Chapter Two: She opened it

She walked briskly up the equalized stairs, her mind set focused on one ambition. Her feet thudded ardently against the wooden steps and it took all her strength to keep from exploding in utter excitement. With her treasure safely tucked in her arms for a muffled nap, she permitted her lips to materialize into a wicked grin.

Never before had she been so excited—so obsessed. It felt as if her sense organs were on fire, picking up each and every detail in open spaces which she normally in a regular day-by-day routine couldn't distinguish. The roaring stimulation inside her eventually became too much to bear and she silently threw her head back and squealed in delight.

These uncharacteristic actions coming from her could on no account be considered normal. For her previous 15 years, her cage of insanity remained extinct. Unlike others, she, on the other hand, stood well-known for her endless bowls of complaints and boredom towards each single thing she touched. And to have her mind racing on such a simple artifact was surely enough to bring a cracked scientist down to his knees.

What happened to be more referred toward the reality she lived in; dull, unchanging, a peaceful neighborhood, no craziness. Ichigo never experienced such exhilaration for ages, thus, this had her overheating.

She hadn't wasted a moment after she reached her house back from the store. Her lower region sprang into motion, dragging her upper self through the door, nearly forgetting to lock it afterwards in the process. She had been bouncing over the walls, which she knew too well Minto would have vainly insulted upon using the word 'insane' had she stopped and gave her friend a second glance.

She remembered her reaction strongly.

Little by little, as Ichigo climbed the decreasing steps, she became aware of her own happiness, and attempted desperately to sooth the hotness into snow. But her attempts failed with the many approaches the squirming bag thudded against her upper chest.

Thud,

Thud,

Thud,

Thud,

Thud,

Thud,

The rhythmic patting accelerated her blood speed as did her feet.

She bluntly realized it became a good thing her parents weren't dwelling in the house. Otherwise, seeing their daughter like this would probably bring them into the killer, busybody zone.

Ichigo made no interest in reading the palm-fit size note taped inertly on the dining table, even though her intelligence advised it necessary.

All that mattered lingered around the fact that they were not home.

This made her very happy for once. She decided she'd have to scan her mother's letter later.

Her desired destination eventually clicked into invitation status. She hurriedly twisted the doorknob, plugged into her personal room, targeting unswervingly at the bed. Her shoulders met the pink strawberry-designed sheets and she gently laid her belonging down, eyes gleaming with eagerness.

The cup weighted somewhat heavy, she noticed.

She traced the surface using her pupils. It exhibited small paintings of brown ribbons arranged in a line with strange words she couldn't comprehend. The language was exotic—unfamiliar from all angles she stalked. There were sketches made with what looked like wings.

She gulped, brushing along as she did so.

She wondered what inhabited the inside.

Of course, the only way to find out the answer to that one would definitely be opening it. She placed her fingers upon the cap, preparing her next course of action—yet hesitated.

Due to some strange reason, her soul drew out warnings for what laid hidden underneath the cover. The thoughts racing through her head mouthed several opinions along the lines of 'danger' and 'precaution'. Ichigo couldn't have cared less—but she did.

Her former enthusiasm evaporated. Her former long-lasting grin morphed into one of concern or fear.

Perhaps it could be possible the something within had a capability to shove her into some sort of crazy predicament. After all, she DID buy it from an antique shop—more or less. She'd heard information on girls with circumstances the same as hers on television.

A girl takes a strange object home and unleashes it.

After that, evil begins taking over the world . . .

She removed her hand from the teacup.

Maybe . . .

Just maybe . . .

She shook her head.

No, it couldn't be. She couldn't possibly believe those mindless tales about world domination and ghosts. No. She lived in a world between what was right and wrong, plus what was real and fake. Surely, nothing from that brute category should drop atop her ribs.

No.

A single bead of sweat maneuvered down her throat.

Yet . . . why was she tempted to retrieve from the mug? The nauseous feeling in her stomach insisted to stay.

The wandering question triggered her wailing button.

Barely a second ago, delight controlled her, so what the hell was up with the uneasiness now?

She crashed her eyebrows down and lifted the lid.

The next event surfaced immediately after. Smoke exploded from the container in pure, white rays. Subsequently, an angry wind seized the walls. The room turned cold like an unexpected draft. Ichigo shielded her eyes against the piercing breeze using her arms, leaving a crack or two to catch secretive glimpses of the affair.

Dust merged with the increasing fog, swirling it, dancing over the curtains hanging from the window—

Spin, spin, spin, went the uncontrolled storm. She became badly entangled in a relentlessly escalating crisis.

Then, miraculously, all cleared.

The rough weather subsided.

And her eyes expanded at the sight before her.

'It couldn't be happening', was the first thought that flew her head. Not to her; the most ordinary girl in town.

Oh . . . no . . . It certainly had to be a mere miscalculation . . .

She squeezed her eyelids shut; opening them once more, hoping her imagination was at fault.

Sadly, no.

Still there . . .

This can't be happening! She screamed silently over and over, suffering horribly.

But it was. Oh, yes, it was. No doubt about it, everything she just seen rose up one hundred percent true.

Standing in front of her was a young male dressed in the weirdest clothes she had ever rested her eyes upon. His ears were elongated and the moving ribbons behind him were enough to make anyone squealed in horror, "They're alive!" Tangled green hair crusted his head, blinded up by two red side locks. His clothing selections were utterly indescribable. His body took her attention most of all. The white—pale whitish skin covering him made her squeal in fright. Never had she seen someone so terribly pale.

Did he come from the grave? What is . . . She wondered, half frantic.

And what upset her most happened next. Without an introduction or explanation, the adolescent blurted out in one cheery, disturbingly casual high voice as if they were considered blunt old friends.

"Yo!"

Apple: I thank all those who commented, yay. I'll make sure to return the favor if you have any stories or chapters of your own. Thank-you all as it helped me get into writing an Ichigo and Kisshu story, in which I do not do good at. Made me want to update.