The Little Evangelist

Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she found the moonlight a little too bright.

“—Ugh… is that a headache?”

It was something she’s never quite experienced before.  And—her feet ached a little.

—Okay, good.  At least my memory’s still intact.

It was still dim, and the chill wind carried a trace of cold that brushed her skin.

So much for the fun and exciting beginning she had imagined—
Maybe she took on something troublesome a little too lightly.
 
It was just she’d just only been reborn, but that thought flashed through her mind.
Still, she reminded herself—this much was a part of the bargain from the start.
 
No time to laze around. She stretched, pushing herself up to stand—

“—Whaaat?!  I’m super tiny!  What is this?!  Why is the floor so close—wait, am I, like, two and a half heads tall?!”

She actually used to have a tall, elegant body—about eight heads high.
This… was inconvenient.  Not exactly dignified either.
And walking—ugh, that was going to take forever.
The list of worries was already spinning in her head.

Oh well, it seems no longer “fun” part is remaining here.
Still, what must be done must be done.  With a small sigh, Sara pulled herself together.

“Alright then.  Now… what was I supposed to be doing again…?”

She began to write.

Sara’s writing tools—well, they were what you might call items from another world.
Remarkable items.  The paper-like sheet she unrolled obeyed no such concept as size.
Length, width, height—none of that applied here.  Spread on the floor as it was, “depth” might be more accurate.
It was a space of expression that ignored all physical dimensions—capable of capturing everything from a casual note to the most intricate of metaphysical ideas.

And the pen—shaped like a fountain pen, though no such object truly existed here—was the manifestation of her overflowing power to inscribe Kavya, the sacred script.
A kind of physical translation device, really—quite the marvel, when you thought about it.

“Ahhh, honestly! The Six Pondered Discipline of Benzaiten is always like this—so vague, so… fluffy!

I mean, yes, technically I am also her, but still—ugh, it’s complicated!”

Sara hadn’t forgotten the reason she had been given the name Sarei.

But the how—the way she had been made to appear here—felt like a bundle of unreasonable contradictions shoved entirely onto her manifested self.

And that, somehow, didn’t sit right with her at all.