(One click of the thumb to open the locket, one to close it.)
"You'd be a good match for any of the high school boys, Juri," he said as he tugged off his mask, one stray lock of feather-stiff brown hair dangling between his eyes, sheen of sweat on his forehead. So, after many matches, uncertain Juri tilted her head back just a little and let him kiss her. She had no desires then, after all, nothing but a cold and impersonal brilliance. Fence, study, pose, succeed. That was all.
(One click to open, one click to close.)
It was a year later that she first spotted her. Cold Juri she still was, cold and uncertain, because none of his touches had ever stirred her; something was missing, something had not yet awoken. And the first glance meant nothing. She was younger, after all, too young yet, with the silly little bow at the neck of her uniform.
(One click open, one click closed.)
It was a year later that she bought the locket, golden as her hair, and strung it hesitantly under her clothes. Grasping at something. Cold Juri, frozen Juri, whom not even the dashing tragic captain could touch. Frigid bitch, they called her. She tried not to care. The girl in the locket promised mysterious heat; eroticism sizzled in her wake, obscene delight sparked in her eyes. Juri watched, hypnotized, and kept it her greatest secret of all.
(Click open, click closed.)
"Believe in miracles, and they will know your feelings." Her words, after all. But nothing came of belief. Hopeless to approach her; wrong to approach her, a girl, so much younger, thawed and alive. Not even a girl she knew. She convinced herself that sour grapes lay between her thighs, and bit her lip, and hurled the locket into the pond.
Raw, surreal chance that the girl in the locket was the girl who found it, dangling from the beak of a magpie she coaxed towards her.
Cold Juri was only wrong in one thing; the girl would not be frightened, would not dismiss her. Instead she would let laughter rotting-sweet with rampant desire fall from her little pink lips before engulfing Juri's mouth and melting her into confusion and pain and lust both wanton and profane, her blue hair like wings under her hands.
"Oh, do you have any idea what this will do to Miki?" she whispered, sliding down between Juri's lust-frozen thighs with hands that played bodies like divine instruments.
"But wait," Juri would whisper back, much later, "I wanted...more."