Quote:
Equivalent Exchange ( 18 ) - It seems as though this place has been forgotten by the world for a long time, and those laid to rest here were forgotten along with it. Some graves have been given small, strange little gifts, and some have flowers that are old and withered. There are many graves that have nothing. If you bring a gift down to the graves, you will be filled with a soft warmth, and it feels as though your worries are lifted. The sensation follows you home, and when you sleep that night, you have pleasant, safe dreams. When you awaken, you will find some sort of strange gift next to your bed–a dried flower, a string of beads, a small charm–something strange and dated. It is not often something of value, but there is a warmth in the object. It feels like a gift given with love.
Asuka wasn't sure how long she sat there, with only Raven-san preening her hair and the silent weight of Sarah Sedgewicke's haunting memory--for it surely had to be hers, nothing else made sense--to keep her company. It could have been minute,s or hours--the silence of the graveyard, softly illuminated, made time seem to stretch into infinity.
But slowly, she drew herself from her reverie, and her eyes moved to some of the other graves nearby. They were, as she'd noticed before, all terribly inconsistent, but they were also lovely, in their way--little dedications, to peoplew ho may or may not have existed, but who found themselves here. And more than that, there were little gifts. A doll on one grave, clearly hand-swen. A flower. A ribbon. So many things, but Sarah Sedgewicke's grave sat empty, and that...
That didn't seem fair.
Maybe that was why Raven-san had led her here. Maybe Sarah needed some kindness. She had died so young, based on the dates on her tombstone...it didn't seem right. And Asuka could not banish or soothe a spirit, but she could at least remind one that she wasn't alone.
She always carried origami paper in her subspace--it was something small to do with her hands while her wraith worked, and she'd always kept the thought that perhaps she could distract someone with it if necessary. Defuse tension with a gift of a paper star, or something.
So she reached in and pulled out a square, midnight blue with screenprinted silver and gold willow leaves, and she began to fold.
"In my homeland," she told the grave, "they say that if you make a thousand paper cranes, you can make a wish on them and it will surely come true. I can't make you a thousand, and I'm sorry for that, but...."
Her hands worked quickly, instinctively. She knew this pattern well, had been making them since she was a child. The little bird took form, and when it was finished, she untied the pretty red string around her ankle and wrapped it around the paper bird's neck, tying it off in a little bow.
"I can make you one. Goodnight, Sarah, and Raven-san."
She stood up, dusted off her skirts, and as Raven-san fluttered off her shoulder to settle back on the grave, she bowed.
"Rest well, my friends."
Even if she didn't know them, she felt as if they were friends anyway, in some ways.
And when she got home, she fell into the most restful sleep she'd had in a long time. Her dreams were pleasant--in them, a warm, motherly figure held her and comforted her, and she felt as if her worries were far away.
And when she awoke in the morning, she looked to her bedside table--and there, resting atop her phone, was a single, perfectly preserved pressed white lily, kept between glass in a weathered wooden frame.
She smiled, and set it on her desk. A little memory of her night in the cemetery, it seemed. A gift for a gift.
[wc: 507 words]
