Fanmail the First - Day 29

[idolpro]

[ Fanmail will be found in big boxes full of letters in the lobby, to be easily found by anyone who's walking by if the box isn't pulled quick enough. Some letters have QR codes, with instructions to scan them with your cell phone's free QR code scanner function. Beyond the letters that are submitted below, you may assume there are more letters in every box if you'd like.

Although bodies of letters may include idol aliases, assume every envelope and package is addressed to or otherwise uses the official idol name of the character.

Letters found in the "Everyone" header may be assumed to be part of every unit's box, most likely with multiple copies of the submission unless otherwise stated. ]


sensitIV
Taisho Roman Revolution
BAD END=DEAD END
future is now
WILD CITY
☆ZRAEL
Heart Soldier Senshi
AlcheME!
avante en garde
Everyone

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To future is now

[idolpro]

It’s always midnight when the shop at the border of the sea and the shore turns on its lights. The moon hanging bright in the sky, the eerie glow it bathes the foggy bay in makes the whole scene like something out of a horror movie. The loud crashing of the waves on the cliffside, the howling wind -- it’s no wonder hardly anyone ever visits. The fact that the shop’s owner styles herself as the Red Sea Witch doesn’t help it’s reputation.

And yet it’s always midnight when Angel makes her way to the shop, braving the creepiness of the liminal space and the strength of the constant storm that surrounds it. But! Her brother! Always! Protests! It’s so annoying, because Angel knows he’s going to let her go anyway! But it’s like he wants to make her have to fight for the right to do it. Every midnight, he stares her down disapprovingly, gives her sage advice (“if that witch touches you, you know what to do --”), packs her lunch (and her knife), a high-tech lantern he designed himself, and sends her on her way. Some might find it irresponsible, but he knows she knows what she’s doing.

Or at least, he knows she knows what to do. And if she doesn’t, he’s always watching. Nothing that happens in this city escapes his notice.

For her part, she skips along, her light glancing off her crown and cutting through the dark of the night, her humming cutting through the silence otherwise only broken by the sounds of nature, her tiny wings adding a spring to her step. Every midnight, she goes to visit, because of course -- she and the witch are friends.

Normally she stops in to hold conversation, buy a random assortment of flowers, hold conversation about life, family, work -- she spends time with the witch’s familiars (after all, she’s technically one of her familiars, too), invites the witch over for a sleepover. The witch never accepts the invites -- she doesn’t want to deal with Angel’s brother, not since last time. Instead, she responds with promises of violence, promises to break her and make her her own, “life advice”, monologues on the wonders of death -- and Angel just smiles. Because that’s what she’s supposed to do, isn’t it? After all, the witch herself taught Angel that. Besides -- even if she didn’t smile, there was still one carved into her face. Every promise is met with a denial, that the witch won’t hurt her, that even if she did nothing would come of it, and ultimately, the witch doesn’t. As dawn breaks, Angel pays, the witch watches her leave, (not ever knowing what she does with the flowers she buys -- and for some reason, she never buys anything that’s not potted. Of course, the witch only even stocks them because she always comes to buy them.). Nothing new happens, their relationship never changes, Angel stays happy and the witch stays “happy”.

Tonight isn’t normal. Tonight, when Angel knocks on the door, the witch answers. Clad entirely in red and black, as her title would suggest. Her eyes -- red like roses, or perhaps, like a pool of blood -- glistens in the light of the full moon. She carries a wrap of flowers, red camelias and baby’s breath. Her smile is bright as always, almost matching the smile Angel wears etched permanently into her face.

“Angel,” she says, her voice lilting, floaty. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Ehh? A walk? But -- “

The witch puts a finger to her mouth, and Angel puffs her cheeks, holding in the rest of the sentence. It’s cute, the witch thinks. She looks up at the sky, at the bright moon. Her smile, in that light, seems genuine for just a moment. When she looks back town, she takes Angel’s hand, and begins walking her down the path, to the cliff’s edge.

“ -- But why, where are we going?!” she bursts out. “Red? Reeeeed?”

The witch doesn’t answer for a long while. It’s not something she can answer yet. Why is she taking her? Was she finally going to do it? This was supposed to be a declaration, after all. The final one. The one after which she would finally crush Angel’s resolve, make her realize what a bloody, horrible world it was, how little she could trust anybody, even her “dear friend” --

-- and Angel doesn’t stop her incessant whining. Her cries of “Red!” and “Are you ignoring me?” and “Did I do something wrong?”. It’s so cute. She wants to hurt her. It’s so cute. She wants to tear her apart. It’s so cute --

“I wanted to show you something, Angel.”

“Huh?”

She stops at the cliffside, waving an arm out over the open ocean, the moon’s light skating across it. With the other hand, she presents the flowers.

“A gift. To be laid at your grave, Angel.”

“My grave…? Red, what are you talking about?”

“Tonight’s the night. I decided! Tonight’s the night that I take something from you you’ll never be able to get back. Something you can’t deny me. The old you will be dead, replaced by the you I created!”

And Angel -- Angel just giggles. The witch lets her, glowering. Eventually the girl takes the witch’s hands in her own, looking down at her. The smile on her face is at the same time the brightest and most threatening thing the witch has seen .Brushing her fingers over the friendship bracelet on her wrist, the proof of their connection, Angel speaks softly. “You’re not going to kill me. You can’t. And even if you did, I won’t break. Remember? I decided I won’t.”

The witch breaks Angel’s grip with a growl, and grabs the taller girl by her collar, pulling her down. “You can’t do that! I keep telling you -- ”

And with an exasperated sigh, she reaches behind Angel’s back, as if to grab her and toss her over the cliff’s edge --

-- and plucks a single feather from her wings. It instantly turns red in the witch’s hand, and with a spell more befititng a stage magician, it turns into a potted tulip. She gives the most threatening, creepy, alarming smile she can muster.

“The old you is dead! Your feathers don’t grow back, right? So every night, you’ll come here. And I’ll pluck them one, by one, by one. Until you’re mine!”


The witch cackles, but Angel just stares. Stunned. That was so cool! She claps, laughing. “What a neat magic trick! Red, is that for me? You should’ve just told me you wanted to show me that! Oh, but was it a surprise? I’m super surprised if it was a surprise.”

The witch sighs again. Hopeless! This girl is hopeless. She hands over the tulip, letting go of Angel. “You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you…”


“Huh? Of course I did, Red. But...I’m already your familiar.”

She takes the witch’s arm, the one with the bracelet, clasping her hands over her wrist.

“And you’re already mine.”

It’s always midnight when she smiles. That terrifying, bright, lovely, wonderful smile that Red wants to destroy. But that’s a long process. And for now, she thinks...for now, she’ll just enjoy letting it destroy her, instead.

---

* In the Japanese language of flowers, red camellias mean “perish with grace”.
* In the Victorian language of flowers, baby’s breath mean “purity of heart”.
* In European cultures, red tulips symbolize a declaration of one’s love.
* In East Asian cultures, red tulips symbolize a declaration of one’s trust.