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Her Mercies She Keeps
Onmyouji(/Shounen Onmyouji, though in my head, they're practically the same canon)
942 words
A butterfly flies, and falls.
+++
Butterflies do not have long lives, and Mitsumushi is already old.
+++
She finds Seimei in his room, writing poetry. There is a woman now, a soft-spoken polite creature that always keeps her eyes downturned -- but she does not blush around Seimei, and she takes his mood swings and changes in stride. Where the Lord Hiromasa would be confused and stumble clumsily for the joke, the Lady Wakana only waits patiently until Seimei's humor changes, and occasionally rewards his words with a faint smile.
Mitsumushi has not lived a "long time" by human standards, but she has been with Seimei for most of that life. She has watched him step back into the flow of time and let himself be carried away with it, the ageless half-fox choosing a human life and its ultimate end. Lord Hiromasa began his transformation; Lady Wakana will complete it.
Mitsumushi is too small for regrets, so instead she is glad.
+++
There are others in the house now, gods all of them. They take no notice of her presence as she drifts among them. All eyes are upon Seimei, measuring and assessing his abilities.
She already knows the truth, so she does not let it concern her.
+++
"Ah, Mitsumushi," Seimei says. He looks up and his eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement. "Don't hover, come in, come in."
She does because he asks. She kneels beside him and does not look at the paper on his writing desk, and the half-finished poem. She does not ask if it will go to Hiromasa, or to Wakana.
Seimei touches her cheek with light fingers. He smiles. "Such a serious face," he says. "Lord Hiromasa would tell you that a beautiful woman should only smile. It suits her, like the fleeting blossoms of spring."
"Lord Hiromasa is a good man," she says. "But I do not think he would say such things to me."
"He's fond of you," Seimei muses. "But no. He's fallen in love with another princess, and he'll save his flatteries for her." He adjusts his sleeve again and continues writing. "This one might even be allowed by heaven." The curve of his smile is mysterious, but genuinely pleased.
Ah, thinks Mitsumushi, the poem is for Wakana.
She watches him finish the last character with his typical flourish, watches him carefully blow the ink dry before he folds it into the shape of a bird, watches him carry it to the window and shoo it off, so that it can fly fast and try to his lady. And then he turns to her, with that same bright smile that is beginning to dimple the corners of his eyes and says her name.
Light as she is, there is nothing she can do but drift to her feet and flutter to his side.
+++
Butterflies do not have bones to break.
Nor do they have hearts.
But Mitsumushi has lived in human form for a long time, and sometimes she thinks that if she placed both hands to her chest, she would feel something.
+++
When she tells him what she wants, she is rewarded by a rare thing: Seimei's serious face, all pretenses of humor and teasing fading. He reaches out and takes her hands in his own, looking at her carefully. She meets his gaze evenly, and wonders when she had grown enough to do that. Once upon a time she'd kept her gaze averted and smiled without ever looking directly at anyone.
It seems like such a long time ago now, but it's only been three years.
Seimei continues to study her face for long moments. Eventually he smiles again, but it's a quiet smile now, a sad one -- it is the smile he gave to Lord Hiromasa, when he came with news of this newest princess. With light fingers he touches Mitsumushi's face and he sighs.
"Spring is a good time to die," he says gravely.
+++
There is no need for ceremony or ritual: just a man whose blood has secrets and a woman who is old and tired.
He kisses her forehead as he removes the seal from around her neck -- such a simple thing, a plain gold band easily concealed under the layers of her clothing. For a moment she almost catches his wrist, and knows if she did, he would stop.
Mitsumushi opens her eyes.
What she sees is the garden, full of flowers, blossoms pulled free by the wind and pulled into a spiraling dance. She thinks she would like to join them -- it's been so long, so very long --
Seimei says something and the band in his hand breaks. Mitsumushi has the impression of her own body blowing away, like she's dissolving into the same petals that flurry around them. Seimei's dark eyes watch her, already older than she is, and soon to be older than she will ever be -- but she is still too small for regrets. Embraced by flowers, she is happy.
Mitsumushi smiles.
+++
Ahh, even though the flowers bloom with grace
My sleeves will remain wet until dawn
How is it that a single butterfly's wing
can fill my heart with such sorrow?
+++
In the evening Wakana comes to him; she carries his poem in one hand and gives him the fan she holds in the other. She sits quietly as he reads her answer.
Grief, like the world, is a fleeting illusion
and there is beauty even in the falling flowers
He does not offer tea, and she does not ask for it, but they sit together through the night and watch the moon pass across the sky and vanish.
Onmyouji(/Shounen Onmyouji, though in my head, they're practically the same canon)
942 words
A butterfly flies, and falls.
+++
Butterflies do not have long lives, and Mitsumushi is already old.
+++
She finds Seimei in his room, writing poetry. There is a woman now, a soft-spoken polite creature that always keeps her eyes downturned -- but she does not blush around Seimei, and she takes his mood swings and changes in stride. Where the Lord Hiromasa would be confused and stumble clumsily for the joke, the Lady Wakana only waits patiently until Seimei's humor changes, and occasionally rewards his words with a faint smile.
Mitsumushi has not lived a "long time" by human standards, but she has been with Seimei for most of that life. She has watched him step back into the flow of time and let himself be carried away with it, the ageless half-fox choosing a human life and its ultimate end. Lord Hiromasa began his transformation; Lady Wakana will complete it.
Mitsumushi is too small for regrets, so instead she is glad.
+++
There are others in the house now, gods all of them. They take no notice of her presence as she drifts among them. All eyes are upon Seimei, measuring and assessing his abilities.
She already knows the truth, so she does not let it concern her.
+++
"Ah, Mitsumushi," Seimei says. He looks up and his eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement. "Don't hover, come in, come in."
She does because he asks. She kneels beside him and does not look at the paper on his writing desk, and the half-finished poem. She does not ask if it will go to Hiromasa, or to Wakana.
Seimei touches her cheek with light fingers. He smiles. "Such a serious face," he says. "Lord Hiromasa would tell you that a beautiful woman should only smile. It suits her, like the fleeting blossoms of spring."
"Lord Hiromasa is a good man," she says. "But I do not think he would say such things to me."
"He's fond of you," Seimei muses. "But no. He's fallen in love with another princess, and he'll save his flatteries for her." He adjusts his sleeve again and continues writing. "This one might even be allowed by heaven." The curve of his smile is mysterious, but genuinely pleased.
Ah, thinks Mitsumushi, the poem is for Wakana.
She watches him finish the last character with his typical flourish, watches him carefully blow the ink dry before he folds it into the shape of a bird, watches him carry it to the window and shoo it off, so that it can fly fast and try to his lady. And then he turns to her, with that same bright smile that is beginning to dimple the corners of his eyes and says her name.
Light as she is, there is nothing she can do but drift to her feet and flutter to his side.
+++
Butterflies do not have bones to break.
Nor do they have hearts.
But Mitsumushi has lived in human form for a long time, and sometimes she thinks that if she placed both hands to her chest, she would feel something.
+++
When she tells him what she wants, she is rewarded by a rare thing: Seimei's serious face, all pretenses of humor and teasing fading. He reaches out and takes her hands in his own, looking at her carefully. She meets his gaze evenly, and wonders when she had grown enough to do that. Once upon a time she'd kept her gaze averted and smiled without ever looking directly at anyone.
It seems like such a long time ago now, but it's only been three years.
Seimei continues to study her face for long moments. Eventually he smiles again, but it's a quiet smile now, a sad one -- it is the smile he gave to Lord Hiromasa, when he came with news of this newest princess. With light fingers he touches Mitsumushi's face and he sighs.
"Spring is a good time to die," he says gravely.
+++
There is no need for ceremony or ritual: just a man whose blood has secrets and a woman who is old and tired.
He kisses her forehead as he removes the seal from around her neck -- such a simple thing, a plain gold band easily concealed under the layers of her clothing. For a moment she almost catches his wrist, and knows if she did, he would stop.
Mitsumushi opens her eyes.
What she sees is the garden, full of flowers, blossoms pulled free by the wind and pulled into a spiraling dance. She thinks she would like to join them -- it's been so long, so very long --
Seimei says something and the band in his hand breaks. Mitsumushi has the impression of her own body blowing away, like she's dissolving into the same petals that flurry around them. Seimei's dark eyes watch her, already older than she is, and soon to be older than she will ever be -- but she is still too small for regrets. Embraced by flowers, she is happy.
Mitsumushi smiles.
+++
Ahh, even though the flowers bloom with grace
My sleeves will remain wet until dawn
How is it that a single butterfly's wing
can fill my heart with such sorrow?
+++
In the evening Wakana comes to him; she carries his poem in one hand and gives him the fan she holds in the other. She sits quietly as he reads her answer.
Grief, like the world, is a fleeting illusion
and there is beauty even in the falling flowers
He does not offer tea, and she does not ask for it, but they sit together through the night and watch the moon pass across the sky and vanish.
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This is just. Lyrical and evocative and sad.
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Aieeeeee. D:
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I think, though, she was happy the entire time.
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