A Tale I Wish to Record: Ain
I always murmur that name.
Nothing has ever held greater meaning for me. For so long, it was the only purpose in my life.
Whenever I think of him, an inexplicable emotion blooms softly within me—and I love that feeling. My heart thumps thump-thump with a massive beat, and at times it squeezes tight. It churns like when I'm parted from people, yet it's not an unpleasant queasiness. There's this ticklish itch I've never known before, and gazing at him always leaves me dazed.
During the time we spend together, I go through it all over again, holding it back tight so nothing spills out.
But.
“Ain.”
Only when night finally falls and I'm alone.
“Ain.”
I murmur it in a hazy daze.
“Ain.”
It's a word as sweet as candy.
“Ain.”
A word as warm as sunlight.
“Ain.”
More than anything, it's his name ringing clear in my ears.
So all those feelings come to full bloom only at night. Once they start, they linger until the moonlight fades and the sky brightens. Like floating adrift on a cloud, I end up whispering “Ain” again.
And that emotion—thankfully, unlike all the others, doesn't spread ash too wildly even when it overflows.
It's so calm for something that's mine, eventually turning soft and fluffy. My flushed face hides beneath it as it gently covers me and then whoosh—scatters away.
Still, every time I feel it, I think how happy it makes me, yet I have no idea what it really is. Is it just simple happiness? Or joy, as the word goes? Can this vast emotion, this stirring in my heart, truly be summed up and settled with words like happiness or joy? Can I define it so neatly?
I don't know. I can't know. Foolish and ignorant as I am, even in my haze, my thoughts drift that way.
No one tells me what it is, so I spend long nights pondering it alone—what this feeling could be.
Some might look at me and think it's frustrating. Others might say, why agonize? Just ask Ain directly.
And I would answer: Even I, who knows so little, understands shame. There's this desire to hide from him, so I can't bring myself to ask.
Sometimes I wonder. Back when I was younger, still lisping petulant words like a child. If I'd begged him then not to leave my side. If I'd clung to him tight in childish stubbornness, refusing to let go—would our bond have grown closer? Or would he have grown tired of me, leaving me to stare at his retreating back even sooner?
Time passes, and I grow. Yet I'm still just a foolish, ignorant woman. But always thinking only of Ain sharpened my instincts. I noticed what he hides, what troubles him. Maybe even parting. Or a journey, as he'd call it. I'd sensed long ago that such thoughts weighed on him.
It was my own anxiety, harbored from far in the past.
I remember trembling in fear as a child that he'd leave my side. Days when I tried to be a good girl just so he'd look at me. I started working to help him, learned polite speech to earn his praise. My zeal was too much—now I'm a woman who speaks only formally. But with Ain looking at me, it never felt hard.
Dark and sly as it was, that was my inner motive. Hoping he'd stay by me, that he wouldn't abandon me here. Too cowardly to say I wanted to be with him always. Wondering if being good might let me live by his side forever. So I just tried to be a good girl. Kept our promises, listened well. That's all.
“...”
Truthfully, I don't know. What my heart truly wants, what my feelings are. What I want to say to Ain—I'm a fool who knows none of it properly.
Have I ever truly wanted to be good? Can a monster like me—who could harm someone on a mere whim—harbor such a heart?
I can't know. Because I'm gray. I can't trust myself.
And then.
“Uh..., Ephride, Vinishi.... What the hell is this.”
His mutter drifts from near the counter, a bit away.
“Dvalli..., tch. Vini, eh..., mi.”
It's a language utterly incomprehensible to me. Letters he's never shown, scrawled on the book's cover.
And that—it's a new tongue from somewhere beyond the empire, where he's headed.
I noticed it long ago.
“Ain.”
“Yeah.”
I approach him, pretending ignorance, and offer a soft smile.
“What're you doing..., no. What're you up to?”
“...”
“Something you can't talk about?”
It's the kind of thing that's hard to speak of, alright. A troubled look slowly spreads across his face—the old hesitation he always shows when looking at me, words he can't quite voice.
“Just.”
“...”
“The book's a bit tough.”
“Yeah, got it.”
Ain couldn't muster the courage today either, and I let it slide out of fear.
A smile. A laugh. We show those to hide our worries.
The day ends, night returns. And once more, I think of Ain.
Ain always gazes far away. Always strives to achieve something.
Every action of his cuts at me like a blade.
Someone without goals wouldn't train so fiercely. There's a reason he saves money instead of spending, except on me. Who else preaches that studying's pointless for commoners, yet pores over books in spare moments—a walking contradiction?
So everything keeps changing, bit by bit.
He said it once as a child: In ten years, even mountains change.
Like that, our bond races toward a decade. Nothing in the world stays the same, and inevitably, we'll change too—that reality creeps closer.
My emotions drift further from reason.
Ain. Ain. I want to hold him. Grab the hem of his clothes as he tries to leave.
I want to always be with him.
If I bring him everything he desires, will he stay by my side? What he wants is probably a journey. Venturing beyond the empire to explore it all.
...So.
Ain. If I bring you everything you want, will you not leave my side?
Elves and dwarves.
Fairies and spirits.
Dragons and ogres.
If I capture them alive and lay them before you, will you thank me?
If that's not enough, if I erase everything that might catch your interest.
Then will you stay by my side?
Ain. Ain. Don't abandon me.
Ain.
“..., Ah.”
Again. I end up like this again.
No matter how I try to hide it, no matter how I struggle to change.
One thought leads to another, veering beyond the good girl I try to be. I discover myself twisted into something ugly he wouldn't want.
...I hastily halt my thoughts, jabbing my forearm hard with my nails.
If I let them run, emotions overflow, easily consumed by the gray. Pouring them out isn't hard, but reeling them back once they spill is impossible.
Ash attuned to the feelings fills the room, swirling to erase the world. Only after bleeding enough to soak my clothes does it slowly settle.
So I repeat this every time.
“...”
That's how it is. Only after pulling back the overflow can I think straight again. That in just those moments, I'm less than a beast swept by instinct.
I always hated it. Hated not changing, trailing after him, destined to hurt him someday.
I was always afraid. Yet this stubbornness to stay by him, this flailing effort because I don't want him to leave.
“Ain...”
What is this feeling? Still foolish and ignorant, I don't know my own heart.
When complex, subtle emotions stir, my chest aches. Looking at Ain, I hear it thump-thump.
Sometimes it veers wrong. My face flushes, my head heats—what is this?
I still don't know.
Ain. If I asked him, would he answer?
The thought flickers, but I just shake my head. I don't want to burden him more. I must be a good girl who doesn't trouble Ain. I already received so much; I won't harbor greedy schemes for more.
If I can't manage that.
I'll just die instead.
Ain. Ain. Ain. Ain.