Jasmines and Roses

They lived in a world so smitten with death that Saphir could hardly believe it existed in the same reality as that of his childhood. The flowers that bloomed so near, always just a breath away, were so far from him that it made him wonder if he had simply dreamt the entirety of his boyhood; he wondered if he had always dwelled on Nemesis, and merely crafted his memories to cope with an unforgiving reality.

Her name was Lillian, and she was his mother; their mother. No one could deny that she was an angel among women, undeniably perfect in a world that masqueraded as peaceful but was so internally corrupt. Smiles were not superficial when worn by her, nor was the compassionate heart that she paraded on her sleeve.

"Be kind, be loving, be truthful. You owe that to the world, and to yourself."

Perhaps her greatest triumph was her lack of hypocrisy, her sincerity even in the face of adversity. Saphir could recall with great clarity a time in which she inadvertently knocked over a display in a shop, and though she incurred the shop keeper's wrath, she quietly tidied up the mess and left with an apology admitting her faults lingering in her tracks along with the scent of jasmine.

For she was so gentle of a spirit, it was no wonder that she eventually found herself the object of one's tireless affection. Even young and naïve, it took no wise man to know that his father was enamored with her to the point of obsession; he breathed for her happiness, for her love. It came as no surprise to Saphir that eventually both of their children would exhibit such a trait: a passion that would either make them into gods, or break them into thousands of irreconcilable pieces.

"She is divine." Demando would tease the ends of the hologram's hair as if they were tangible, bring his empty hand to his lips, and kiss the tips of his fingers as though he had just touched a celestial being.

Saphir saw so much of his father within the White Prince. They were the same motions unknowingly recycled: the feather-light kisses, the consuming infatuation, the endless confessions, the addiction. Only, his father's beloved looked upon him with a fondness that encompassed every bit of her endearment and adoration, while Neo-Queen Serenity without a doubt desired for Demando's demise. In some way, his parents were at fault for the unrequited love that was devouring their son by the hour. Their bliss only reinforced an idea that love was inevitable if one pursued it with enough ardor, and in some cases, took it by force if need be. After all, it had proven efficacious for their father.

"What will you do with her now that she's here?" He struggled to force the words out of his mouth. Acknowledging her presence on Nemesis seemed to make the reality that much harder to bear, especially knowing that his brother's ambitions would only grow increasingly convoluted.

As if he could hear his thoughts–sometimes Saphir did question if he possessed said ability–Demando cocked his head to the side most curiously, and pierced him with a violet gaze that said everything he did not. "Keep her, of course."

Those four words were simplistic, obvious, superficial, but they divulged his labyrinthine motives. Keeping her was merely the tip of the iceberg: he intended to place a crown on her head, give her an heir of their blood.

It disgusted Saphir to stand by and be forced to watch the events unfold before his eyes, and be able to neither say nor do anything to sway his brother's indomitable mind. If he even tried, he'd only be met with silence, for every thought that swirled around Demando's head revolved around his obsession. She was so deeply infused within his very soul that Saphir doubted his brother's ability to stay alive without her in existence.

Everything was her, her, her.

He learned quite quickly whom the object of his own obsession was through that.

Lillian was the first case of an individual passing from an illness in the thirtieth century; the word had become meaningless in a society whose every breath was aching with life. The Ginzuishou promised an eternity of malady-free existence to all but the one who deserved it the most, and he burned with anger every time his mind wandered to such a thought.

Maudlin.

He saw the years weigh his father down within seconds. Wrinkles that had never once dared mar his preserved, thirty-eight year old skin made themselves apparent over night; his face became a canyon of despair and loathing. For months after her passing, his father was never without wine. Alcohol became his comfort, the only thing that could ever dull his senses enough to the point in which he would forget that his beloved belonged to the ground. In his mind, if euphoria was no longer achievable, muddled indifference was a sufficient replacement.

And in his moments of soberness, he was more emotional than any man would ever like to be. Saphir doubted he'd every see a man cry so long and so hard for his own shortcomings. Yes, his father did believe that in some way it was his fault for allowing her to die. His childhood delusion of money being a sound remedy for anything had followed him into adulthood. His money could've saved her, he could've saved her; both of which he insisted upon.

The years of watching his father waste away had trickled by like wine out of a bottle on its side, and during that time he had learned much about the destructive forced called love. He watched, a helpless bystander, as it ravaged one of the Earth's most influential businessmen, ripping him apart heart string by heart string, rendering him a sniveling drunkard.

"Her hatred..." Demando slammed his hands down on the granite countertop. Fingertips clawing at the surface, finally curling into his palms, he fixed his acute gaze on the reflection presented to him by the mirror. "Why?"

Different in situation, but so similar in severity of frustration, Demando and his father were at once standing before the mirror, glaring at not the glass but themselves. Their despair, their loathing, their self-deprecation all erupted in a conflagration that burned bright in such cold eyes. With the intuition reinforced through years of observations and divulgements, he could only again watch, knowing that his brother's mind was going up in flames.

As the first signs of anguish took the stage on his brother's typically impassive countenance, he hurled his gaze towards the door, memory shaping an image of what lie just outside of the parlor. A left, a right, another right, then a flight of stairs, and he'd arrive at the door of her bedchambers. Saphir would shake her vigorously by her shoulders, scream at her until she fell so deeply in love with Demando that she'd never think of another again, and all the while he'd collapse internally but smile a genuine, ecstatic smile, for he had brought his beloved happiness, if only at the expense of his own.

Humans were so selfish; that was the only thing he could think of when he finally forced himself to look away from the door and his idea dissipated, replaced by the desire to comfort his brother well into the early hours of morning. He reached a gloved hand out to place upon his brother's shoulder, but was startled by a sudden crunch followed by a slow hiss.

The White Prince's hand was buried deep into the glass of the mirror, web-like cracks darting out from the point of impact and forming macabre mosaics comprised of distorted reflections and darkened blood. Glittering shards had imbedded themselves in the flesh of his hand, ribbons of red snaked down his skin, but all he did was reach for the glass of wine he'd procured with whatever wicked powers he possessed.

Without hesitation, Saphir dove for the glass as well, intent on claiming it so that he would not have to see his brother drink himself into a stupor. It was a selflessly selfish act, as were most of the things he did, but he pushed the thought aside as he enveloped the smooth glass with his hand and set it out of Demando's reach.

Expecting the worst, he readied himself for whatever response he'd receive, whether physical or verbal, only to find Demando tossing his head from side to side.

"Why?"

Saphir looked towards the door again, envy festering within his heart.

Nemesis was known for its inhospitable environment and exiguous light, which made the corridors dark and chilling even with full-length windows on either side. Flanked by shadows with only a book in hand, Saphir strolled towards his study observing the vast nothing of the planet from his fishbowl home. Even after years, he had not grown accustomed to seeing only darkness upon darkness outside.

As a child, the windows of his home had always been adorned with planter boxes bursting with colorful flowers and overflowing with crisp, green leaves. Tendrils of the jasmine plants crawled up the window-frames, weaving in and out of the cracks between the bricks and adorning the soft brown with silken stars of ivory and gold. There was never a view not obstructed by the corner of a hedge or a thick stalk of some plant; his family practically lived in a greenhouse.

Those memories were difficult to stomach when faced with the harsh reality of his present day. He'd been surrounded by flowers, oh so many flowers, flowers resting in vases on tables, petals of flowers sprinkled in decorative glass bowls filled with water, flowers nestled in his mother's platinum blond tresses.

Nemesis had nothing.

However, that wasn't entirely true. While the unforgiving planet itself had no natural flora–only darkness was indigenous–with the immigration of the Black Moon Clan had come a paltry but present amount of plant life. One rose bush; nothing more, nothing less.

Saphir's feet had brought him to the garden, dripping in shadows though it was midday according to the (useless) pocket-watch he kept. His navy eyes rested on the crown jewel of the enclosed space: the lone rose bush sat in all its unassuming glory, ornamented with only three buds and a single bloom. Though not as prolific as it once was, the beauty of its flowers had not waned in the passing years; the blossoms remained as velvety and white as they ever had been.

As always, he was filled with a not-so-peculiar sense of peace and dread. Yes, he loved to lay eyes on one of the last slivers of beauty that had persisted through the harsh time of the rebellion, resilient and unyielding, but he could never shake the thoughts, the memories that the sight aroused. Begging, screaming, and finally whispers as underhanded deals were realized in the dark of night with only the moonlight to witness. A lump formed in his throat. He wanted to look at the bush without being reminded of everything it took to acquire it.

Within seconds he found himself accompanied by unintelligible voices that came from his right, one male and the other female. He knew who they belonged to without having to look, but the curious part of his nature forced him away from the window that looked into the garden and towards the source of the sounds. As he drew nearer and nearer, his footsteps were drowned out by the sounds of talking, which grew increasingly louder until they were full on shouts: an argument.

"Would you listen to me for just a moment?" Her exasperated cry filtered out of the room and into the hall. "You never let–"

He arrived at the doors, peering through the crack to see the scene at hand.

His brother had seized the wrists of the young girl who would eventually become the formidable Neo-Queen Serenity with a single hand, pinned them above her head, and had backed her against one of the roman columns that formed a sea of marble in the throne room. Demando was smothering her with his body, his lips, and Saphir found himself disgusted but unable to look away.

Mere seconds passed before Saphir drew back, and leaned against the door, mind reeling from the scene he had witnessed. His heart pounded in his chest so forcefully that he placed a quivering hand on his jacket over the spot in hopes of stilling it, for surely the pair could hear it. Beads of sweat clustered on his brow, but he didn't bother wiping them away.

Suddenly, he was young again, creeping around the hallways when he shouldn't have been, and seeing things not meant for his eyes. Images of his parents flooded his mind, but he didn't dare let himself liken her to his mother.

That girl was wicked while his mother was incessantly pure in heart. They were not the same in any way.

Slowly, slowly, his heart rate returned to its normal pace, and the sweat dried, leaving a sticky film on his skin. Sighing, he slid away from the door, retrieved his fallen book, and then went on his way, intent on leaving the moment behind.

He was content with letting Demando have her like that, for her obstinate heart wouldn't allow him to ever possess any more. As long as that was the case, as long as her heart remained locked away to his advances, Saphir still had his brother in some way.

Inside the room, Demando released her hands, which fell to his neck. Cupping his cheeks, Usagi pulled away, but left her forehead pressed against his own, smiling at him all the while.

Sooner or later, one had to lose the object of their love. For his father, he lost Lillian to the impartial sickle of death. For Saphir, he lost his brother to the gentle embrace of moonlight.

Again, he wandered at the worst of times. Again, he wandered with a book in hand and a mind full of muddled logic and clear insanity. Again, he wandered in only the company of shadows and their love named darkness. It seemed life had a malicious nature to it that existed to taunt him with constant displays of companionships. Everything in existence had something to call a partner of its own, while he was left reluctantly accepting the company of ancient texts, silently yearning for the once unwavering relationship he had with his brother.

Life was simple when they were children in a field of flowers, children with a mother and a father who somehow had enough love to share with them even after they had given their hearts to one another.

Saphir would never again be able to think of all the times he had laid in the vast meadow behind his home with Demando, watching the clouds roll by amidst the endless ocean of blue. He'd never be able to think of all of the times they snuck out the window to lay in those very fields, basking in the moonlight, for the scene before him would always usurp such pleasant times.

Beneath the artificial light that blanketed the garden, at the base of the rose bush that only possessed one last flower, the girl he hated so fervently was entrapped in the embrace of the White Prince. Their limbs were tangled in a heap of lean appendages and supple skin, their eyes only for each other.

His breath became shallow, his own limbs felt leaden, his muscles lost all strength as the life was drawn right out from his veins. The novel he held fell to the ground only seconds before he did, and soon he found himself surrounded by scattered pages and rain-droplet sized tears, which came from his own eyes.

For the first time ever, he felt like his father, mourning for a lost love.

For the first time ever, he was unable to hate her for making his brother smile.

Without them having to say it, he knew what the White Prince and the Moon Princess came to him for just by their giddy expressions and proximity alone. He was not oblivious to the way she leaned into him, nor was he oblivious to the band around her finger, gold with a crescent-shaped diamond. In his chair, with the door so far away, he felt trapped.

"Brother," Demando addressed him with familiar warmth, and an unmistakable joy in his rich tone. "We're going to marry."

He met those violet eyes that were teeming with happiness, contentment, and was at a loss for words as his secondhand joy mingled with his jealousy, his anger, and the hatred that had returned. Expectantly, Demando looked at him, but said nothing more. The walls of the library drew nearer and nearer, suffocating him with the notion of his brother wedding the woman who had destroyed their lives.

Finally, after minutes of silence had flown by, it was neither Demando nor Saphir who spoke, but Usagi. Resting a hand on his forearm, she looked at the White Prince with her limpid gaze. "Could we have a moment, please?"

Lust flared up in Demando's eyes, the sort of selfish lust that did not want to allow her to have be away from him if just for a second. Yet, he nodded, albeit begrudgingly, and turned on his heel, leaving Usagi alone with Saphir.

"I don't think we've met." She sunk down into the chair across from him. "I mean, formally at least."

He stared at her blankly, a page still trapped between his thumb and index finger, the air around him stagnant. She crossed her legs, and then uncrossed them, folded her hands in her lap, and then separated them, and kept a smile on her lips though he watched it waver with her increasing discomfort.

"We're different, you know." Usagi said abruptly, and then quickly added: "Neo-Queen Serenity and I."

"Oh." Was his lame response, and he flipped the page, pretending to read, attempting to maintain some semblance of flippancy though he was itching with the need to scream at her.

Saphir wanted to tell her that she was not in fact any different than her future self, that she was just as horrid and cruel; in one life she took away his mother, his world, and in this life she was taking away his brother. Her thirst for his suffering was insatiable, and he was inclined to let her know of such, but could not find the words to express such a thought. So, he remained silent, flipped another page, and forced himself to not meet her gaze.

Only when he had almost forgotten her presence did she approach him, and the sudden touch startled him. Blonde hair framing her heart shaped face, concerned eyes free of malice and deceit, she reminded him of his mother for a split second, before he saw past the supposed facade.

"I'm not trying to hurt him."

"What?"

"I love him."

The look he gave her was incredulous, for he couldn't believe what she had just said. It was too painful to accept the reality of someone other than himself possibly loving Demando, and so he didn't.

"You don't love him."

But even he knew how much of a lie that was.

His sister-in-law, the thorn in his side, had gone from being excruciatingly painful to mundanely annoying, and he trudged through life recognizing that she existed, that she was a part of his life now, but refusing to accept her as anything more than an outsider. She may have ruled his brother's heart, but she never would rule Saphir's.

Walking had become an act riddled with so many horrendous surprises that he only moved from room to room if absolutely necessary, and made sure with every venture to keep his mind focused on only the space ahead. But it became so difficult upon passing their bedchambers, for she was always there humming some sort of tune, perched on the stool of her vanity as a siren on a rock.

The door was wide open, and she was running a brush through her beautiful golden locks, grinning at the mirror. Saphir slowed for just a moment to see if his brother was with her, and found him slip quietly into the room from the adjoining bathroom. Hands behind his back, he inched towards her, and though she no doubt saw him in the mirror's reflection, she humored him, feigning ignorance and keeping her gaze set forward.

When Demando came to stand just behind her, he leaned over and unveiled the object he had been hiding, wrapping his arms around her pregnant belly and holding the white rose out in front of her.

Saphir looked away.

End

I really enjoyed working with this 'triangle' of characters, and writing a one-shot in a vignette style. I'm interested to hear of what everyone thought, so please don't hesitate to review!

This one-shot was dedicated to Shai-Lang. Thanks for the motivation and inspiration!