...ɪ...

「 The girl bore a jovial smile on her spectre-like, pallid countenance. Her lucid ocean glass eyes gleamed under the burning sun, and with her porcelain skin she reached out her hand to him...」

"That's not it.", the black-haired girl muttered, a curt sigh escaped alongside in dismay. Agitation seized the petite girl, and she reached out her hand, pet the cat's pitch black fur. Aku was his name. The girl languidly took heed of the ambience in virescent bowers, beside her Aku was sleeping soundly and purred occasionally whenever a ladybug or a butterfly landed on his small muzzle.

It was a late autumn day of August, where the trees slowly mouldered and the leaves clad in Campari-dripped raiments, her short black hair that resembled the night sky danced in the shrill wind, and her dark eyes as deep as abyss fluttered every so often, feeling the gentle hand of zephyr caressed her porcelain skin.

Slowly drifted into a slumber, the infelicitous maiden was only to be awoken by her peer's piercing falsetto, oblivious to the turning cogs bestowed upon her accursed fate.

...ɪɪ...

In the raven-haired's peripheral vision was a fair maiden yonder, long and silken sun-kissed tufts embraced her round and rosy cheeks, and her exuberant sapphire eyes shone underneath the penumbra of the deteriorateing trees. She was clad in a simple knee-length, deep purple dress with short sleeves, and a white sash elegantly tied on her waist, ingenuously framing the pulchritudinous figure of the young lady.

"Melan!", the blonde ardently called, her voice sweeter than syrup that even angels coveted, in the ether dispersed the ever so sweet pæan, and the bubbly girl would skip to the girl whose hair darker than ebony that was petting her dear cat, and whom was called Melan.

The lustred fair tress cascaded down the resplendent young lady's back, and she would wave vigorously and smiled graciously at her dear monotonous friend, she by the name of Lenore.

For Lenore was the loveliest of the lovely wan moonbeams in the black-haired's piteous life, and no man can dissever Melan from her beloved beauteous Lenore.

...ɪɪɪ...

Melan silently stared at her dear Lenore, lineament unchanged, and her pallid hand holding a black pen continued to trace athwart the beige book of hers, and the pen-begotten words marked down on the once empty, light cream-colored pages.

"What is it, Lenore?", the petite girl asked, though it sounded like a soft whisper, the words still reached the ear of the older blonde girl.

The blonde girl, nevertheless, ignored her fellow's question, and went on with her own. "What are you doing, Melan? Writing again?", she asked, her voice laced with a hint of excitement and amusement. Indeed, this was not the first time the raven-haired had written her unique stories. The younger girl would often be seen with her nose stuck in a book, for she adored yon ravishing stories within yon mesmerizing books, and she would love to create one of her own.

It was not of a perturbation for the girl to write her stories, for she was such an ornate person. However, despite the girl's complexed and sophisticated vocabulary, there was one thing she lacked...

"Your story is getting better. That's great, Melan!", Lenore exclaimed cheerfully. "Still, it's quite inhuman...", the blonde's voice was softer, and on her face painted a frown. Lenore heaved a curt sigh, and she continued after a halt; "It lacked emotions."

As quickly as it came, the frown on the blonde's face was capriciously switched to what seemed to be a playful smile, and without preambles she deliberately declared, her eyes seized inflamed resolution; "I will teach you about human emotions!"

Melan was surprised, or that's what she think a human would call this sentiment. She was overwhelmed by Lenore's resolution and her serious mien, and her dark eyes widened, her hand slowly moved to the short red necktie above her bosom, and fiddled with it.

The deadly silence disseminated among the two. The raven-haired's head abruptly hung down, her hand dropped to the dewed meadow, and then she leisurely lifted her head to meet the older girl's gaze. Softly, her lips-begotten words echoed in their ambience; "Then, please take care of me."

Hence, began their wistful story as they ventured down the rabbit hole.

...ɪ...

Underneath the same penumbra in a quaint orphanage, was a raven-haired clad in a white dress shirt layered with a dark chocolate waistcoat, and a pleated skirt and stockings as dark as ink framing her slim legs, added with hazel coloured ankle boots. She was pacing hither and thither, a pair of rectangular black glasses fixated on her face with ridiculous naïvety, her head devoid of any thoughts as she was waiting for her dear blonde friend.

In the tranquil blue yonder, which was abnormally for the clime during the months of autumn, was a maiden hair of gold, frienziedly running toward her younger friend. The blonde wore the same raiments, still the same dress dripped in the colour of hyacinth, with the same white sash, and this time, a pair of Mary Jane's shoes as white as driven snow conspicuously scintilated beneath the light.

Lenore was dishevelled. Clear beads of sweat rolled downward her brow, and her long tress of gold scattered athwart her round face and narrow shoulders, nevertheless the girl's beauty would still rival a ravishing nymph.

The blonde stood fixed before Melan, slightly tremulous, and took in a tremendous amount of air, and her bosom ferociously heaved upwards and downwards. "Ready?", Lenore asked with an oscillated voice, her gaze remained on the raven-haired, and the latter lethargically nodded.

"Then, to the mall we go!"

...ɪɪ...

Melan was seemingly anything but happy, rather she seemed profoundly perplexed and somewhat vexed, nevertheless she still followed after Lenore like a ragamuffin begging for money, or perhaps more like a forsaken puppy. It would be understandable however, for it was the first time Melan had observed anything this lively and joyous as this establishment and it's people, which would no doubt but acutely fabricate a juxtaposition if placed beside their sombre orphanage. 

Lenore, on the other hand, was thrilled. It would be perhaps an understatement to say the blonde was excited, she was solicitously enraptured, and one could see glee and contentment painted athwart her countenance.

The two young maidens wandered hither and yon, and occasionally stopped by some boutiques, stores, and arcades; and they eagerly tried out every accoutrements, every games. Tired from the stifling air and a anarchic myriads of people, the two adolescents pulled through the anarchic torrents of animated people.

And before Melan knew it, the young girl crashed into her peer's exquisite figure. Before their gaze was a spectre-like wreath-bedighten frieze layered upon soaring shafts, and, quite reluctantly, they sauntered abreast inside the Patheon-like building. There were but people and books, and in Melan's orbs devoid of light, this was her Eden.

...ɪɪɪ...

Melan exuberantly, and perhaps impetuously strolled across the throng of people, the sound of her boots screeched against the cream coloured tiles dispersed in the still air; and she abruptly stopped by a small, vintage table in the corner of the room, attentively stared at it as if everything else has evanesced, completely ignorant of Lenore indignant whimpering behind her.

The raven-haired girl seated down punctillously, facing her fellow, and she took out her worn, beige notebook and began to scribble in it, while listening to Lenore's impudent ravings.

As Melan drowned on her sea of empty words; a young little girl, perhaps at the age of seven or so, clad in a simple knee-length, sleeveless dress in a light shade of virescence, and a long scarf with the colour of fresh lemon wrapped tautly around her neck. Somehow the girl went unnoticed, and she stood silently beside Melan, while attentively watched the black trails torrentially incised on the smooth surface behind a pen in which the maiden was bequeathed to.

...ɪ...

The little girl's ghostly presence very much startled the other two girls, and with her shoulder-length silken hair brushed against her tiny shoulders, her short bangs framed her round physionogmi and big eyes, ergo the child would look unearthly compared to other people.

Not only due to the young child's look, but perhaps the over-worldiness of hers was also potently reckoned with her, atypical for a child of seven, sagacious demeanour and rather sophisticated choice of words.

However, the girl simply seemed to be promptly feigning ignorance towards the older blonde, and this somewhat incensed the reticent Lenore, who still remained a gracious smile on her countenance.

"You must be new." the girl meekly muttered. "You shouldn't dwell on such trifles."

"Would you kindly elaborate?"

"You should let go of the unbenefitting, or the snake will bite you. . ." the child continued, her intonation unchanging, but her gaze deeply glued to the small paper plane in her round, baby-like hand; as if she was self-edifying.

"I see. . ." Melan heaved a long sigh, her bosom slowly descended, and perhaps even trembling slightly. "You have a lovely paper plane."

"Ah, yes. . . this is my last gift, to the snake that has tamed me, and whom I have tamed. . .", her voice wistful and slowly became distant, but her angular and impenetrable lineaments, nonetheless, was painted with a striking patent and fragmentary vitality, and not least an effacing dejection.

"He must have been precious to you."

"Indeed, he was. . . "

...ɪɪ...

The child, taking her peer off Melan, suddenly turned her petite body towards Lenore, and spoke with a soft voice. "I believe we have met before." Lenore, indisputably bewildered by the child's sudden change in disposition; and her prior indignation has somewhat abated, replaced by a jolly ambience which patently affected her loquaciousness.

Nonetheless, there was a part of her filled with intangible confusion, and even astonishment. Brushing it off, Lenore continued with her story, but this time, within her sweet resonance was hint of happiness, excitement, and even dolour.

...*...

...｡...

.......

...ɪɪɪ...

Melan didn't know how long they stayed in the library, nor did she truly feel those emotions Lenore had displayed, or the strangeness of the child; however, she could feel the warm and fuzzy feeling building up in her stomach. Everything is weird. Everyone is different.

Leaving the ghostly library and its dull frieze, they sauntered towards the calmer riverbank and silently stared out at the red-painted water surface with glints of gold, as they took in the beauty of an autumn sunset in a shade of cerise, and the lights lightly traced their petite figures on the deteriorating xanadu grass.

Time passed, and, shamefully enough, their stomachs started to growl. Lenore blushed profusely, and she used her hand to cover it up, which of course failed, but it wouldn't take long for the girl to fix her previous posture and looking for vendors.

Left with the child, the reticent black-haired could but to stare at the little girl and her small paper fly, as the child was seemingly reminiscing. The child eventually propelled her paper fly vigorously, and even gave it a languid wave, sending it off in the fading horizon. Her face incomprehensible, but her eyes shone with sheer relief, as if boulders of burden were lifted off of her shoulders.

Perhaps Melan had been staring too long and intense, or she was just oblivious, that it was actually the child that had been calling out her name and was staring at her. "You seemed happy.", the child's sweet voice dispersed into the tepid air of August.

At that point, Melan's mind was devoid. I seemed happy? Am I happy? What is it like to be happy? Her thoughts were racing, for this is the first time someone had said to her how she was like. "I-I don't know."

"You... are quite interesting. You seem to be unable to understand emotions."

Those words struck the raven-haired. She could feel the warmth creeping up her cheeks and bosom, and her hands trembled slightly.

"Being happy, I guess,  it would be when you feel your body fills with gentle warmth, and you would become slight fuzzy, and then you would get lost in the moment. You would like to experience it every day, and it would be unimaginable for you if it suddenly disappeared.", the child finished her long lecture with a heaved sight, filling her lungs with the tranquil air.

"I understand," Melan mumbled, recovered from her previous internal paroxysm, was now dwelling on the child's words. "Then, I am sure that I'm happy."

The raven-haired gave a small sincere smile, her eyes soften as her ink lustred irises reflected the gracious shade of carmine.

Her smile stupefied both the child and the gullible Lenore who was jogging back with three crêpes in her hands, reached filled with white fluffy cream and topped with fruits.

Melan, looking at the somewhat disheveled Lenore, muttered a "welcome back", however, as soon as she looked at the crêpes, she asked rather naïvely "Ah, you forgot the Mister's again, Lenore."