Racconti di Volpe
Short stories set in the world of "Ragazza Volpe Magica ~A Fox by any other name isn't as rhythmical~"
These are more character focused and happen during downtimes during the story.
“Happy birthday Colette!!”
“I got you this for your birthday Colette!”
“Open my present Colette!”
“Blow out the candles Colette!”
That’s how I wish October 18th was every year.
Instead it goes a little something like this.
The fire resonator Rebecca opened her eyes. It was early morning, but there was a selfish part of her that wished it had never came.
Was displayed on the clock sitting next to her bed. The vixen sat up. She closed her eyes and raised her ears. “She’s up already.” The resonator sighed. Swinging her feet out of bed, she walked to the next room over. The door was shut. She jiggled the knob – locked. “Come on Colette you do this every year!” Rebecca shouted.
The sound on the other side got louder. “Ugh.”
Exiting the house, Rebecca walked around and popped the screen out of Colette’s window before kicking up the side of the house and hopping in through the window. Now unfiltered, Rebecca could clearly hear the distinct sound of sobbing.
“Colette.” Rebecca whispered; her expression downtrodden. “Happy Birthday Colette.” Rebecca muttered. The crying grew louder. The fire resonator crawled into her maestro’s bed – upon doing so, she was grabbed by the crying mess of a girl. “REBECCA!” The girl sobbed loudly, clinging to her resonator for dear life.
“Yes Colette, I’m here.” Rebecca tried to smile, but it was so difficult. She cursed her strength in rhythm – where most people wouldn’t be able to feel what someone else is feeling, Rebecca’s strong emotions enabled her to understand her maestro’s pain. But because of the very fact that Colette was her maestro, that meant Rebecca received all of Colette’s emotions full force.
Even if it was her strength, such powerful negative feelings still took their toll on the young resonator.
“I’m here Colette, I’m always here.” Rebecca whispered. “RE-RE-REBECCA!”
Hours would pass like this, eventually Colette would run out of steam and just lay there, clinging to her resonator “Please don’t leave me Rebecca…” She would whimper. “I won’t.”
It wouldn’t be long after that Colette would fall asleep and Rebecca would join her.
“I’m sorry Rebecca… I’m sorry…” Colette would whimper
“It’s okay Colette.” Rebecca would respond.
Why does this happen?
I guess I should start at the beginning.
My name is Rebecca – I’m a Fire Fox from the prestigious Renard Clan. My clan is known for its powerful fire resonators, many of my cousins, aunts, and uncles are known to be top level resonators that regularly compete in Nationals and Masters tournaments.
It isn’t uncommon for children of Renard resonators to be sold off or traded simply because of the lineage. I was no exception.
I don’t remember my mother all that well, and I don’t even remember if she had a maestro or not. Either way, the first vivid memory I had was meeting her.
“H-hello… My name is Colette. What’s your name?”
“Rebecca. Mom said I was going to be your resonator?”
“Yeah! Mama and Papa said they would get me a friend.”
I didn’t really understand why those words were so important until years later.
I love Colette. I love her with all my heart. A recurring nightmare plagues me where we date, get married, and adopt some children of our own. Live long lives, grow old, and die together in bliss.
It haunts me because I know it will never ever happen. I just wish she could be happy, but all she has is me to lean on, and I’m just her resonator. I wish I wasn’t born like this. I wish I could love her the way a full-fledged human could.
Especially after the accident.
The only reason Colette survived was because of me. I pulled her from that crash. Her parents weren’t linked with me, they weren’t protected by the heat resistance I provide. If I wasn’t linked to Colette, if she didn’t hold that red tuner – she would have died with her parents.
To rub salt in her wounds, this happened on her birthday.
No matter what I say or do, she blames herself for their deaths. She blames herself for surviving. She’s told me that if she had friends, her parents wouldn’t have bought me and she would have died. I know the intention behind her words thanks to my accursed rhythm:
She wanted to die that night.
I failed her.
And every year I’m reminded of my failure.
Happy Birthday Colette!