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AFTER changing, Akari said good night to Tomohito and went to lay out her futon in the library.
“So I’m back in here again. Oh well, it’s not like I’ve got the time or energy to move all that junk back out of the other room tonight, so it will have to do.”
Muttering grumpily to herself, Akari nonetheless felt rather cheerful. After all, she’d just enjoyed a good hot bath.
At first, she’d planned to go to the nearby public bathhouse, but Tomohito had stopped her, saying it was too dangerous at night.
She’d quickly spruced up the bathroom and run a bath, which was full and hot in no time thanks to the house being equipped with a gas water heater.
Akari had thought Mayoi might have performed some mischief that would force her to take a cold bath, but no, she was able to enjoy this home comfort. Even if she did have to fend off a certain bothersome Kotogami who was armed with a sponge and a firm determination to scrub her back for her.
Now dressed in a sleeping robe, Akari sat down on the futon and looked around her. The room had an air of sacred stillness, save for the pile of new packages stacked up in a corner.
They didn’t go with the room. They were the things Akari had bought that day. Nobody had tampered with them while she was in the bath. “So Mayoi didn’t toss all my stuff outside like I feared.”
The room was full of creepy things that would usually have caught her attention, but right now all she could think about was finding out more about Mayoi.
After thinking about it at length, Akari drew Mayoi’s Kotogatari out from the satchel. She ran her fingers over the smooth black cover. And she felt a twinge inside her chest.
Tomohito had told her that a Kotogatari was like a historical report of a Kotogami, written in the form of a story.
He’d said they were something different altogether from the fictional stories Akari disliked.
“I don’t even know why I hate stories so much myself…”
Akari had used the word hate to describe her feelings to Tomohito. But with a story open in front of her now, what she was feeling was apprehension and a desire to escape. It was a strange feeling, somehow subtly different from mere hate or dislike.
Her memories of her childhood were hazy, but Akari seemed to recall enjoying fables and fairytales before her parents died. It was only when she was all alone in the world, being shunted from one relative to another, that she’d begun to dislike them. The world of fantasy was something she began to actively avoid.
Looking down at the Kotogatari in her lap, she realized she felt even more nervous to read it than she would a regular novel. Nevertheless, she was very curious about Mayoi.
“I need information before I can form an opinion on anything.”
Was she trying to convince herself by saying that out loud?
She had a feeling she’d been manipulated into this by Tomohito. But part of her really wanted to know more about Mayoi, too.
There were journals stacked on a separate shelf from the Kotogatari volumes.
Those were probably the journals left behind by the Narrators who’d taken up positions in this Bookhouse. There was also a conveniently placed reading desk in the room, complete with a chair and a hanging lamp.
Perhaps by reading, she could get some insights on how to make this new lifestyle of hers go smoother. But then she thought of something.
“Will Mayoi even let me read her Kotogatari?”
Tomohito had stopped her from reading his own Kotogatari, after all… But telling herself that if Mayoi didn’t want her Kotogatari read, she’d surely stop her, Akari stroked the book’s black cover again.
“Please tell me about yourself, Mayoi…”
Akari took a seat at the reading desk and placed the Kotogatari on the book stand. The dim electric light hummed overhead as she turned the pages with a dry whispery sound.