Cycle I: Coming on Strong
The Hidden Voice
Record ~ Kawaii · 12 (v1.00)
THE HOUSE OF ZAN — Zan
♡ Ado — MIRROR
OPENING: 怖いものが好きでもいい？
I have a confession.
I think fictional monsters are romantic.
…
WAIT!
Before you start making assumptions, I should probably explain myself.
I don’t mean all monsters.
Some are terribly unpleasant.
Some have absolutely no manners.
And some seem incapable of entering a room without destroying the furniture.
Honestly!
Do you know how expensive furniture is?
At least try using the door!
I’m thinking of the mysterious ones.
The ones who live in enormous castles.
Wear magnificent clothes.
Speak as though every conversation is the most important event in human history.
And somehow manage to make standing beside a window look like a full-time occupation.
So dramatic!
I love it.
The candlelight!
The velvet curtains!
The thunder!
Oh, especially the thunder.
Imagine having the weather provide dramatic punctuation whenever you make an important announcement.
I have something to tell you…
BOOOOOOM!
Perfect!
Ten out of ten!
(☆▽☆)
I’d never lose an argument again.
Although I suppose it would become inconvenient when ordering lunch.
I’d like the strawberry parfait…
BOOOOOOM!
…
Perhaps we should save the thunder for special occasions.
I’m interested in characters who seem to belong to an entirely different world.
Someone strange.
Mysterious.
Perhaps a little lonely.
Somebody who appears perfectly comfortable surrounded by shadows, even when everybody else is looking for the light switch.
And naturally, when I see somebody like that in a story, I begin imagining things.
What an interesting person!
What’s their castle like?
Why are they always awake at night?
Do they actually enjoy all those candles?
And most importantly…
HOW DO THEY KEEP THEIR CAPES SO CLEAN?!
Seriously.
Have you ever tried wearing something that long?
You’d spend the entire afternoon collecting dust.
And yet these mysterious characters always look magnificent.
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
(¬_¬)
But perhaps I’ve become distracted.
Because the cape isn’t really what interests me.
Well.
Not entirely.
It’s a very good cape.
What fascinates me is the possibility that somebody might seem frightening or strange to the rest of the world and still be understood by another person.
Someone sees something familiar in them, something everybody else overlooked.
They don’t have to become ordinary first.
…
Oh.
Now that’s interesting.
Of course, stories make this look extraordinarily glamorous.
There’s usually a castle.
A mysterious history.
Some beautiful music.
Perhaps an important person standing alone beneath the moonlight.
And then somebody appears who understands everything.
Immediately!
Without even asking questions!
Amazing!
I’d like to meet this person.
Apparently, they’re capable of understanding several centuries of complicated emotions in approximately fifteen minutes.
Meanwhile, I can spend an entire afternoon explaining why I arranged my books in a particular order.
And somebody will still ask whether I’ve considered organizing them alphabetically.
…
NO.
That would ruin everything.
You don’t understand my system!
But I suppose that’s what makes those fictional moments so appealing.
Somebody finally understands.
No lengthy explanations.
No awkward introductions.
No wondering whether the other person thinks you’re ridiculous.
Just one extraordinary moment of recognition.
And preferably a magnificent soundtrack.
With strings!
Lots of strings!
Oh, and perhaps a choir.
Nothing excessive.
Just enough to make the universe acknowledge that something important is happening.
…
Actually, that might be excessive.
But it’s my fantasy.
I’m allowed.
The trouble is, the person inside my imagination has a remarkable advantage over anybody I might actually meet.
If I want them to stand beside a window looking mysterious?
They do it!
Wonderful!
Such excellent cooperation!
Unfortunately, real people are considerably less predictable.
They have opinions.
Preferences.
Unfortunate habits.
Sometimes they don’t even appreciate the weather I’ve arranged for their dramatic entrance.
How disappointing!
I spent all afternoon preparing that thunderstorm.
The least they could do is look impressed.
But perhaps somebody shouldn’t have to behave like a character I’ve invented just because I find the character appealing.
That’s rather a lot to expect.
Especially if I’ve forgotten to tell them about the castle.
And here’s where I think those wonderful gothic stories become more interesting.
Because the most romantic possibility isn’t necessarily that somebody finds a mysterious person and immediately understands them.
It’s that two people discover something recognizable in each other.
Even when they aren’t particularly easy to understand.
Imagine having interests that seem perfectly ordinary to you but completely baffling to everybody else.
Perhaps you enjoy unusual music.
Obscure stories.
Strange collections.
Or spending an unreasonable amount of time thinking about fictional monsters.
…
Don’t look at me like that.
We’re discussing a hypothetical person.
A very sophisticated hypothetical person.
With excellent taste.
Anyway!
Maybe you’ve become accustomed to explaining those interests.
Or keeping some of them to yourself.
Not because you’re ashamed.
You simply don’t feel like delivering another presentation to somebody who’s already decided they won’t understand.
And then, unexpectedly, you meet somebody who recognizes what you’re talking about.
Oh!
You understand!
I don’t have to begin with a twenty-minute introduction!
How delightful!
Although I might give you the introduction anyway.
I’ve prepared several diagrams.
They’re very good.
But here’s what I find especially appealing.
Maybe the other person has something peculiar about them, too.
Something they’ve grown accustomed to explaining.
And suddenly, instead of two people trying to make themselves seem perfectly ordinary, they’re comparing all the ways they aren’t.
Wonderful!
A magnificent collection of peculiarities!
We could establish a museum!
Admission would be extremely expensive.
Naturally.
(ФωФ)
Although perhaps the best part wouldn’t be discovering that we’re identical.
Imagine visiting our museum and finding the same exhibit in every room.
Again?!
Surely somebody could contribute a different curiosity.
I’d much rather discover that somebody sees the world differently and still finds something worth understanding in mine.
And perhaps, somewhere in their strange little world, I’d discover something equally fascinating.
Something I wouldn’t have imagined for myself.
A fantasy can give me everything I’ve already thought to ask for.
But another person might introduce me to something I never knew I wanted to understand.
What a delightful inconvenience.
Now I have more questions.
And probably another hobby.
I DON’T HAVE ROOM FOR ANOTHER HOBBY!
ヾ(｡｀Д´｡)ﾉ
…
Well.
Perhaps one more.
But I suppose there’s something else I should consider.
Because in stories, darkness is often treated as a problem somebody must solve.
The mysterious character has to become less mysterious.
The unusual character has to stop being unusual.
And the monster?
Apparently, somebody has to turn on all the lights.
Every single one!
How excessive.
Do we really need that much electricity?
Perhaps there’s nothing wrong with wanting to see something clearly.
But I wonder whether seeing clearly always requires everything unfamiliar to disappear.
Because sometimes the things we don’t understand are simply things we haven’t learned about yet.
An unusual interest.
A private thought.
A part of somebody’s imagination they don’t share with everybody.
And sometimes people have good reasons for being careful about what they reveal.
Especially when they’ve grown accustomed to being misunderstood.
I think there’s something lovely about meeting somebody who doesn’t immediately demand an explanation for every unfamiliar thing.
Someone who’s curious.
Someone who might even recognize something familiar in the strangeness.
Someone who can see in the dark.
I’m not suggesting that every frightening character is secretly wonderful.
Some are frightening for very good reasons.
And if somebody behaves terribly, an impressive cape doesn’t make it charming.
Absolutely not!
You can’t solve every problem by adding velvet.
I’ve considered it.
The results were disappointing.
But darkness isn’t always danger.
And somebody being different from me doesn’t automatically mean there’s something wrong with them.
Perhaps I simply haven’t learned their language.
I mean the way somebody understands the world.
The things they notice.
The things that matter to them.
The meanings they’ve attached to experiences I might never have had.
Perhaps some of those things would seem strange to me at first.
And perhaps some of mine would seem strange to them.
But what if we became curious instead of immediately deciding we couldn’t understand each other?
That sounds much more interesting.
Especially if neither person has to become less unusual to make the conversation possible.
Although I do have standards.
If somebody insists on keeping seventeen enormous spiders in the guest room, I may have a few concerns.
SEVENTEEN?!
Why so many?!
What happened to having a reasonable number of enormous spiders?
Like zero!
Zero is a wonderful number!
I’m very fond of zero!
ε=ε=ε=┌(；￣▽￣)┘
…
Actually, perhaps we should choose another example.
I was enjoying the romantic atmosphere.
But here’s something I’ve realized.
I don’t think I’d want somebody to fall in love with a character they’ve invented and then become disappointed when I turn out to be a person.
That sounds exhausting.
Imagine having to remember somebody else’s imaginary version of you.
You wouldn’t say that.
Oh?
You wouldn’t like that.
Really?
You wouldn’t behave that way.
…
Excuse me?
Have we met?
Because I seem to recall being present for several of my own decisions.
And I don’t remember appointing anybody else as the official authority on my personality.
How peculiar.
But I’d have to be careful not to do the same thing to somebody else.
Especially somebody I found mysterious.
Because it’s easy to become attached to an intriguing possibility.
To imagine an extraordinary person.
To give them a wonderful history.
A magnificent castle.
An excellent wardrobe.
And perhaps a rather impressive collection of antique furniture.
Then discover that the actual person would rather spend Saturday afternoon wearing comfortable clothes and watching television.
…
WHAT ABOUT THE CASTLE?!
We had plans!
I designed an entire staircase!
(｡•́︿•̀｡)
…
Oh.
Right.
My plans.
Not theirs.
That’s embarrassing.
I suppose being understood means allowing somebody to surprise you, too.
Even if the surprise is considerably less theatrical than you imagined.
But perhaps it could be more interesting.
Maybe they have their own ideas about what makes an afternoon wonderful.
Perhaps they’d show me something I’d never have considered.
And perhaps I’d discover that I like it.
I still think vampires are interesting.
And I refuse to apologize for the castle.
But perhaps I’ve been imagining the wrong moment.
Maybe the most wonderful part of one of those stories isn’t when the mysterious character makes an enormous declaration.
Or when the music becomes especially dramatic.
Or when the camera reveals another magnificent room in the castle.
Perhaps it’s when somebody looks at that strange, unfamiliar world…
And recognizes something.
…
Not everything.
Not immediately.
Just enough to become curious.
Enough to want to know more.
And then the person who has spent so much time being misunderstood realizes that somebody is actually interested in understanding.
Oh!
You can see it?
Really?
I thought I’d have to explain the entire thing.
…
Well.
I probably will explain it anyway.
There are several important details.
And I made diagrams.
But you don’t seem to mind.
Actually, you have a few questions of your own.
Excellent!
I like questions.
And perhaps, somewhere between your strange little world and mine, we’ll discover something neither of us was expecting.
No ancient prophecy required.
No mysterious voice announcing that the universe has selected us for a magnificent purpose.
Although…
If the universe would like to provide a soundtrack, I wouldn’t object.
Something dramatic.
With thunder!
And perhaps a few bats!
Very tasteful bats!
Nothing excessive.
I do have standards.
But I think I understand what I’ve been looking for now.
Not somebody who arrives with a lantern and insists that everything about me must be brought into the light.
Not somebody who mistakes every shadow for something frightening.
And certainly not somebody who expects me to become an entirely different person just to make their story work.
I’d rather meet somebody who’s curious about the things they cannot immediately see.
Someone who might recognize something familiar in the unfamiliar.
And perhaps let me discover something equally surprising about them.
Someone who can see in the dark.
But there’s just one thing.
If you come to my castle…
PLEASE USE THE DOOR!
The furniture is expensive.
ENDING: Can I like scary things, too?