☆ of miracles & witches

[miiraculous]

Who: Rika Furude & Open
What: April TDM Prompts, Furuderika Bernkastel shenanigans,
When: Month of May
Where: Boardwalk, Streets of the Trench, Nearby Foraging Areas



I. The Festival at the Boardwalk

[The month had started off pleasantly enough. Rika was lured back to the beach to search for her friends, but she was no longer as desperate to see them washed up on shore. The aches that filled the empty spaces in her heart were beginning to subside. She had Satoko and they were more open with each other than before. That alone filled Rika with more joy and comfort than she'd let herself hope for before.

She finds herself enjoying the festivities too. Dressed in a pure white dress, and having drunk some petal infused hot tea, Rika is in a brighter state that usual. It's so easy to feel like 'Furude Rika' after drinking that tea! She feels her old curiosity returning to her as she experiments with maypole dancing, singing, and other strange new activities.

By the end of the night, Rika isn't dejected from not finding her Hinamizawa friends. Instead, she collapses on the beach, giggling and smiling.]

Mii... I've never done any of those things before! That was fun! [But after May is June, a voice reminds herself. It's always June eventually.]

II. A Mirror Made of Wine

[She had heard rumors of the mirrors. Rika already questioned her reflection without them. She had met a number of people now who recoiled at the sight of her. They called her 'a witch,' and 'bernkastel,' labels that she thought were privately held in her head.

It scared her.

It scared Rika to hear about this 'Bernkastel' encountering others, since she tried so hard to keep that 'witch' at bay. She buried that dark part of her heart under laughter and smiles, cute phrases and childish pranks... She finds herself staring at the mirror for a moment too long one day, thinking about it a bit too hard.]

I can be Furude Rika. [She assures herself. That's what she wanted in the Trench, anyway: To be perceived as 'Furude Rika,' the human girl, to its residents. She's tried so hard to conceal the witch and yet-

Rika blinks. Her reflection's lips have curved into a cruel smirk. Then the smirking Rika walks away from the mirror. It takes a moment for Furude Rika to realize that she is no longer the one moving her own body. It's the red-eyed witch, Furuderika Bernkastel.]


(A)
[Furuderika Bernkastel is not the cat-tailed witch of gameboards past, future, and present, but is markably different from the girl she pretends to be. Her eyes glow red and she moves without the childishness expected of a girl her age. She isn't very shy about showing off the change either; When Rika sees people she knows, she is quick to call out to them. But it isn't the voice of a cute child (or the masquerade of said child,) but the low voice of a witch.]

The festival is too good to be true, isn't it?

(B)
[Feel free to request a custom encounter!]


III. Flowers of Hell

CW: Discussion of the HUMMING IN THE SKIN Prompt, Child Alcoholism
[Rika had made a monthly habit of reading up on local folklore, gossip, and strange sciences. She felt more in control of her situation when she had a warning. At least, that's what she told herself every month: That patterns would help her predict life's next move and she could control herself accordingly. But in practice, it was the patterns and information that controlled Rika. This month especially, reading about the itchy skin and violent outbursts had Rika on pins and needles. It sounded so much like the Hinamizawa Syndrome... and it wasn't even June! This place was mocking her, wasn't it? Giving her a fun festival atmosphere, then throwing people into a violence state..!

She internalized her fears. She watched everyone for signs, scared of every time they itched their skin. She didn't want to frighten them or make them paranoid with concern, so only watched. Powerless and scared, Rika's days dipped into a familiar darkness. She thought to ask her best friend for help. Before that thought became action, Rika was ensnared.

The imposter flowers creep around her ankle and up her leg while she's foraging. Because Rika is so small, it doesn't take long for her to feel their blood draining effects. By the time she recognizes what is happening, Rika is already too weak to pull them off her body. None of this is helped by how the bloodloss makes her feel strange. It's the same feeling as the bernkastel wine she used to drink: Calming, making her mind sluggish and anxieties feel so far away.

Rika crouches on the ground. Mumbling to herself in her newfound daze, Rika pulls petals off of the imposter flowers in a vain attempt to free herself. Her voice, usually childish and light, is darker and low;]

Am I to be mocked every time I try to be happy? Yes? [She pulls off another petal, and another;] No. Yes. No?

Comments

[forwantofahorse]

[Now this witch speaks Beatrice's languages. A single elegant eyebrow raises as Bernkastel talks, and when she finishes Beatrice throws back her head in a carefree cackle.]

A fair point! I'm all too familiar with that feeling myself. Even if the chessboard is gathering dust in an abandoned corner somewhere, it always feels as though the game is just five minutes away from resuming if you're pulled away from it before it ends, no matter how prematurely or how much time has passed since then.

[miiraculous]

[... This woman is different. She seems warm somehow, yet not foreign to a witch's heart. Furuderika Bernkastel doesn't recognize others as witches, but she can feel that this person understands something that no one else can.]

... Yes, just like that. We're constantly tossed about here, with no room to 'win' or 'loss.' It feels like the games are mounting... I wonder, at what point will we go numb to the number of chessboards gathering dust?

[forwantofahorse]

If you're not already numb to it, then you've already gone quite insane, I assure you.

We're players a level above this board. Nothing can remove us from it other than the whims of the sea... and by those same whims, what may churn through the citizens like so much butter has no lasting effect on us.

The misery mounts beyond our ability to withstand it, yet here we stand immutable, unable to shed it or our mortal coil. True death would be a mercy.

And so some casualty cruelty and callousness is the only way to survive, is it not?

[Witches of a feather flock together, even if she does not recognize herself as one yet.]

[miiraculous]

[She's never felt understood on this level before. It's almost painful. When she exists in isolation, with her thoughts and words only heard by herself, Rika can deny them. She can pretend that the cat inside her box is alive: It's a sweet and innocent life. She just needs to convince everyone else.

But she's opened the box. She's seen it is a dead cat.

It sounds like this witch has seen it too.]

Even so... Even with that being true.

I... I don't want to be this person.