#[ jingliu: ic. ] trapped in childhood nightmares; she tore off a spread of black silk from the edge of her skirt and covered her eyes.

[iniziare]

❝  so,  what would you be?  if you had to power to change all the things making you unhappy,  what would your life look like?  ❞ [ baiheng to jingliu, late night contemplations over wine perhaps ]

Prompt: Unprompted. // @resolutepath

It taken root long ago, the fear that had been instilled within the heart of a child at a sight none should ever bear to witness. A fear that had kept her from slumber too oft a time, one that she would bear, she knew, until her hands could hold a blade no longer. It was not a fear that caused her limbs to tremble in a moment such as this; no, it was a fear of closing her eyes for even the briefest sliver in time, even one that was caught within the warmth of a sun's rays. Nothing could appease it, and yet, when presented with the dream of grasping at a life that held such endless peace that knew no presence of cursed memories, and instead, held endless normality and chance, she found herself unwilling to reach out to it, and touch even a single petal of its promise. Dreams, after all, were for those who had lived their lives in regret, and that, was a reality of which she was not part. She would face the terrors, and the visions, and the aches of the mind, if each day that followed would echo the laughs of their kinship, joy, and promises that she knew would prove to last a Xianzhou lifetime. That, above all, was the life that she craved to lodge into the palms of her hands, until her lips could hold a smile no longer, and her hands had grown too weak for any blade; until one day, death would prove her only savior from the torments of a childhood's nightmare, taking the secret of its existence into her grave.

But until then, as Baiheng's voice rung clearly in her ear, the birth of something akin to a smile prompting itself amidst a countenance that had warmed in the sun that hung so high overhead. "It matters little, Baiheng, for any other life would not be the one that I have today." After all, it is the four of them that had granted her, finally, the earnest gift of a will to live, and a home to fight, and persevere for. "Who needs dreams, when one is content with their life?" Perhaps in that, lay her question posed in counter: Are you happy as I am, my friend?

[iniziare]

They were familiar as they rustled in the breeze, the leaves that she recalled to have been such a vivid gold, that one could argue they were as warm as the sun when held in the palm of one's hand. But it had been too long since one had nestled within her own, and so for a moment, her hand reached towards the sound of one that whistled past her ear and barely brushed her shoulder as if a memory of serenity ached to reach her. But the present would prove to be evidence that she might be slower than she had once been; or perhaps, the wistfulness for something so seemingly trivial fell as short as her hand had, for the leaf had remained out of reach by no more than a singular inch. And yet, the smile that tugged to the corner of her lips seemed to speak against such a thought— it was brief, and bare, as if it had encompassed longing entirely on its own. The sensation of its physical presence remained a cruel dream, much as the sight of it; barred by the veil that concealed her eyes that, in truth, did little other than crave the sight, and light, of this place.

But the rustling of leaves within the serenity of these surroundings wasn't what proved loudest, nor was it the wind itself; it was the weight of his steps to the grass beneath them, it was the warmth of him behind her— even if he stood feet away from her still. Once, he had been a passionate young man, headstrong, and ever eager to prove himself, and he had grown into a man that had harbored and nurtured the fervor that had seemed to encompass his heart throughout the years where he had proven himself worthy, and capable in all endeavors. The years had not robbed him of this warmth. But this reality bore no more than a ghost of something akin to a smile on her lips beyond the one that had come before, for the ache existed instead, within the eyes that he would not see again. That, caused a presence of red to weave into a conscious mind, and coil its way around a heart; a violent loathing for that which kept her from wanting to give into the ache to see that had grown exponentially within the mere seconds since he had spoken to her. He sounded as he did so long ago. Of all that the mara had taken from her, there were remnants of memories that she had grasped and lodged so tightly within the palm of the hand that still held her blade— that nothing could make her lose them. That too, had been a promise that she had vowed to never forsake.

For a moment then, her breath grew in volume, and it wavered, and grew weary— an inner war that had become second nature to regain the peace that she had known a moment prior. But for once, it seemed as if it were less of a trial than it had been countless times before. No, for once, it steadied as if something had served as its anchor, a lifeline that tugged on an unreliable mind with an unwillingness to relent, just before the palms of her hands found the sensation of the grass as she had lowered herself to it as to sit. I've not come to cut it short. "Then will you sit with me, Jing Yuan?" Her fingers grasped at the green blades then, as her legs rested to, and curled amidst them. "For old time's sake. As we once did."

@iniziare totally sent this to the right blog: "I always enjoyed coming here when I needed a moment of reprieve. And even now— it is almost enough to still the voices.” (Jingliu to Jing Yuan in present daaaay)

It is a peaceful place; a hidden garden with meticulously set paths lined by ginkgo trees whose leaves are turning yellow and falling from the branches like golden rain in the soft breeze. Soon they'll be bare and lifeless before they sprout again in vibrant green. Jing Yuan has watched this cycle more times than he could count while sitting in the quiet harmony of this retreat, in search for peace and contemplation, for memories and dreams thereof - for in memories they're all together still. The leaves are born and grow to full beauty until they perish when their time has come, making room for the next generation. A process so natural it's almost hard to think of it as cruel; just like the knights, their sons and daughters - just like them. Their life cycle might be longer than that of a leaf, but eventually their glory will fade and they, too, will fall and be forgotten, leaving an empty branch for others to grow and shine in their place.

This prospect does not scare him, for the grief of his own inevitable demise cannot compare to that of his past: to the loss of his friends and their shared dream. Now, it would be a lie to say the certainty of losing himself to the mara is not frightening either, but this fear is rooted within the possibility of his own actions, not the death of his legacy. Is this the secret to her persistence, in the end? The ability to transcend beyond mortal hopes of bringing change and being remembered for it? Evidently there are worse things than losing one's name or finding it tainted by the blood of allies.

She does not look at him - of course she doesn't, for what would warm his heart and allow him to revisit a love and devotion he once knew to be a part of him is in equal measure poison to her mind.

Devoid of shame, he wishes it were not the case and that she would look at him, just for a moment. He'd even welcome her disapproving looks, welcome the chance to forget the present for a fleeting moment and dream himself back into the past that slipped through his hands like sand. The past in which great battles were nothing but a future chance to prove himself, to follow Lan and to protect that which he loved. A past in which he was nothing but a zealous yet reckless disciple who took the idea that every mistake or punishment was a chance to learn a little too literally.

You're always welcome here, he'd like to say, but this offer is not his to make. Soon she will bid farewell to the light and the wind and the quiet that this place provides and once again he won't move enough to help a friend. "Perhaps true peace can be found inside us." Perhaps true peace can only be found in death. "Take your reprieve as long as you need. I've not come to cut it short." Not just yet.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Jingliu