I might change the title later due to a certain lameness. This was inspired by Iroha Uta in a weird sort of way.

One: Eglantine

"I wound to heal."

~'~'~

xx the cage. xx

Rose petals flew up into the air, clear specks of red against the serene night sky gazing down at the impudence of the petals. A young redhead, graceful in silks and sashes of gray and black, who held herself elegantly and the fabric flowed down her figure, followed the movement with her eyes, but it was likely she did not see it because she was forever imprisoned in a cage of only touch, smell, taste, and sound.

But no sight.

Just the pitiful sight of her made many a passerby's heart wrench painfully. A thin fan that was papery to the touch, a crimson sun easily visible on it, is often brought up to hide most of her face. Only her lifeless burgundy eyes stared from within, and even then she kept them closed most of the time.

She was simply a concubine, brought out at the direst moments of her lord's needs. To suffer the pain, the rough touch of the man's hands, were too much for her. Sometimes, escape was far away from her bound hands, with the heavy metal chains wrapped around her wrists, neck, and ankles. Even mind relief was not possible, because of the forever scarring memory of a knife, pain, and blood everywhere before her sight was lost, and the satisfied face of her lord.

xx the sky. xx

The clouds shielded the moon for a moment, cutting a large swath of darkness through the valley.

The incoherent calling of a lonely bird sounded ahead, far away and distant. A poor, ragged traveler brought a hand up to his eyes, squinting due to poor eyesight. Wasteland for miles around, and yet ... and yet the inn owner said that there was residency ahead.

Where?

There were many pursuers on the tail of him now; he could just feel it. If he got trapped ... even he, his pride and courage scoured by years of dangerous travel ... in this poor wasteland, what would that come to? This man - just a simple man with simple thoughts and simple beliefs - held the lives of thousands on his own back. They were escaping from dictators from the old land - desperate refugees - and the guards were determined to get him back. To smell the iron scent of fresh blood, pouring from the guillotine that has been so unused that the dictators were itching to chop off someone's head.

They were hard times.

He had been chosen to find a new land. A safer one. They had chosen the Land of Roses, which was close to legendary in the evil land he lived in. If he let one down, he let them all. There was no time for dillydallying, no time to waste.

The man carefully looked around for any light. Any light, anywhere.

It was just the vast, cold valley gazing indifferently up at him. With a despairing sigh, the traveler went on, wincing as his footfalls made twice as noise as they usually did. Wincing as the icy coldness began to seep to his toes and send shivers crawling up and down his body.

xx the chill. xx

Every year there was a winter frost. This frost was so vicious, so strong, that any crop that was planted right before or during the winter was immediately killed by the cold. This was why the people of these regions weren't much farmers; instead, they were manufacturers and traded for food with other regions. This living was hard to come by in the winter, but the ones who stayed often stayed for life.

Some, like the redheaded girl and the traveling boy, didn't have a choice.

And they both felt it.

Every year, when the season of this frost came, everyone, be them courageous knights or lowly peasants, all became like hunted rabbits. Tempers flared, bets were broken, backs were beaten until the skin on them were marred forever. The cold seeped through one's bones until one was sure that they were frozen, inside out.

And it was cold. So cold.

I don't care whether I continue this. Seeing as this is totally weird and an "idea of the moment," I might just leave this alone. Might be a five-chaptered story if I get interested. But seeing the way how this story was loosely written, and not focusing on a main idea, this might become one.

~Unyielding Wish