He leaned against a round window frame and pressed his forehead to the stained glass. Through a haze of purple, he could see a little grove of trees trembling in the wind. He focused on the branches, on the sensation of glass cooling his skin, on the woodgrain of the windowsill plucking at his fingertips like the drum of a music box.
Instead of letting me go, she said, “You shouldn’t. That’s a graveyard and she’s dead.”
Everyone said that, but it was a mistake. I had seen Mikawa, and she was definitely alive. Why wouldn’t Ume let me go? All I wanted to do was be with my girlfriend. Did this damn bitch think I would go with her when I had Mika?
“Fuck you,” I said and tried to get away. “She’s waiting. Mika is waiting.”
The theme for today's #FridayKiss is "tears", and when you're writing a second-chance-at-love story you have, of course, QUITE A LOT of bits with tears to choose from (because you're a mean, mean author who enjoys being mean to her characters and making her readers cry :blobcatbigfan: ).
"Hey, aren't you Morgan Stormrider from Crowley's Thoth? I loved that cover of 'The Phantom of the Opera' you do with Naomi Bradleigh." The ticket clerk thrust a pen and notepad toward me instead of my receipt and tickets.
While it was fun to be recognized for something other than my day job, I was on the job and did not want my identities connected. The whole point of having a stage name was that at my day job I sometimes made enemeies, and I didn't want them showing up where they could hurt my bandmates, the road crew, or our fans. Never mind that I would have preferred to have been recognized for a song I had written instead of something Nims and I dug out of the public domain. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for somebody else. It's probably the hair."
"Oh. Sorry," said the clerk. His enthusiasm had not fully dimmed. "You've both got epic hair."
"My tickets, please?" His flattery had discomfited me, and I just wanted to get on the maglev and hide behind a book. It was one thing for Christabel to say such things; she was my girlfriend. It was likewise acceptable for Claire and Naomi to do it; they were friends. Even if Eddie got drunk and grabbed my ass, I could take it in stride even though he wasn't my type. But this stranger had overreached and I was displeased.