|Date of Cutscene:||08 February 2015|
|Location:||A Quiet World|
|Synopsis:||Mizuki debates the choices given to her by Psyber.|
|Cast of Characters:||Mizuki|
|Tinyplot:||A Chime at the Precipice|
Since last night, Mizuki has kept cloistered in her Red Room atop the Clock Tower. There she sits on the same red velvet couch that she has since her earliest recollection, eyes fixed permanently on the stained glass window before her. In her hand she holds an emptied teacup that sways idly yet nervously to and fro. All else in the area is motionless and silent.
She had requested this silence of the rest of her world, and likewise ordained that no others should enter this chamber aside from herself for the next several days. Even Equinox, her Abstractum, has been moved to the lower floors of the building where they have been told simply to wait for her return. All this because she is lost in thought -- hopelessly cast adrift in a maelstrom of reflection of a nature far too personal for her to maintain her normal distance, or calm. Her wandering hand would clutch the bowl of the teacup now, squeezing it in some modest attempt to find peace, of a kind. It's all she can fathom to do.
She has been given two choices. Many people are waiting to hear which of that pair she will ultimately land upon. Will she allow what remains of her more genuine psyche to erode, that her current facade may become so firmly stitched to her soul as to never leave her? Or will she instead witness the death of her mask, that the vulnerability lying underneath her superficial skin may begin to show?
Pah, what a farce that was. She hates both choices equivalently, and yet she knows - yes, all too painfully well she knows - it is one she must indeed make. If it is the first, though, she wonders whether she will ever be able to connect with others as she has begun to now again. She wonders if any of her words will rise above a simple figure of hollowness that will echo just as mournfully to her as they would to everyone who once knew her, until the time comes that they should leave her outright. Then again, if it is the second she wonders if this whole world she has built around herself - her fortress of solemnity, of joy, of protection from myriad fears she is scarcely even aware - would begin to crumble under its own weight at last. She wonders if her 'utopia' would elude her forevermore, and whether she, too, might one day perish of some mental scar made feasible by the absence of her cherished armor.
It sounds so tantalizing to choose the former and to allow herself to fade from this new world she has found; to lock herself eternally at the highest floor of her lofty fortress and throw away the key. She could fashion herself a tale that way, make herself all the more like one of the fairy-tale entities she so reveres. And yet, tempting as it is, that bell rings with such a dismal, mournful howl. Her fear of running has grown so that she has been made to run even from that alternative, locking her eternally into flux.
Gingerly, the girl sets her teacup upon the table beside her. The noise that gesture summons to sound would echo throughout the chamber, as would her shoes as she stands were the ground not clad in carpet. She would begin a slow walk from the far end of her chamber to the elevator in which she takes a deep breath and locks her arms tightly behind her back. Finally, she descends on that magical platform to the entryway where she has left Equinox, soon pushing open the doors to face the dismal purgatory that lies to the South of her home. Her eyes would lock on to the horizon for a spell.
With a deep breath, she summons the magical matrix she so often uses for communication and 'dials' Psyber's frequency. Then, at last, her voice would break the silence that had choked her realm:
"I have my answer."