Missanagi
Legacy Name: Missanagi

A Short Story by: TheeMuse

Missanagi's pale eyes scrutinized her image in the mirror, thin lips drawn into a serious line as she assessed her clothing. She was completely covered from the base of her neck to the tips of her toe nails, swathed in layer upon layer of mismatched fabrics of varying textures and patterns. Only her wrists and hands were bare, and that would be rectified as soon as she finished with her hair. Today of all days, she wanted to be able to concentrate without hair obscuring her vision. Taking a long, copper coil, she looped her virid dreadlocks around and through it in a practiced motion until the entire mess was captured tightly at the nape of her neck. Satisfied, she picked up a pair of well-used and much-loved, heavy leather gloves that had originally belonged to Maurog, who used them when mending the barbed-wire fences on the outskirts of the farm acreage. She had rescued them from a bench outside of the stables where they'd been left to bake in the sun, deciding at the time that she would put them to better use. And she had. If he had since noticed her wearing them, he'd kept the observation to himself. The gloves were gangly on her, but they protected her from mishaps better than she had originally hoped. She pulled them on almost to her elbows, tucking the material of her multi-layered sleeves into the recesses of the gloves.

Once more, she paused to assess herself in the looking glass. As an after thought, she picked up a gauzy, vermilion scarf dotted with sprays of white wisteria and triple-looped it around her neck to just under her chin. She frequently elicited looks of bewilderment from the others, who did not possess her distinct and expressive sense of style, but their criticism could not be avoided and it did nothing to dissuade her. She resembled the colorful works of art that she spent so much of her time creating; the proof of the latter could be found spattered here and there on her clothing if one looked closely enough. Nodding once, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and then pivoted on the ball of one purple suede-clad foot and marched for the front door. Today would be the day; she tilted her chin up into the air and affected confidence, even though she could feel her heart anxiously pounding in its cage.

The air outside was bright and crisp. It was morning still, although only just so, and the sounds and smells that greeted her were familiar. Somewhere on the premises, she could hear a lawn mower chewing grass as Rocky paid penance for replacing Piucca's toothpaste with foot-cream. Missanagi allowed herself a private smile as she strode purposefully down the worn path that circled around the side of the guest house that she shared with Inamoritus. The two of them were polar opposites and that was perhaps why Piucca had bunked them together, hoping that the Darkonite's reserved nature might quiet the Sheeta's passions and, in turn, that the brash older woman might pull Missa out of her shell a little. They coexisted peacefully, but also separately and had little affect upon one another. So much for their “mother's” intentions – at least they had not yet set their lodgings on fire. Unlike Aion.

At last the diminutive teenager reached her destination; a shabby garden carved into a small patch of unforgiving earth that had so far been unyielding. Although she had tilled and worked the ground faithfully for over two years, it had not yet provided her with a single vegetable or legume. This would be the day, though – today she would overcome her scourge. She looked over her shoulder, making certain that she was completely alone, and then knelt in the soft dirt. Missa carefully assured that her clothing completely protected the ground from her skin, lest she unintentionally poison her project. She still did not entirely understand what it was that caused life to flee from her gentle touch, but she would not risk making any mistakes. She had no proof that her cumbersome clothing actually prevented her curse from taking root, but it at least provided her with a peaceful conscience.

Missanagi stared intently at a pile of wet soil that rose up unevenly from the rest of the earth. Her small hands flexed within the aged gloves and the leather creaked. Somewhere in the copse of aspen trees that grew flush against the stream that wound its way throughout the farm, two chickadees chirped together. She tried to listen to the flirty birds instead of to the blood rushing in her ears as she leaned down and gently dug her clothed fingertips into the earth, searching. The glove made it difficult to tell exactly what she was doing, so she moved deliberately until she was certain that she had released her prize from the dirt. She then slowly lifted its cheery head up to greet the sun for the first time and Missa enjoyed a deep sense of satisfaction. The tulip bobbed its bright petals in a sweet breeze as if to thank her for helping it find fresh air. Tears kissed the young woman's cheeks as she stared at her masterpiece, more beautiful than any painting she had ever created. At long last, she had created life.

For a beautiful moment, she existed alone with the precious flower and her heart felt only contentment and joy. Eventually, she sat back on her heels and removed a glove in order to wipe the tears off of her chin. As she did this, she spotted Veo at the well across the way. He did not know she was there and so she watched him with secret pleasure, smiling all the while about her success with the bloom. He turned then and looked across the yard to her, as if he had somehow sensed her gaze upon him. Missanagi blushed and quickly ducked her head, dropping her hands back into her lap where they knocked the empty glove onto the ground. She reached down to pick up the errant glove and simultaneously glanced sidelong to see if he was still looking. Veo was gone, finished with his chore she supposed. She felt a confusing mingle of relief and frustration, which was common when thinking about her crush. Maybe one day....

At last returning her attention to the garden, grief immediately gripped Missa as she looked down at the desicated remains of the flower that she had beheld full of life and beauty only moments before. Perhaps she had brushed it with her hand when distracted and reaching for the fallen glove, or maybe it simply could not stand her presence and had given in to despair and wilted, like so many souls before it. The tears came again, bitter this time. Why had she dropped her guard? She was such a fool! What use could she ever be to Veo if everything she touched decayed and rotted? She would not, could not relent. Even though sadness clung to her like a sodden mantle, she would persevere – what choice did she have? Maybe Piucca had another bulb that she could give Missanagi. She would replant and care for it with twice the love that she had given this tulip and maybe, just maybe, it might survive next Spring.

She had to believe it would.