SKILL stylist 1/5 · for Kaede

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days on the island were quiet, and peaceful. good for the heart and soul, but the girl couldn't remain confined to the island for forever. she drafts into the mainland like a butterfly. she will return, as she always does. it never hurt anyone to explore.

and there was a loneliness that captured her. she never did find any familiar face from acadia. not even a vision of her family came to her in sleep. they were starting to fade from her memories, now that she's grown.

spring came in full bloom, though. a lone, blossoming tree stands. pink petals drift from it, sitting nicely atop rio's mane. and soon, the girl that stumbled through the mainland like a wisp took to plucking from the petals that landed on the ground and stuffing them in the nooks and crannies of her chocolate fur.

[this place is more dangerous than the last. each day makes kaede realize how much she has relied upon men. it had always been known, but now that she feels permanently stained by travel and carved down to nothing, it feels all the more stark, that bitter knowledge. ursine reek is heavy on the dewy green flanks of this elevated pass. she is forced to slow all the same. it is no longer her breath; it is some weakness that refuses to pull its teeth from her spirit. the land provides a sight: a beautiful woman of oaken shade, anointing herself with flowers. kaede commands her attention with a soft sigh.]

this place is more dangerous than the last.

each day makes kaede realize how much she has relied upon men. it had always been known, but now that she feels permanently stained by travel and carved down to nothing, it feels all the more stark, that bitter knowledge.

ursine reek is heavy on the dewy green flanks of this elevated pass. she is forced to slow all the same. it is no longer her breath; it is some weakness that refuses to pull its teeth from her spirit.

the land provides a sight: a beautiful woman of oaken shade, anointing herself with flowers.

kaede commands her attention with a soft sigh.

cameo

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he has followed her without fanfare, without word, as though the earth itself bade him keep pace. ryujiro, a phantom in the brush, walked behind the lady with a silence that did not ask to be noticed. it was not servitude that tethered him, nor pity, nor protection— though perhaps there were threads of all three woven in the old samurai’s steps. he did not know this land, did not care to name it; its hills and fog-swept passes bore no loyalty to him, just as he bore none to its thrones or ghosts. but kaede— kaede he followed. her shoulders did not roll with grace as they once did, her breaths shortened by more than just the cold. even so, she moved with her head high, and he admired her for that. and now, beneath a tree blooming soft as her voice, ryujiro watched as her gaze found another: a woman dressed in petals, alone in a field as though she had fallen from some myth. he had seen too many women who wept like flowers and struck like snakes. but still, he came to stand beside the lady— not to shield, but to witness. his eye swept the scene, noting the dreamlike ease with which the petaled girl moved, how even kaede's sigh seemed to fold reverently into the hush.

rio was engulfed in her search, that it was only once a chuff came her way that her head ripped away from the ground and met whoever had commanded her attention. a girl, about her age. a man stood by side, casting a tall shadow that would've cloaked the woman were it not for the tree all three had gathered under. both stared at rio intently, whether out of curiosity or scrutiny — rio couldn't make it out from where she stood.

hello? she didn't bow, or give any ladylike greeting. she was too far from the fujiwara kingdom and too young to even pretend to be an ambassador of it. but she did offer a slight smile, nervous and filled with more obvious emotion than the gazes that prodded at her with their sticks. are you two looking for something?

[it is him. it has always been him. sullied, lifting proverbial skirts with a flick of her teeth, kaede pulls away from him in a manner which says he does not belong. he is not welcome. he has humiliated her and she will not accept it again. to the pretty girl, she bows, bows and tries; do you understand my words? desperation is sure to rise; for now kaede keeps it wrapped, tied.]

it is him.

it has always been him.

sullied, lifting proverbial skirts with a flick of her teeth, kaede pulls away from him in a manner which says he does not belong.

he is not welcome.

he has humiliated her and she will not accept it again.

to the pretty girl, she bows, bows and tries; do you understand my words?

desperation is sure to rise; for now kaede keeps it wrapped, tied.