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The book sits open in her lap, her hands clenched as she finishes the last paragraph. The words burn in her mind, running in an endless loop, their meaning clear.
Sakura’s still as she stares at the book, slowly opening her fists and relaxing her shoulders. “It’s here,” she whispers, a sigh escaping her lips.
It’s here. He’s here.
Hurriedly, she gets up, closing the ancient book. A finger affectionately strokes the leather spine, a smile lighting her face, before returning it to the shelf in front of her. The library is silent, an empty tomb she glides through as she returns to her table, packing her bag. Quickly, she runs through the list in her mind—only a week left till the next full moon and she has yet to locate the sealing room itself, let alone all the preparations that needs to be done before hand.
There is no time, but she allows herself a moment’s rest. It has been centuries since she’d had this much hope.
(Centuries since she last saw his calloused fingers, the bumpy terrain of his scars, the curve of his neck. His breath warm, fingers ghosting her skin, and he murmurs something imperceptible.)
“Soon,” she tells herself. “Soon.” It won’t be long now, just a short week and then he’ll be released once more.
Then he’ll come back.
Her eyes slowly shut. If she stays still, if she doesn’t breathe or speak or think, she can feel his arms slide around her shoulders, his chin on her head. The soft brush of a kiss on her hair, he is more affectionate than reality dictates, but this is her phantom, her ghost. Soon, she’ll banish him to the corners of her mind, her steady companion through the ages.
Soon, and that weight will be solid and she will be whole again.
Soon.