#Beneath the Cherry Trees Is... (tkrb)
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phantasmagoricreverie · 6 years ago
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Beneath the Cherry Tree Is… || Kasen Kanesada x Fem!Sakura Spirit!Reader
I was yelling about cherry blossoms with a friend of mine and this idea sprung up. I hope you enjoy.
Kasen has taken to writing under the cherry trees in spring. The scattering of blossoms and their nature, ever transient, certainly provided a suitably elegant backdrop for composing poetry. Perhaps it is strange for a sword to be so dedicated to the arts, but if swords like Kousetsu, who disliked fighting, could exist, then surely his devotion to the arts is not heretical to his nature as a sword.
It isn’t that he laments this nature, the state of being a sword. Swords are tools for killing after all. As much as he may dislike the way previous masters used his blade, he has seen plenty of blood and continues to see blood still. But even so, couldn’t he, too, find beauty in things? Is it so wrong to want to record the world as he sees it through appreciating poetry, composing it himself?
He gazes at the blooming trees, thinking of the best way to put their beauty, their transience, and the sense of loneliness such a fleeting nature imposes into words. Brush and ink remain untouched; the search for appropriate words failing him. He can barely grasp the feeling he wishes to convey, yet even without understanding it, surely he should be able to think of a way to begin the poem.
“Dead bodies are buried under the cherry trees, isn’t it?” The voice rings clear; if a cloudless sky had a voice, it would certainly be the voice that breaks the silence. He looks up to see a woman, who, despite the gruesome implications of her words, has a soft smile on her lips. She leans forward to make eye contact with the seated sword, locks of hair falling across her face as her position shifts. Kasen blinks up at her, momentarily surprised by her appearance.
“Ah, that is a work by Motojirou Kajii, if I’m not mistaken.” He composes himself quickly, offering a reply to the woman who’s appeared before him. There is no way he’s mistaken; Kasen knows the poetic words of the work she reference. The opening lines of “Beneath the Cherry Trees” is quite striking, the work is highly regarded even by Kasen himself; had she been trying to assist him?
“That’s right.” The mysterious girl smiles, delighted by his recognition of her reference.
For a time, there is silence in the air as he observes her, trying to determine whether she’s a threat. He concludes quickly that she’s not, and even if she is despite his initial assessment, Kasen could always use his blade to strike her down. He is still a sword of the citadel, and as a sword he must ensure his master’s safety. Another moment of silence prevails.
“Do you like poetry?” Kasen breaks the silence. Certainly there are other swords in the citadel he can discuss poetry and literature with, but such discussions left something to be desired. He’s unsure of what he’s hoping for, asking such a question. At the same time, he knows exactly what it is he wants, even if it is from a complete stranger who seems to materialize like an illusion created by the falling blossoms.
“I am still quite inexperienced in such matters.” Expression regretful, she straightens herself, turning to gaze at the cherry blossoms in full bloom. Gazing at her back, Kasen thinks to himself that the sight is very elegant, like a scene out of a painting. Turning back at him, she continues, earnest and sincere. “I’d like to learn more though, if you’re willing to teach me.”
Kasen agrees and that’s how their time discussing poetry together begins.
He always visits her, always at the same tree, and she is always the same. Her kimono is always a dusty, muted pink, with an obijime in a similar color that contrasts with the red of her obi. He cannot help but think that it suits her and the backdrop of cherry blossoms, perhaps it is the poet within that lends him such a thought. He finds it somewhat unusual, for her to always wear the same ensemble, but then, he too wears the same clothing. Kasen doesn’t think much of it.  
As promised, he comes to her with the intention of teaching her about poetry as she’d asked. He learns quickly that her earlier words of being inexperienced with literature are perhaps a bit too humble. For every work he mentions, her eyes glint with recognition as she offers an insightful comment, or remarks on something she appreciated about the work. In turn he offers insight of his own. Kasen is pleasantly surprised that he enjoys these conversations with her, that perhaps his earlier hope is being fulfilled.
The days spent discussing literature under the falling blooms continues.
That day the master comments that Kasen has seemed livelier lately. “Did something good happen?”
“Yes.” Is the soft reply the sword gives.
One day, he asks who she is.
“Hmm, what do you mean? I’m _____.” She responds with the name she had given in one of their earlier meetings. Noting the dissatisfied gaze of Kasen in response to her answer, the realization of what he’s really asking dawns upon her. “Ah, I mean, I am _____, the spirit of this cherry tree.”
With that revelation, she sets her hand upon the bark of the tree Kasen had sat under that day when they first met. A sheepish smile adorns her features, as if to say that she hadn’t meant for it to be a secret.
“I see.” Kasen is not sure what to make of this revelation, but he doesn’t find himself surprised, as if he had expected that to be the answer to be all along. After all, how many times had he thought that the young woman was more like a dream than reality?
“I thought you would be more surprised.”
“I am a sword spirit, after all. It isn’t that strange to think that you are a deity of a cherry tree.”
With a good-natured laugh, she agrees that it isn’t so strange. Barely missing a heartbeat, she then prompts him to sit down next to her, at the base of the tree.  
Noticing his writing implements, she knows that today is a day where he wants to write poetry. As he takes a seat near her, she watches as he focuses, strokes of black ink contrasting with the paleness of the flowers. In turn, he looks back at her, which prompts her to selfishly ask him for something.
“Write me a poem sometime, okay?” He barely hears her request, with how taken he is by her form, dusted with the delicate blooms upon her shoulder and hair. Turning back to his work, he offers an ambiguous response. She is indeed like a dream, an elegant, delicate dream that he feels will vanish when the cherry blossoms do.
She’s more quiet today than usual, her ordinarily animated manner of speaking subdued.
“Are you all right?” They both occupy human forms, but both are different from humans, different from each other. He’s a sword spirit; she is the spirit of a cherry tree. Similar to each other, yet different enough to make such difference pronounced, loud in the silence of not knowing.
After a pause, her gaze lowering, she professes that she is ill. “I—the tree, that is—something is wrong. I don’t know what it is though.”
Kasen is unsure of what to do, not being well-versed in the care of plants. Perhaps he can ask the master and the root of the problem can be found. Something inside him aches at the thought of losing her. She’s a good friend, being with her makes him happy. He resolves to do his best to save her.
He keeps visiting her, but every time Kasen comes, she seems weaker, farther away. Their conversations have largely become one-sided, with him doing most of the talking. He recites poetry to her, sometimes it is the work of others, sometimes his own. The cherry blossom tree seems to enjoy these times, even if she doesn’t speak much anymore.
Then the day he feared comes, when she grabs him by the sleeve as he leaves. The dread he feels already tells him what’s coming, but still he turns around, to face her properly one last time.
“Sorry, but it’s best if you forget about me. I think this is the last time we’ll meet.” With a sorrowful crescent of a smile, she bows to him. “Thank you for everything. I’m really glad to have met you, Kasen.”
“Don’t say that. This isn’t good bye.” But the look she gives him in response tells him that it is. Even so, she offers one of the smiles he has come to think of fondly and unlike all the times before, gazing upon it is painful.
“You’re right, you’re right. Let’s meet again someday. I’ll be patiently waiting for that time.”
When he visits the tree the next day, she’s nowhere to be found.
Seasons pass and he doesn’t see her. The singing cicadas of summer give way to the rich reds of autumn, which in turn give way to the silence of snow, and then, the arrival of the next spring is heralded with the blooming plum blossoms.
Winter has not yet ended, but still he decides to visit the cherry tree, the one where that fateful meeting happened. Now that he thinks of it, Kasen doesn’t know why she appeared before him that day. As he makes his way to the tree, he wonders if he’ll be able to ask, if he’ll be able to get a reply.
He sets his hand on the tree where her hand had been nearly a year ago, when she professed what she was. Is he corrects himself, what she is because she isn’t gone. She can’t be. Kasen had enlisted the help of his master in trying to save the tree, and by some miracle the tree had not perished.
“Hello.” He doesn’t expect a reply to his greeting, but he can’t stop his heart from sinking when the only response is the crisp air rustling the more delicate branches. “I finished the poem I promised you, last year. When it’s springtime, I’ll bring it with me.”
There’s no response, the wind pauses, and though there is no breeze, the more fragile branches sway, as if to acknowledge his words. He hopes that even if he can’t see her, maybe she can hear him. Kasen’s hand falls from the bark of the tree and he peers up through the tangled branches towards the coming spring sky.
“Wait patiently for me until then, all right?”
When he leaves the tree, he does not look back.
It’s a pleasant spring day when he goes to visit her. Some of the swords offer to accompany him, to meet this spirit similar yet unlike them. The master gently scolds the swords, saying that they should let Kasen go alone. With a grateful smile to the master, he makes his way to the grove of trees he has come to know so well.
His hand moves to his chest, checking to make sure the parchment with the poem written upon it is still there. He made sure to use his best calligraphy; it’s a gift after all.
With her name on his lips, he announces that he’s here to fulfill the promise he made last time.
He takes the parchment from where it rests in his kimono, carefully unfurling it as the inked letters see the sun. The flowers fall like rain, adding pink and white accents to the poem meant to embody spring. Kasen’s voice is soft, gentle, as it always is, but there is a delicate sense of fragility to it as he recites the poem to her, to her tree.
It is silent, after he speaks, with nothing but the scattering blooms bearing witness to his words. He hopes that she’s heard the poem he wrote for her. The feelings he grasped at the day they met are now ones he can fully understand. The fragility and transience of all things, their subsequent elegance, and the resulting sorrow.
The sword rolls up the parchment once more, not bothering to shake out the blooms that fell upon it. He buries the paper with the poem at the base of the tree; it is the closest he can get to giving it to her personally.
Gazing through the branches of her tree, he glimpses the bits of azure sky through the brilliant flowers. He thinks back to when they first met.
Perhaps underneath this cherry tree is the corpse of _____.
But then he remembers her parting words. They’ll meet again, someday.
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