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Her fan sang its song, filling her room with humdrum melodies. Ryo melted into the softness of her mattress, golden eyes strung along by the dappled light from the sunset outside.
As she laid on fabrics over fabrics, she wondered what Nijika was up to, where she was, what she was thinking about, how she was. Did she choose to wear her red bow today? Or did she give purchase to something else? Nevertheless, Ryo thought she'd look great in anything.
The girl shifted, turning to face the darkness in her room, opposed to the growing glare from her windows. Then, she spots infinitesimals at the corner of her eyes: The golden pick she'd strung as a necklace, that flaxen fat cat plushie she won at the arcade, that amber shirt she'd carelessly thrown at the corner, and that picture of her and Nijika on her drawers.
As quickly as she found them, she looked away. Ryo was too yellow a girl to love again.