Note: The speaker is Pearl.
The air is frigid, cruel to the touch, and the world around me is full of hundreds of white butterflies that swing around me in a mad flying dance, swirling in the cold atmosphere, landing on my face and arms and dress, fluttering upon me with their little wings of ice-- but then I realize that they are not butterflies at all, but a million particles of falling snow that cover my arms and hair and face. The universe I dwell in is cold and blue and clear, and I am freezing, freezing to death in this empty world of snow and ice, my skin turning white and chill, but I'm still persistently moving, slicing my way through the icy atmosphere, still running, running towards somewhere.
I can't see anything but the blue embrace of the world, and everything, the trees and the rolling hills, are black silhouettes cutting the distance. I can't even tell if it's day or night, because the colors of white and blue and black spill across the world, everything stark and etched sharp and clear on my vision like a scenery composed of perfectly formed glass.
Blue reminds me of-- that young knight-- but I can't recall his name now. His eyes were blue, and sometimes as harsh as this strange land of deadly snow, and his hair was the color of the black shadows of the distance. I don't know where he is now-- it doesn't matter, perhaps, because I can't recall his name, and perhaps he wasn't that important after all, because I can't remember his name-- I don't even understand now why I recalled him at all.
Glass reminds me of the tower where all the windows twinkled ominously and mirrored everything within their flat, dark surfaces, and I could see my white face reflected within them as well, which made me afraid, almost too afraid to move sometimes, because the reflection made my face appear dark and distorted, and it wasn't me anymore but someone else, someone horrible, someone with a heart like the frozen ice, like the dark shadows, a face that I could recognize but didn't wish to, a face I would have rather forgotten, and I am running, running away from this reflection of a memory.
The snowflakes are cold and white like little pearls of snow, and perhaps pearls are meant to be cold and white, and to feel nothing, do nothing except float in a world of blue and white, only to sink back into their white graves in the snowy earth and vanish-- before they become dark and hard and shine like molten glass. Perhaps those little white snowy pearls should not exist at all, but just forget and be forgotten, because they are cold and biting and they can kill with their frozen touch of death--
But I won't be forgotten, I don't wish to forget, someone must remember me now before this land of snow swallows me, someone must, must remember me, care about me, seek me out, before the land swallows me and I vanish into white--
Don't leave me here, don't abandon me, please come for me, Elazul...
Comment: This is an attempt to have a look into Pearl's vague, confused mind. I was inspired by the song "Memories of Running" which plays in the snow fields.
If you like this story, I am currently writing a novelization of the Jumi storyline. You can find it on my page. Go here: Sparkling City of Ruin
Copyright: The Mana Priestess (firstname.lastname@example.org), July, 2001