âYou know, I might just be a little crazy, but if thatâs what it takes, then I donât really mind.â
It was a bit of a strange thing, to hear that someone wanted her dead. To her knowledge, Anastasia had never had an enemy before, and even given what she knew, she was uncertain enemy was the right word for it. She sat up only after Zen left, having said that he required no forgiveness. She supposed she wasnât really surprised to hear him say so. Of course, given what she was, she couldnât really be surprised by much at all anymore. Sighing through her nose, she flopped back on the ground, ignoring the dull pain in her neck at the red mark left by such firm contact began to deepen into a bruise. Instead, she turned her attention to the sky visible through the canopy of trees and falling blossom petals.
Ana smiled softly, blocking the sky from her view by casting an arm over her eyes, leaving her temporarily blind to the world. How many times had he told her that? How many times had she wanted to believe that it would solve everything? It was all she knew how to do when things became difficult, and she would continue to do it. Still, she wondered if maybe she hadnât at last found a situation where being as good as she could to the world would help her not at all. She was just one person, one human, small and weak and ultimately inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. What right did she have to stand next to people greater than her and declare herself their friend? What could her forgiveness, her friendship, possibly mean to anyone? It was like saying that the friendship of a mouse should matter to a person. Worse, the friendship of an ant.
But it could, couldnât it? Sometimes, it was the small things that made all the difference. A butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world generated the first whisper of what could become a mighty hurricane, with the right circumstances. Hadnât someone said that, once? Maybe it was just a metaphor, but it meant the same thing regardless. She didnât have it in her to give up. She didnât have the capacity to stop trying to be good to the world, or anyone in it, just because it was hard or dangerous. Doing the right thing was rarely easy, and even if this meant the end of her⊠she was still willing to do it. Even if her actions were the beat of a butterflyâs wings and then she was gone, she had to make the effort.
Because there was a chance, however small, that she could make a hurricane.
She had a humanâs frailty, and healed at a humanâs pace, and so it was hardly surprising that, three days later, the bruise had faded to a yellow circle around her neck, but one that still undeniably looked like it had been caused by long fingers. Sheâd not attempted to conceal it with cosmetics or high-necked shirts, because she wasnât ashamed of it. The questions she received on the matter were politely deflected, and she ignored the staring. What else could she do? She wasn't planning on telling anyone what the real source of it was, because to do so would be inviting misunderstanding, from some corners, at least, yet more dislike. Most of the school practically worshiped the ground he walked on, but sheâd gathered the impression that Sora was apathetic at best, and Asuka might actually actively dislike him. She didnât want to drive any wedges where they should not be, so she was silent on the matter.
Unfortunately, adopting this attitude did not mean that people stopped noticing, and she blinked, looking up at Asuka as the other girl approached. Anastasia smiled for her concern, softly, and then shook her head slightly. âOh, hello, Asuka. Iâm fine, thank you for asking; it looks much worse than it is.â She paused. She did not want to lie to Asuka, and she wouldnât, but that⊠it didnât mean she had to tell the truth, either. âItâs nothing to worry aboutâplease donât let it bother you.â In the end, she simply chose not to answer the question at all.
âBe good to the world, even when the world is not good to you.â
Ana smiled softly, blocking the sky from her view by casting an arm over her eyes, leaving her temporarily blind to the world. How many times had he told her that? How many times had she wanted to believe that it would solve everything? It was all she knew how to do when things became difficult, and she would continue to do it. Still, she wondered if maybe she hadnât at last found a situation where being as good as she could to the world would help her not at all. She was just one person, one human, small and weak and ultimately inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. What right did she have to stand next to people greater than her and declare herself their friend? What could her forgiveness, her friendship, possibly mean to anyone? It was like saying that the friendship of a mouse should matter to a person. Worse, the friendship of an ant.
But it could, couldnât it? Sometimes, it was the small things that made all the difference. A butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world generated the first whisper of what could become a mighty hurricane, with the right circumstances. Hadnât someone said that, once? Maybe it was just a metaphor, but it meant the same thing regardless. She didnât have it in her to give up. She didnât have the capacity to stop trying to be good to the world, or anyone in it, just because it was hard or dangerous. Doing the right thing was rarely easy, and even if this meant the end of her⊠she was still willing to do it. Even if her actions were the beat of a butterflyâs wings and then she was gone, she had to make the effort.
Because there was a chance, however small, that she could make a hurricane.
She had a humanâs frailty, and healed at a humanâs pace, and so it was hardly surprising that, three days later, the bruise had faded to a yellow circle around her neck, but one that still undeniably looked like it had been caused by long fingers. Sheâd not attempted to conceal it with cosmetics or high-necked shirts, because she wasnât ashamed of it. The questions she received on the matter were politely deflected, and she ignored the staring. What else could she do? She wasn't planning on telling anyone what the real source of it was, because to do so would be inviting misunderstanding, from some corners, at least, yet more dislike. Most of the school practically worshiped the ground he walked on, but sheâd gathered the impression that Sora was apathetic at best, and Asuka might actually actively dislike him. She didnât want to drive any wedges where they should not be, so she was silent on the matter.
Unfortunately, adopting this attitude did not mean that people stopped noticing, and she blinked, looking up at Asuka as the other girl approached. Anastasia smiled for her concern, softly, and then shook her head slightly. âOh, hello, Asuka. Iâm fine, thank you for asking; it looks much worse than it is.â She paused. She did not want to lie to Asuka, and she wouldnât, but that⊠it didnât mean she had to tell the truth, either. âItâs nothing to worry aboutâplease donât let it bother you.â In the end, she simply chose not to answer the question at all.