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.