Feral Phoenix (feral_phoenix) wrote,
Feral Phoenix

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The other otp.

I find myself listening to moumoon a lot these days. Which is great, because I love that band's sound so much you don't even know. ;;;;

Anyway, have another translated fic. This one is a little longer than the last (although Jfic tends to be really short in comparison to most of the stuff I see around here). It's Roswell/Yggdra, and the original Japanese can be found here.

I wonder when I started to take notice of her.

The way things are now, it barely even matters.

By this point, no matter what excuses I make, I’m already beyond help.

—Dark & Light—

It was mealtime in the Royal Army’s camp, and it was quiet; everything was settled down.

That night, Roswell was reading by the light of the open fire.

At that time, he sensed someone’s presence behind him; when he turned to look, there was a single girl walking towards him.

Bathed in moonlight, her golden hair had a mysterious kind of glitter.

As it swayed, she wore her usual gentle smile.

“Roswell, aren’t you tired?”

“No, I’m all right.”

…This again, huh.

This princess was always worrying about people.

No—she only ever worried about others.

All of a sudden, he noticed that her hands were covered in cuts and bruises.

…If it weren’t for all this fighting, her smooth, pearl-white skin would never have been hurt—

That kind of thing almost certainly would never have happened.

Unable to get rid of that thought, Roswell suddenly found himself angry.

“…Your hands look like they hurt.”

“Huh? Um… you mean these? I’m just fine. I’ve already gotten used to it.”

Hearing a response like that, which he was sure was just a bluff, Roswell held her delicate wrist tightly.

And his palm softly warmed the pitiful back of her hand.


Ignoring her bewildered protest, he quickly cast the spell.

If a mundane overheard him, they likely would be unable to understand those special words.

They were healing the girl’s hands as though with herbs.

“Oh? The wounds…!”

Her hand, which had been rough and red here and there, returned to its original white beauty.

Yggdra seemed shocked by what she’d just seen happen, but even so she made to thank him right away.

“Th-thank you so much… it’s feeling a lot better…!”

Every time he saw her innocent smile, he got the feeling that his own impure soul was being cleaned, too.

Roswell tried to hide the self that didn’t mind being thanked, and feigned his usual indifference.

“There’s no need. Anyone who can use magic could have healed something like that.”

However, since he was truly a necromancer, he rarely ever used healing magic. Or in other words, he usually didn’t feel like using it.

His body, saturated with dark magic as it was, tended to subconsciously refuse it.

It was an elementary spell, but one he hardly ever incanted, so he wasn’t very confident in it.

I’m just glad I didn’t wind up casting a curse by mistake, was what he was thinking deep down, relieved.

He made his opponents howl in pain, and gave them death.

His incantations were always causing someone harm.

Yet even so, his same self had just used magic to heal someone’s wounds.

It—was probably because it was her that he hadn’t felt the usual resistance.

A necromancer, acting as a healer.

It was quite the unfitting combination.

However—since it was the girl in front of him, Roswell didn’t think it was bad to let her see this ridiculous side of himself.

Her usual gentle smile still embraced him.

So somehow, that was how he felt.

“Is that so… I wish I could use that kind of magic, though.”

The girl said so with a slightly sorrowful expression.

“…That way if everyone was hurt, I could heal them.”

Hearing those words made his chest hurt again.

—She was still worrying about the others, then.

He wondered why she put so much care into her surroundings.

He wondered why she was so willing to sacrifice herself.

It was something he couldn’t understand very well, as usually he was preoccupied with himself.

“…Maybe you need to worry about yourself more?”


Unable to comprehend his words, Yggdra tilted her head to the side doubtfully.

“…I see.”

After the words were formed, he brushed his lips over the back of the hand he was still holding.


The moment she realized what the soft touch was, Yggdra tried to pull her hand back, but Roswell still didn’t let go.

So that this hand would never be hurt again.

He would continue to pray for that…
Tags: roswell, translation, writing, yggdra union
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