Feeling out her element, unable to focus, she cried. And let the tears fall freely; there was no point in trying to hide her sadness. It was sensed by all those around her—human and the otherwise compromised. It was as if it oozed from her, was burned into her body, forever burned into her eyes, the entrance to see within her soul; see her soul, but not know it at all.
There was no point in trying to convince herself that she belonged to the world—to the village that she grew up in. There was no way in everything that she believed in that there was anyway for her to be.
‘Be?’ What did she mean be? Who was she, and what was she often plagued her mind. Who was she and her—she did not know, never knew her name. She adopted a name, any name that would possibly describe her.
‘What was it she was searching for? Was it herself? What was her intended name?’
Cherry. Cherry Moon.
Was that it? Cherry Moon? What did that mean?
She had no idea, never did, and never thought of it. She had to leave it behind. Silence, there was only silence—a moment kept frozen in time. A sign, a sign of loneliness; her loneliness.
After the accident—not accident—murders, the slayings, she had a mission. One she hoped she never have to go on. The teahouse, the only thing that gave her an excuse not to do it, was burned down to the ground.
Fate had intervened, the wheels were set in motion, and the path was chosen for her. There was nothing she could do if she left the path—she would never be able to return.
Therefore, she had started out; reluctant at first, two assailants, experts in fact, plagued her village, and tore it apart. Piece by piece.
She had to leave it behind. She had to leave behind Cherry Moon.
How long did it take for her to know her name? Years….
Blue… Blue Tango.
Stupid, idiotic… dangerous.
There was no way to alter her, her destiny. She was who she was, but who she, was she wished she knew.