Chapter of the Mirror Within: She and “Her” Together
Bright daylight hit the glass and broke into straight lines, sharp and clear.
The light spilling over the floor drew out a fantastical asymptote, like something from a dream.
It just kept on going, and going, and going toward the corner of the room, until it met the solid wall.
—Warm little particles wandered along those lines.
Following the straight line with her eyes, she landed on a cushion printed with a cartoon cat.
On it, a fuzzy bundle of fur lay curled up.
Her eyes were full of tenderness.
“Anna, come here, come here~”
The one called “Anna” was a dainty little cat, and it twitched at the sound.
The furball perched on the cushion slowly took shape, and padded over to her without a sound.
It sat down nicely, straightening its back.
“Shake, shake~ Left paw~”
She held out her left hand, and Anna lifted her left paw.
The mirrored motion made her break into a happy smile.
—Just like an ordinary, average, but quietly happy junior high girl.
“Ahhh, wrong, wrong, it should’ve been my right hand.”
Her slender fingers pinched Anna’s tiny paw.
The soft pink pads looked silly and adorable.
“Come sit with me, Anna.”
She was kneeling on the floor; she shifted to the side.
Anna sprang lightly onto her thighs, brushed her long whiskers with a paw, and squinted in comfort.
Just an ordinary girl.
Just a scene you could find in any ordinary home.
Except, in this home, there was only the two of them.
It wasn’t that her family had just stepped out, leaving the kid in charge—that kind of cheerful guess.
The truth was heavier than imagination, and yet didn’t even reach the lowest line that imagination could draw, because reality isn’t something you get to make up.
Yeah. In this home, there was only them.
“As long as Anna’s here, I won’t be lonely. I won’t be sad.”
Her fingers moved back and forth through the fur.
Sorrow and joy were tangled together in her gaze.
“Warmer than humans, more reliable than humans. You won’t suddenly leave.
You won’t just dump me and walk away.”
Her voice skipped a little, the pitch unsteady.
The light, toyed with by the clouds, flickered bright and dim.
“Anna’s still the best.”
Her hand stroked along Anna’s fur, gentle but tinged with unease.
Her skin was clearly touching something real, yet she didn’t feel safe.
“I really wish… I could just stay like this, do nothing else, and go on with Anna.”
They were existences that needed each other.
“Always, always, always like this.”
Does “always,” does “forever,” really exist?
“Until I die.”
That’s just another name for eternity.
