She/Her
54
December 13
Ecruteak City
Bisexual
Kimono Girl
Grunt
LIFT YOUR SKINNY FISTS LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN
TAG WITH @yotsukura
Yotsukura Yotsugami
Let Go//Begin Again [SW]
POSTED ON Sept 15, 2024 20:37:19 GMT
That Pokémon will eventually fade and pass away is perhaps the hardest truth for a child to accept. How long had it taken her, all those years ago? How long had it been since she'd really come to understand what that meant?
The answer eludes her, and she sighs softly. Her knees ache a little, the silk of her kimono offering only a thin barrier between her skin and the cold tiles, any artistry that might have once graced their pale faces long since worn away by the endless shuffle of people and Pokémon through this place, a neverending funeral procession marching on loop through days and months and years, the faces always changing but the feelings never once straying from the path laid out before them.
--A bottomless pit, a bottomless despair. When Pokémon fade into the past, humans lose sight of the future.
She couldn't come to this region without doing this, of course. To neglect something as small as this offering wouldn't sit right with her-- a meaningless token to the person she was, to the world that was hers. So small it might simply be forgotten when she closes her eyes, like exhale from the lungs. Still. Even if it's become nothing more than a meaningless gesture, her hands still ache to make the movements all the same.
She lights the last stick of incense and leans back, closing her eyes and inhaling just a little, tasting the gentle fragrance of sandalwood on the tip of her tongue. Eevee stretches comfortably across her thighs, halfway to sleep already-- if she feels the weight of this place upon her like her trainer does, she doesn't show it. Her remaining two Poké Balls are laid out on a small cloth in front of her. Waiting. If she has need of them, she has need of them. She would like something to remember this gesture by, beyond her imperfect memories and the scent still lingering in her sinuses.
She does not speak. She murmurs whatever benedictions she might have to offer in her mind, and waits. That's a kind of peace too, isn't it?
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