The singing of a calm spirit filled the void of this cold winter night. The resting snow glowed in the light cast from the full moon. At the top of Izanau Hill stood an ancient tree in full bloom. This oak tree was magical, adorned by pale blue flowers shaped like stars. A breeze stirred the branches, and a few blossoms danced toward the snow-covered grass on the summit. A woman was there on Izanau Hill, silent beside the oak tree. She watched the stars fall.

  White hair framed the front of her face, while the rest, tracing the wind behind her, was bright blue; colored like the daytime sky. A newly tied noose rested loose around her neck. She held up her hand to catch one of the flowers. Her crimson eyes observed it dully: five petals of Alice blue, surrounding a white, fluffy, luminous center. She closed her fingers and crushed it. The woman despised this tree that mothered the heartless spirit she was forced to serve. The singing stopped.

  “I have finished this song, my lyrist,” said the spirit. It’s feminine voice was as chilling as the air. “Do you have more words for me?”

  The woman said nothing. Her gaze traveled to the white sphere in the sky. At that moment, she hated the moon. She cast the blossom aside and then approached the base of the tree. The remaining stretch of rope flowed with the wind, but her noose prevented escape.

  “Lyrist,” the voice said. “There are more hours left of the night. Give me words.”

  This time the woman laughed as she began to climb. It was a hollow laugh. There was no joy. She felt nothing. The woman traveled along a thick branch. She began fastening the end of the rope to it.

  “I despise you,” she muttered. Her eyes stayed fixed on her task.

  “I’ve always known,” the voice replied. “I do not understand the meaning of it, though. I just know that my songs sometimes express that you don’t want—” it paused. “Why do you wish for an ending? All beings want purpose, so—why?”

  The woman gave the rope one last tug. “You won’t have him,” she whispered. “My boy won’t have to suffer as I have.” She stared off in the distance. “I’ll set us both free.”

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  Then she released her grip, allowing herself to roll off the branch. The arm of bark flung up and down. Then it abruptly stilled. The sound of cracked bone reverberated throughout the air. Flowers were cast from the branch. Then all was still.

  The starry sky and snowy scenery reflected in the woman’s eyes. She would no longer write songs for this voice anymore.

  The eight-year-old sat alone in his bedroom, wrapped up in a large gray quilt, on the windowsill. He pulled it tighter. It was freezing, but he liked the cold. He sniffled. The child had inherited his mother’s features: white hair around his face that sharply contrasted with the sky-blue shade covering the rest of his head, and dark red eyes. His face was puffy from crying. He had witnessed a violent argument between his parents several hours earlier.

  The mess of thoughts and emotions he had was so confusing. He was going to wait in his room for the house to become quiet again. His mother had found him just when he felt it was safer. She hugged him, saying over and over that she loved him. His mother revealed that she wasn’t coming back after her job tonight. D-did she really mean that?! He thought fearfully. His chest throbbed, tears streamed, and he began hyperventilating again.

  Matsuda’s mind raced. He tried to calm himself, but to no avail. He knew that his father would come in and mock him if he couldn’t hurry and stop crying, but his mind raced. Don’t be scared, don’t be scared! She always left on nights of the full moon. B-because I-t’s for her job, right? His mother would always return before the very next morning. So why did—? The dirty, mean things his father had shouted while hitting his mother had been horrible to hear. Would he come and do the same to him?!

  Was his mother alright? She didn’t seem scared when he last saw her. She’s ok. He tried to smile, but he recalled her calm voice and gentle embrace, as she whispered: “Goodbye.” It was the first time she hadn’t parted with a casual “See you soon.” Matsuda noticed new snowflakes clinging to the window glass. He hoped there’d be no school tomorrow.

  There is a legend about the small town called Aoiki. It is about an oak tree on the nearby Izanau Hill. Locals readily claim that the tree blossoms mystical blue flowers every night with a full moon, no matter the season. It was also believed that on those nights, a voice would fill the land with comforting dreams: The Voice of Izanau Hill. However, after that night, no one has seen those blue blooms or heard that voice again.