The mansion stood like a clean line drawn against the shadows of the garden trees. Its white walls caught the rising morning light, and the dew on the wide windows made the glass look like sheets of unmelted frost. On the upper floor, one window had been left half open, letting the morning air slip inside without fully inviting the world in.
The room behind that window was quiet and tidy, almost too perfect, like something prepared for a catalogue photo. The wooden floor was spotless and cool, reflecting the shifting stripes of sunlight that changed whenever the lavender curtains brushed against the breeze. A study desk stood near the far wall, filled with books arranged so neatly that not a single corner stuck out. Colored pencils were lined up from darkest shade to lightest. A small mug with a crescent moon print sat in the corner of the table, empty.
On a little shelf near the bed, a fox plush slumped slightly to one side, its synthetic fur a bit tangled. It was the only thing in the room that looked like it had ever been held. Everything else felt untouched, like a room inhabited by someone who didn't use things the way ordinary children did.
Morning light drifted toward the center of the room, settling over a young boy standing before the open window. His hair was white, shoulder length, soft like fresh snow that hadn't touched the ground yet. At the ends of the strands, faint lavender spread like diluted ink soaking into fabric. When the air slipped past, his hair moved gently, catching tiny sparks of sunlight in quiet motions.
His eyes were mismatched. The left one was ice blue, clear and calm. The right one was silver, catching light with a soft metallic glint. His gaze was fixed outside the window, but not on anything specific. It was the look of someone listening to something silent or seeing something that wasn't part of the room.
His skin was pale, porcelain-like, as if he had spent too long in a place without direct sun. The soft morning light rested against his cheek, giving him a faint contrast of warm and cold. He wore a simple white shirt with lavender accents along the collar and sleeves, loose fabric that settled lightly on his small frame. When the breeze entered, the cloth shifted as if it had its own slow breathing.
The boy's expression carried a quiet melancholy, but not the heavy kind that clung. It felt more like a pause—someone standing between two unfinished thoughts. No smile. No frown. Just a stillness that didn't match his age.
The air drifted again, bringing the smell of wet leaves and the thin bite of morning cold. His white hair moved, then settled back. The curtains swayed, pushing new shapes of light across the wooden floor. A distant sound from outside slipped in: a short bird call, then nothing.
The boy shifted his weight slightly, a small movement nearly lost in the stillness. His fingers twitched, not toward anything, just a quiet reflex. The room stayed hushed. Only the breeze, the fabric, and his soft breathing filled the space.
The light in the room shifted once more—
**click**
The door handle turned.
The soft metal sound cut through the quiet, and for a split second the curtains froze mid-sway before moving again. The door cracked open, letting a sliver of hallway light fall across the floor.
"Hey, are you already awa—"
The voice stopped as the door opened wider.
The boy didn't turn.
The door eased open all the way, and the woman stepped inside, her steps soft enough to blend with the hush of the morning. She had that kind of presence that warmed a room just by existing in it, like sunlight that knew how to smile.
"Yurei," she tried again, voice dipping into something light and lilting. "You're up early."
The boy finally moved. Just a small tilt of the head at first, as if deciding whether the world was worth acknowledging today. Then he turned fully toward her.
The shift happened the moment his eyes met hers.
The fog in his expression cracked. The faint melancholy that had clung to his face loosened its grip, slipping away bit by bit. His features brightened, not suddenly, but in the gentle blooming way a morning flower decides to open because someone whispered it should.
"Mom," he said, his voice small but clear.
She smiled wide, the kind that crinkled her eyes and made her cheeks lift. She crossed the room with an exaggerated tiptoe, as if sneaking up on a shy animal. Yurei's shoulders twitched in a tiny laugh he tried to hide.
"There it is," she teased lightly, tapping his forehead with her finger. "My little ghost actually has a voice today."
Yurei scrunched his nose at the nickname but didn't push her hand away. His hair shifted as he moved, the white strands catching the light while the purple tips glowed like ink touched by sunrise.
His mother leaned closer, pretending to inspect him. "You didn't sleep well again? Or were you just staring dramatically out the window like a poet?"
"I wasn't being dramatic…" he mumbled.
"Mmhm." She nodded in a way that said she didn't believe him for even half a heartbeat. "Well, even dramatic poets need breakfast."
The word breakfast made his stomach betray him with a faint growl.
She gasped. Loudly. Overly. On purpose. "Yurei! You're starving! My poor child, wasting away in your tower of gloom!"
"It's not a tower," he muttered, but the corner of his mouth pulled upward.
She took his hand. Her palm was warm, steady. "Come on. I made rice porridge. And added extra honey because I know you pretend not to like sweets."
"I don't pretend—"
"You absolutely pretend," she said, tugging him gently toward the door.
He followed, the last pieces of his earlier melancholy scattering behind him like dust shaken from his shoulders. The room, moments ago still and quiet, now felt lighter, as if her presence had rearranged the air without asking.
At the doorway, she glanced at the window, then at him. "By the way," she said with a sly grin, "if you keep staring at the sun while standing like a prince whose love is rejected by a princess, you won't just lose the princess. You'll miss breakfast too."
"Hah?"
"Oh, my poor prince, already abandoned by a woman. Tell me, who is she? Wait… is it Momo?"
Yurei's face turned red so fast it could have powered the entire house.
"I'm not—!"
She laughed, the sound trailing down the hallway as she pulled him out of the room, the door swinging gently shut behind them.
...
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