Mori Tsukisa loved these slow-paced days. Perhaps going to some bizarre World would be even more wonderful.
Whenever this happened, she felt a sense of fulfillment. It seemed only curiosity could keep burning brightly, pushing this lazy non-human creature to move her little feet.
Like this Miss Tyah, who was wrapped tightly in black gauze.
Curator Terence usually required the museum to close between 8:00 and 8:30 PM. The half-hour left was for the troublesome Miss Evelyn to pack away her exuberant thirst for knowledge and curiosity. But today, the one dragging her feet wasn't her.
"Miss Tyah, we're closing."
Evelyn carefully placed the decades-old manuscript back into its box. In the library on the left side of the museum partition, Tyah, dressed in black gauze, was still lingering.
She was the only one left in the building.
"Miss Tyah?"
Evelyn poked her head out from behind the bookshelf. She didn't see Tyah, but she did see Mori Tsukisa sitting on a bench, writing and drawing.
"Little Sen, where's Miss Tyah?"
Mori Tsukisa brushed her hair back and pointed to the bookshelf on the other side.
This lady seemed a bit uncomfortable today—whether physically or mentally, she didn't know.
At dawn today, she had been waiting at the door early. When Evelyn opened the museum doors, she had limped inside and then stayed there all day.
She hadn't even eaten.
Mori Tsukisa noticed that while Evelyn was busy with her research, this local lady didn't seem to pick up a book to pass the time like last time. She seemed a bit anxious and worried.
"Little Sen."
After packing her things, Evelyn walked over quietly and whispered with her head close to Mori Tsukisa's, "This woman is very strange."
Evelyn had naturally noticed the other woman's behavior of not eating or drinking all day and her strange gait. Her brow hadn't unfurrowed since the afternoon.
"That's their business. You know, locals always have some strange behaviors, or things we don't understand..." Mori Tsukisa picked up a book by her leg and handed it to Evelyn.
"Finished the inventory?"
Evelyn nodded and took off her old-fashioned round-rimmed glasses. Inventorying books, recording their collection and maintenance according to codes—this was Mori Tsukisa and Evelyn's job, done every two days.
"Just let her leave like this?"
Evelyn hesitantly turned to Mori Tsukisa, who was a few years younger than her, for help. This young woman, who had been an adult for years, was a bit at a loss. Her years spent buried in academic life made it hard for her to use a stern tone to refuse a pitiful woman.
Besides, she could see that the other woman really didn't want to leave yet, even though the clock had long passed the scheduled closing time.
"I'll go ask."
Mori Tsukisa didn't want to wait here. She tugged at the hem of her dress and stood up. The light tapping of her high heels on the floor tiles echoed in the empty museum hall.
Upon hearing this, Tyah began to get nervous.
"Miss Tyah, we're closing."
The expression of the woman wrapped in black gauze changed rapidly—one could tell from her exposed eyes alone. Perhaps because she rarely went out, she seldom interacted with people and didn't understand social etiquette. So, when Mori Tsukisa spoke directly, she began to panic.
"I... I'd like to stay a bit longer..." In her panic, the woman lowered her head and took two quick steps, like a herbivore fleeing a cheetah; even a whisper could startle her.
"Miss Tyah, you can come back tomorrow."
"No, no!" Tyah suddenly looked up, only a pair of terrified eyes visible on her face covered by black gauze. "No... sorry, I..."
Mori Tsukisa tilted her head thoughtfully. "Eh..."
Mori Tsukisa lived in the center of Cairo, where most residents were from the local so-called upper class, and the remaining were sold to foreigners—mostly Britons, currently, their fatherland.
The huge house was newly built, and only Mori Tsukisa lived in it. In Arrietty's words, apart from the Wabi-Sabi Courtyard, other places were not suitable for the noble Little Sprites.
Mori Tsukisa was too lazy to ask where this 'noble' came from. Anyway, every once in a while, this Little Sprite with coral-colored long hair would always come up with a few new, ill-timed words.
Before her, Miss Tyah sat primly on only a small part of the sofa, her legs together, hands resting on her knees, not uttering a word, her dark eyelashes lowered.
Even her feet were pressed tightly together.
She had been sitting there for twenty minutes without moving.
"Please, help yourself."
Mori Tsukisa walked over on the carpet, placing two steaming cups of black tea on the table.
"Currently, it's just me here, so..." The girl pinched two sugar cubes and dropped them into a cup. "So, you're welcome to visit anytime."
"It's much more comfortable than the museum, isn't it?"
Watching the girl who looked thoroughly pleased after tasting the tea, Tyah finally relaxed her tense body slightly. As she picked up her teacup, she saw the girl playfully wink at her.
The other party seemed to have noticed her embarrassment and unspoken difficulties, taking the lead in making many 'impolite' gestures, which made Miss Tyah feel guided—at least, it was indeed much more comfortable here than the library.
A warm current slid down her tongue into her throat, then down her esophagus into her stomach. For some reason, her heart also seemed to slow its beating, and from the gushing blood pumped out, Tyah felt a warmth spread throughout her body.
Hiss.
It was a sound made by accident.
"How is it... You're welcome to visit often, my name is Mori Tsukisa."
Tyah put down her teacup, her movements so elegant they seemed to have undergone long and deliberate training. In their rigidity, there was no sense of natural grace; instead... they were stiff and numb.
"I know. Thank you, Miss Mori Tsukisa."
The corners of her mouth under the veil curved upwards, and her eyes also curved into crescent moons. This woman, probably much older than Mori Tsukisa, now smiled like an innocent girl.
"Thank you..." The woman, who had seen some years, had a soft, sweet voice.
"Ah, I'm not sleepy yet." Mori Tsukisa stretched lazily, unceremoniously slumping into the sofa, curling up into a small ball. "If you want to confide... or just space out here, feel free. Make yourself at home."
Her voice was intermittent, like a dream.
Most stories in the World are repetitive and boring, or boring and repetitive.
Like a mentally troubled man who married a fourteen-year-old girl out of boredom, and then, for sixteen long years, tormented her by every means possible.
Mori Tsukisa could see the end of the story; it would probably be an even more boring farce.
Thirty-year-old Miss Tyah could be called a 'master' of torture.
She was like an encyclopedia, clearly knowing the color, size, and pain of blisters that formed after being burned by a branding iron. She also knew the consequences of putting the branding iron on that blister again—the pus would instantly 'hiss' and rise in a wisp of smoke.
She knew the feeling of an unsharp table knife cutting off a whole piece of skin, and had also tried the taste of them fried until golden brown and sandwiched in toast.
And needle pricks, a crucial and indispensable part of torture; the gaps in the knees and the tailbone were the most unbearable places.
Flogging... that was nothing much.
The least common was the hammer. The heavy hammer would make 'thud-thud-thud' sounds when dropped on the floor, then lifted with force and brought down with a 'clang' to smash a toe—of course, her husband would provide the best medical care to ensure this game could be played again after a while.
Mr. Sheikh was a famous Collector in Cairo, and tens of millions of precious treasures had passed through his hands to be sold abroad. His wife, to be worthy of Mr. Sheikh's status, diligently learned everything a wife should learn.
Mr. Sheikh was a rare good man, spoken of by everyone as dashing, wealthy, and devoted to his wife.
Mr. Sheikh was the devil who deserved to go to hell, in Tyah's words.
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