[ Even if Mio's world takes a different shape, Gray innately recognizes the familiarity of Mio's work; no matter the fashion, technology, or circumstances of the time, death among humans is the same. People die and the ones that live are tasked with tending to them in the solemn border where they meet.
It feels like Gray watches Mio and Miyabi for a long time, the melancholy tone of their flutes soaking in like liquid to a cloth. But all at once the memory itself too turns to water, and it slips through Gray's fingers; and with that, she's brought back to the fog of the present.
The Dryad speaks no more, but its acceptance of their offerings comes in the slow retreat of its roots. When they're gone, the antidote will be uncovered for the taking, and the face in the wall melts away without further explanation. ]
no subject
It feels like Gray watches Mio and Miyabi for a long time, the melancholy tone of their flutes soaking in like liquid to a cloth. But all at once the memory itself too turns to water, and it slips through Gray's fingers; and with that, she's brought back to the fog of the present.
The Dryad speaks no more, but its acceptance of their offerings comes in the slow retreat of its roots. When they're gone, the antidote will be uncovered for the taking, and the face in the wall melts away without further explanation. ]