A ghost regained awareness.
It was a curious feeling, returning to reality after what could have easily been decades, and Tojiko was yet to get used to it. She lay quietly in her casket as she waited for her limbs and senses to wake up, still as a corpse.
After several long moments, she sat up and frowned without meaning to. While falling into a trance had proven her saviour, she feared that one day, she wouldn't be able to come back from the void. There was no way for her to choose to wake up once she went under, nothing to rely on but the hope her body, undead or not, would force her back if her mind was about to be irrecoverably lost.
That was why, whenever she did return, she'd spent some time conscious, whittling time away like she had before finding her escape. Once the pressure on her head grew irritating, she'd go back to meditation. The alternation had worked fine for an indeterminable amount of time, though it did mean she no longer saw Seiga. Apparently, the wicked hermit didn't bother rousing her when she visited, if she even continued to check up on the mausoleum at all.
Tojiko had already returned back safely four times. With what was hopefully considerably less than a hundred years to go, it made little difference if she failed the fifth time. Surely her allies would do their best to bring her back if they woke up before her.
Surely.
She left her casket and hovered to Futo's resting place. After a moment of silently contemplating the white-haired woman, she extended her hand and touched her cheek. Her skin was cold as ice.
Her eye drifted downwards, to Futo's hands lying on her chest, and the object held in them.
It was simplicity itself to extract the plate from Futo's grasp; her body was as yielding as any live one. Tojiko placed Futo's hands back where they had been before drifting away.
She leaned her back against her own casket and examined the plate. Nothing distinguished it from any other plate except for the subtle decorations around its edge, the colour of which Tojiko could no longer tell — her brush with insanity seemed to have permanently damaged her eyes — but she knew they were blue. It was odd to think a human soul resided within such a common object.
She balanced the plate in her hands, feeling out its exact weight, wondering how many shards it would break into if it hit the floor.
She remained in place for a long while, absorbed in deep thought.
Then, with a sigh, she turned and returned the plate into Futo's hands. She wouldn't put vengeance aside, not completely, but she would postpone it for now. First, she wanted to hear Futo's explanation for her actions, hopefully discovering the real motive behind her crime. Besides, along with Miko and Seiga, she was one of the only three people left who had known Tojiko. If anyone could help her complete the hole-ridden picture of her past, it was her. She could destroy Futo if necessary once she had everything she wanted out of her.
Assuming she still wished to do so, anyway.
Tojiko sat down on the floor, leaning her elbows against the edge of Futo's casket. Futo looked so peaceful in her sleep, calm and fragile in a way she had never been in life. And yet, there was a slight crease between her eyes.
"What exactly were you thinking when you died?" Tojiko's memories of her own death were but brief flashes; of the bitter taste on her tongue, of Miko helping her lie down, and of an all-consuming, primordial panic swallowing her whole as her lungs failed. What remained of Futo's fate was permanently seared onto her mind, but even the crystal clear image of the last look Futo had given her didn't answer the question. Only Futo herself could.
"You fool," she whispered. A slight smile crept onto her lips despite herself, withering as soon as she noticed it was there. "You must have known you would be caught. Even if I had moved on, Miko would have..." She shook her head. "Even with all the time I've had to think about it, I still don't understand your motives." Again, she smiled, this time allowing herself to be amused. "I wonder what the look on your face will be once you wake up and see me here."
Naturally, there was no response. Tojiko chuckled wryly.
"I look forward to hearing your first words in your new life. I'm sure they will be priceless."
She tilted her head. The strangest thing was, she no longer found it in herself to hate Futo. She held a grudge, certainly, but the burning rancour she had once felt was gone. Perhaps, once Futo lived again, the hatred would return, but that remained to be seen.
Slowly, she brought her hand down and lightly stroked Futo's hair.
A sharp gasp like the first desperate breath of one rescued from underwater resonated in the dusty air.
Tojiko retracted her hand, blinking.
Futo's eyes fluttered open.