Ever Becoming

[Guest]

In the gardens, loomed the darkness that which night brings. In the darkest and dreary of nights. The moon absent, as candles provide what little dimness of a light throughout the place of life. Yet, only one segment of this entire section of greenery was dried and brittle. Dead beyond measure and darkened in browned melancholy. A dazzling white rose that use to be brimming with the most brilliant of life, now dead.

Tsu tended to this particular flower, and after it's death, grasped the rose and crushed it with a powerful grip. Crunching it into a powdery remain that was released with a simple unlatching of the stubby fingers, letting it flow into the air, of that one flower, pure, and well endowed, now nothing.

"Blood begets blood." Mutters the black figure in a self-musing contemplation.

Finding some sort of melody to the death of this flower, and likening it to another. Pushing aside two hedges of shrubbery to reveal what had deadened this weak flower; the crimson of blood. Staining the soil as the thickness of it still remained to the top. Was it to become stronger or weaker? Tsu saw through it that it only became weak, that it could not survive, and that all efforts put into cultivating it was but a waste.

"Perhaps this little flower too shall crumble so?" If there could ever be a smile formed through that mask, it would be now.

Looking back at the Hua residence, where everyone slumbered, peacefully, like children. So unaware of the uncertainty of the dark, that what light does not illuminate, causes fear. The armored one felt this was home, in the darkness where nothing is certain, and possibilities are made by efforts. That only now, darkness leaked into the house, and of a little one that invites interest of the brooding one. How has she fared after this little one's expedition through land of blood and snowy doom?

[Guest]

Solace seemed to be an unfathomable thought that dark and eerie night. Shadows crept across the floor, cast by the dancing flame of a burning candle, and even beneath her soft silk blankets, the darkness of the night crept to the farthest reaches of her mind. They pried deeper and deeper, cold fingers of the night that reached into her thoughts that she dare not think, ensnaring them in their insidious grasp, dragging them forward so that they may possess her in its wake and taint her sleep with unholy nightmares. She hid under the covers of her bed, lest she look past the light of the candle and see, within the distorted shadows, the haunting face of a Drachman man, one whom she had plucked the life from with the blade of her knife.

Her chilling discomfort had grown so unbearable to the point where the frail-minded girl finally slipped out from under her blankets and quietly stepped onto the cool polished wood floor of her rather decorative room. She had been forbidden to leave her room without her father's permission, let alone the house, but she needed fresh air, she need to step out into the brisk night air so that she might relief herself of the feverish sweat that had overcome her in her bed. Her Parent's scolding of her did not matter. They punished her sternly for her disobedience; for running away from home, stealing the Hua family treasure, and for tagging along with the Xingese Imperial Army to go to Drachma. Saeji pardoned her, of course, but her parents made sure to discipline her discreetly all the same. Rebelliousness in daughters was never approved of in conservative Xingese families, certainly not in noble houses. Even her father could not excuse this level of misbehavior. But such retribution seemed insignificant, for what afflicted the waking conscience of Hua Peizhi more than anything, was the lifeless gaze of the nameless Drachman soldier back in Moscow.

It was no daunting task to slip out into the gardens unseen, her martial training paid off in such ways, she hardly had to give the task though. Gently, she slid the door, and stepped out onto the cool grass, so well kept and soft beneath her bare feet, and the fragrance of the bountiful nature gave her more ease than the confines of her house. She stepped out into the darkness, though immediately she noticed a figure standing in the shadows. For a fleeting moment of sheer terror, subjected to the whims of her imagination and guilty conscience, she suspected it may have been a spirit sent to haunt her, drawn by the scent of blood that stained her skin, even after it had been scrubbed away for hours, until her skin was raw, but upon her reflexive reaction of tapping into the dragon's pulse, she realized that while it was indeed a spirit of sorts, it was one which was all too familiar to the young girl.

"Oh, Tsu. You startled me. Its very late, do you ever sleep?" asked Peizhi as she relaxed and approached the fearsome masked apparition. Despite the mysteries of his strange chi along with the body he referred to as her "Cherished Prison", the young girl had grown fond of the guard whom had instructed her in the way of martial arts. Perhaps Tsu would be able to console her with his presence this chill night.

"Oh!" exclaimed Peizhi in hushed tones as she noticed the empty and withered stem that had borne a flower just before she had left to Drachma. It had been her favourite flower in the garden. "What happened to the white rose that was here?"

[Shula Brighton]

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[Guest]

She has felt it! She has come drawn towards the dark one! Coming towards what Tsu would describe this armored self that presides to be that of "uncertainty". It dawned to the tall armored one, that of crimson and death, in an epiphany from such minute glances of happening Tsu's own visage at an inclination as to acknowledge Peizhi's own attendance. That first kill of hers, she has destroyed that virginity which preserves her purity so. Now shall she dance the symphony of those whom whore themselves to death itself? Quite the interesting conundrum that Tsu is attracted towards.

"Oh, Tsu. You startled me. Its very late, do you ever sleep?"

The armor coldly regarded her question with an unmovable demeanor. A constant to which has no ends, no beginnings. Eternally giving what would be the semblance of a gaze. A moment of silence passed as the guardian, huge clubby fingers from what one may call an automaton or "right hand" reached out for the little pipsqueak, also known as Peizhi. Shadowing over her, fastening such fingers in a process called "petting." Alien moves for the assassin.

"Good... good, thou hastened not descent unto the pallor which dances at Yomi's requiem." Guttural mumbles emanated in such an echo towards the midget-girl shining of taint, avidly piercing, "Minute details I require not, for sleep is a weakness I rather not indulge thyself into."

"Oh! What happened to the white rose that was here?"

Blood. Blood. Blood. That's what stained it. That's what unmade it. That's what crushed it. Destroyed it. Turned it corrupt, withered, shamble and shadow of itself. A former purity corrupted. A taint so foul, reeking of despicable evil. One daylight refuses to grace. One which feels no warmth of love. Abandoned and unholy, mated with the devil itself. Abominable wretch scratching the ebbs of existence. A... destined apocalypse.

"It died, the gardeners removed it last month. It was a comely rose, blended well with the snow, until it grown decrepit with the coming winds of... change." Tsu shook left and right in disapproval of a voice so keenly spitting lies, "It was surrounded by weed, the gardener plucked it out in desperation, and yet, it withered and died. A beauty wasted away by an ugly parasite."

[Guest]

"Good... good, thou hastened not descent unto the pallor which dances at Yomi's requiem. Minute details I require not, for sleep is a weakness I rather not indulge thyself into." Tsu spoke in his deep and otherwordly echo of a voice. He always spoke in such an old and archaic form of Xingese, and it often made Peizhi wonder why he did so. Perhaps it was just a preference of his? She could at least understand it, or sometimes at least just the gist of it.

"It died, the gardeners removed it last month. It was a comely rose, blended well with the snow, until it grown decrepit with the coming winds of... change. It was surrounded by weed, the gardener plucked it out in desperation, and yet, it withered and died. A beauty wasted away by an ugly parasite.""

Tsu always spoke in prose, in patterns with hidden meetings. Overtime, Peizhi had learnt to interpret the meaning of what he said, but tonight, it evaded her, she could not make sense of anything in this world this night. Was it best to ask what he was alluding to? Or was he speaking literally? No...he rarely spoke in literal meaning, another odd charm of his. Perhaps if she continued to speak with him, she would figure out what his words meant.

"Then, why did the gardener not pluck the weeds, rather than the flower?" said Peizhi, choosing to go along with his cryptic metaphors with a literal reply, as she looked around the rest of the garden. It was usually well maintained, verdant greenery and healthy flowers that were chosen for their hardiness in cold weather. Things did not wither or succumb to disease or parasites often here. Tsu meant something else with what he said, and he would perhaps clarify. "And perhaps..." she added, looking to say something that might prompt Tsu to continue, "Perhaps its seeds will find life in the earth, and blossom. Its beauty isn't wasted, it is....." Peizhi paused to think for a proper way to word her philosophy on the matter. "-it is reborn anew, new life in a new form, if it can find the soil to spread its roots and thrive in."

Discussing such things as perceptions and philosophies such as the existence of a flower, while trivial to some, was welcome to Peizhi. Anything to keep her distraught mind distracted.

[Guest]

"Then, why did the gardener not pluck the weeds, rather than the flower?"

Why? Why the weed? She did not know. She never knew. She will not know until it is too late, and it had already happened. Fumbling blindly in the dark, those eyes of her so suiting the light. Even now, she looked, she watched the area so ever evidently. The gardens were uninfected, for what price did the flower pay that all others continue without knowledge of it's sacrifice? The suffering of one for the happiness of others.

"And perhaps... perhaps its seeds will find life in the earth, and blossom. Its beauty isn't wasted, it is..... -it is reborn anew, new life in a new form, if it can find the soil to spread its roots and thrive in."

A flower was plucked fresh off the hedge. Tsu brandished it before the mistress, a night blossom flower of well defined purple, alluringly prospering tenfold at night, as it rested during the day. An open palm balled to a tight fist, uncoiling once more to reveal nothing had happened. Smothered for a brief wind, it opened to its prior charm.

"Nay. Weed ascend in struggle. Yet forever condemned in glory. The gardener knows this." Rebutted the tower, letting the wind rob the hand of its flower, drifting past the girl towards the embrace of the night, "Siwang birthed the weed, that they prize hardship boons." Life dwindled from the crimson face, yet flared henceforth in such a pause, "The night blossom is a weed itself... yet thou found not their beauty lacking. They shall grow, and grow, without an end in shadows. In the prime of life grace the daylight, verily. In death's intent do they become of the night. They are... beautiful, to thrive from the four winds."


(Note: Night Blossoms are fictional entry in the botany department.)

[Shula Brighton]

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