Colors in the Dark

[14] Wisps of the Past

The first day of the 2-day-long break Ayami had spent practicing with her spirits and their sub-quirks. She had made good progress with half of them, being Hecate, Prometheus, Ansaluia, and Brizo, the four that could work alone and weren't too destructive when honed.

The second day was when Ayami decided it was time, that she had become at least a little strong, to visit an old friend.

So she changed into clothes nearly-identical to the ones she wore previously, deciding stockings were still a better alternative to the ungodly clogs she had for her uniform and the three-sizes-too-small slip-ons she had worn during the escape to make sure she didn't step on broken glass.

With a determined look, Ayami walked out of her apartment and down a shadowed alleyway. In her school uniform, she was a hero-to-be, a UA student. No one would think twice about seeing her on a bus or out in the open.

But the girl dressed in an oversized-t-shirt and worn jeans, shoes abandoned, and glows hovering around her face threateningly, who as far as any stranger knew could lose control at any time and knock out anyone she saw as villainous, she was someone that belonged in the alleys.

Her reputation was dreadful for the look she wanted, an approachable hero, but Ayami found it worked in her favor when she needed to get somewhere fast and without drawing attention.

People would glare in the bright-lit streets; they'd shy away and cast shrewd glances, whispering behind her back. But in the back streets, the dark alleyways, no self-respecting thug would be caught dead near where she resided. The "Color Terror, the pretty girl capable of sending you straight to Hell if you looked into her eyes, which were slits on pink rings over black pearls, bringing your worst fears to life as the world around you fades black," when she wielded Nightmare.

At least that's what they believed. Was it a positive thing? No. Did it come in handy? Certainly.

So Ayami strode easily through the deserted streets until she found the place she was looking for. Once she reached the building, she quickly walked in, headed toward the receptionist's desk.

The women there seemed to recognize her from her multiple visits over the years, pointing her to the elevator and down the hall to Room 317.

Ayami felt torn between comfort and anxiety upon walking toward the room, hesitating by the door, gaze not meeting the name tag on the wall beside it. It had been over four months since her last visit (she used to visit once a week), and she always hated the first few minutes of awkward silence they'd sit in before conversation sparked once more.

"Go on, Ayami. She's been waiting; you know she wants to talk to you. She's the closest to a family member you've had besides your new friends, and she knows what happened that day. She knows your, our, past. Go," Brizo whispered, sending a shivering violet hue to go down the ginger's spine.

Ayami nodded and put her hand on the doorknob, slowly turning it before pushing the door open.

A girl a few years older than Ayami was sitting on her bed, facing away from the door. Her long, straight silver hair glowed in the sunlight filtering through the single window in the psychiatric ward room, small tattoo-like markings dotting her body. She wore the light blue gown that marked her as a patient, and she spoke without turning around.

"Is it time for my medicine again, or is this another one of your attempts at involving me in puzzles?" Her voice was deeper than Ayami remembered, though it held that same firm, motherly undertone that she remembered trying to bury herself in.