but rewarding work, she contemplated, and was so worth it in the end. It taught her morals and lessons about her life, things people spent trying to learn all their lives were lessons and things she found out in only a few days. It was a reward so much better than money or fame or anything of that sort.

Shaking her head to clear away her off-topic thoughts, she stared back up at the shelf. The thickest book on her shelf bore its old covers and binding back at her, just daring for her to take it down from its perch. It had been years after all; she hadn’t touched it since her grandfather’s death. But, then again, what would be the harm in taking a peek at an old book?

Rising from her spot on the ground, she stepped up to the book shelf. Fingers dancing over the titles, she made her way to the old book only to realize that it was too high up on the book shelf for her to reach by just standing. Hurrying to the other side of the room, she grabbed the ladder she had fastened to the book shelf to reach high up books, also equipped with wheels on the bottom for easy mobility. Habiki was watching her now, curious as to what she was up too.

“What’re you doing, Momo-chan?”

She didn’t hear him, instead crawling up the ladder to grab the big, heavy, and old book from it spot up on one of the tallest shelves and into her arms. Successful, she slid back down the ladder and jumped off, cradling the rather large book. Habiki shifted out of his lying down position to sit up now, interested in what Momoka had just pulled off the shelf. He had never seen a book quite like this one before.

The title was gone, from what seemed to be age, as the book’s front cover was practically falling apart as Momoka placed it gently on her coffee table. Her hand traced the groves of the book’s ancient binding, drawing a sigh past her lips. Flipping it open to a random page, she stared at its contents. The text was faded slightly, the original black ink it was written in was a dull gray these days. She read over the familiar text, remembering fondly of her childhood days when her grandfather was alive and well.

“What does it say?” Habiki’s question brought a look of confusion as pure as the confusion in his voice. She looked over at him, to see that he was leaning over the table on the ground, next to her. His eyes were completely absorbed in the book, eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

“What’re you talking about? It’s in plain English,” Momoka stated, returning her eyes to the page.

“That’s not English.”

“Yes, it is, baka!”

“No, it looks like a bunch of random symbols in no particular order to me.” Momoka looked up sharply at that and Habiki started nodding. “I guess I found it. Along with the Keeper too. Th-This is great! My life and my father’s life! It paid off! All that searching aimlessly and blindly, running into dead end after dead end... We found it.” Habiki was laughing now, so hard that tears were beginning to form in his eyes. He had a wide smile and the happiest expression on his face. “We found it! It’s the book! ‘Untitled!’”

“Nani?! Are you sure?” Momoka didn’t know what to say, aside from that. This was just some old book, nothing special. How could anything this ancient be some legendary book that can control the world’s balance of good and bad?

“I’m absolutely positive! I haven’t been so sure in my life!” Habiki practically pouncing on top of the book. “But why in the world can’t I read it?!”

Just before Momoka was about to say something, a sound vibrated in her ear. It was like a chime, high but soft. As she tried to figure out what it was, she began to hear it more; louder each time. After another moment of pondering the sound, she realized that it was a bell. She was too late, however, when her front door burst open. Rain and wind whipped inside, stirring up the contents inside. The book’s pages flew in the direction of the wind, flipping through all the text and pictures as if it was it’s life flashing before Momoka’s eyes.

She lifted her head at gape at the single person standing in the door way of her home. He stood there, jacket flapping in the wind, an uncaring look in his eyes. Around his neck, a single gold bell was there; the high sound ringing continuously in the rapid wind.

“The Book. Now.”

Ending Theme:

Sakura Biyori by Hoshimura, Mai