Happy Friday everyone!  It's Borealis!

I hope you're all doing well and excited for Venus: Improbable Dream's release!  This week, I've got a new short story for you, written by myself and exploring the game's characters in more detail, and showing events you don't see in the game!  Please enjoy this little window into Haruka's home life, and her relationship with her parents!

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As the town begins to waken from its slumber, the streets filling with people on their way to start their day, Haruka stands in front of her desk.  Reaching into her school bag, a sense of calm permeates through her as her fingers meet the familiar textures of her things; her music folder, her textbooks, her pencil case, her lunch box, her phone – everything she needs is there.

She zips the bag closed, feeling comforted in the knowledge that everything is tucked safely away, and then her ears pick up on a new sound in the air; a muffled tread on carpet, indicating that someone’s about to enter her room.  Right on cue, the door swings open gently.

“All set?”

“Yep!”  Haruka’s instinct had known that it’d be her mother before she’d even arrived.

“Ready for your hair?”

“Yes please.”

Upon these words, an age-old daily ritual begins; Haruka takes a seat on her bed, facing away from her mother, who perches behind her.  Picking up a hairbrush, she starts to comb through Haruka’s long, pretty hair, the glow of the morning sun causing its hue to resemble a rich clementine marmalade.  She brushes until it’s smooth, and all the while, Haruka relishes the feeling, her eyes closed in bliss – such a simple form of contact, yet it feels so intimate to her.

When her mother’s ensured that no tangles remain, she sets to work, separating sections of hair into strands and winding them with well-rehearsed dexterity, crafting the braided style that Haruka loves so much.  Haruka stays still so as not to disturb her, though she can’t help but voice a thought that pops into her head.

“How long ago did we start doing this style?  It’s been quite a while now, hasn’t it?”

Her mother hums a soft, low note in contemplation, one of her personal quirks that Haruka would recognise anywhere.

“Didn’t we change it from the ponytail at the start of this school year?” she pipes up at last.  “I remember you saying that you wanted a new look for each year of senior high.”

“Oh yeah, of course!”

The memory rushes back to her immediately.  Haruka had never been particularly vain when it comes to her appearance in the past, but once these hair-styling sessions had become a beloved staple between her and her mother, she’d allowed her to have her way, giving her whatever pretty look she came up with.

It had become a sort of bonding method between the two, and now Haruka couldn’t imagine ever not starting her day without those treasured routines – getting ready for school, eating her father’s home-cooked breakfast at the dining table, and letting her mother style her hair.  It’s humble, but for Haruka, it’s the stuff of dreams.

At last, and yet all too soon, Haruka feels her mother’s hands retract, pausing in a moment of thought, before returning once more to stroke adoringly down the back of her head.

“There,” her mother utters quietly, affection in her voice.  “You’re all done.”

“Does it look nice?”

Haruka doesn’t really need to know the answer, but the childish innocence in her can’t help but ask anyway, wanting the warm validation that she knows is coming.  The way her mother chuckles slightly before replying tells her that she knows it just as well.

“Of course, my darling!  You look lovely.  You always do.”

Haruka’s cheeks tingle slightly with heat as she smiles, relishing the fuzzy feeling that the compliment gives her.  She feels the pressure of her mother’s hand come against hers, and clasps it gently, the both of them squeezing in endearment.  Then, like a bird chirping suddenly amid the serene moment, her father’s voice drifts upwards from downstairs.

“Alright ladies, breakfast is pretty much served, if you’re ready!”

“We’ll be down in a minute, honey!” her mother shouts in reply, and Haruka’s stomach begins to growl enthusiastically at the mention of food.

“I just want to check my flute,” she says, “so I’ll be there in a sec.”

“No problem, Haruka.  I’ll pour you some tea.”

Haruka releases her mother’s hand from her own as she stands up, heading out of the room, and then rises from the bed herself, padding carefully over to the desk once more.  She’s already checked her belongings, but for some reason, she always finds herself re-checking the flute one more time every morning, just before breakfast.

She hesitates for a moment as she reaches out towards its case, unsure as to why this vulnerability raises its head like this, and for just a tiny fragment of time, an unpleasant feeling washes over her – something lonely, something shameful…  something other.

Taking a breath to steady herself, she forces her limbs back into action, opening the case and plunging her hands inside – ah, yes, there it is.  The smooth, metallic sensation she knows and loves meets her skin, and instantly, her whole being is flooded with relief, the moment of sadness swept away as though it was never there.

She lets her hands roam all over the flute until she’s convinced that it’s whole, that it’s real, and that she won’t have to be without it.  Then, reining in her fear and casting it aside for now, she closes the case once more, nodding to herself in satisfaction – everything is as it should be.  Turning on her heel, she heads downstairs.

As she’d hoped, the dining room is filled with the sounds and smells of joy; kitchenware clinking, her parents laughing, the homey aroma of miso and salty fish.  It pulls her like a magnet to the table, where she’s immediately presented with several bowls of food, along with her mother’s promised cup of tea.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes in the morning, Haruka?” her father croons with affection, reaching over and petting her head softly.  “The sun might as well not bother rising, as long as you’re around, eh?”

Haruka giggles with mirth, feeling as though this type of attention is almost too childish for her parents to give her, considering her age now, but loving it desperately at the same time.  As she picks up her chopsticks and takes her first bite, savouring both the flavour and the relaxed chatter between her parents, she feels herself fully relax once more.

  Yep…  everything’s definitely as it should be.

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There you go!  I hope you enjoyed it, and for those who've played the demo, I wonder - is Haruka's issue obvious to you in this short story, and if you don't know what it is, can you guess it from how it's written?  There is a secret if you don't already know it!  Hehe~!

See you next week for another short story, and hopefully some great news!

Borealis