It had been years since Karai last visited home, it had been longer still since she had visited the garden. Now she stood in front of that oval portal which showed her that their land was not in any disrepair since last she walked its maze-like path. That threshold, once stepped over, would signal the beginning of the first time she entered their world alone.
This was their special place, where the red dragon floated upon the morning mist with no beginning or end. In the afternoon fish of gold would dip above their jade palace to peer up at her as she gazed upon him. That place was where the shadows he cast dispersed to reveal a tower of will to which she never doubted. When they walked through that portal to this world she was safe in his eye no longer tossed in the wake like the others. Their only visitors were the ghosts of twilight who danced on the plaster walls until the dark enveloped them. As night fell there would be time for moon viewing and tea. The seasons would change and bring about a new life in place of the one that died none were of greater in beauty or importance. Like the soldiers planted outside waiting to escort them and the men whose life she had seen sundered by his sword, all had a purpose. By the time she had grown she had associated every tile guiding her path with a word, or phrase he had allow slip. Pearls she hid jealously for his wisdom was not something easily received.
Her greatest treasure was the time they had spent in the library. Retiring there was a greater honor than sitting in the viewing pagoda that floated upon the pound. Even more precious than meditating with him in front of the housed god stolen from his riverbed to appear as a rock to mortals. More spiritual was the time spent in that library hidden by plum trees. There she could see the water, the pagoda, even the frozen god and none could distract his attention. That room was not for study, it was a time to hear him read, perhaps even write together. No praise was given, and no words to deride were used in their absence. It was a place of sweet apathy where nothing was right or wrong. At times, if she was lucky, they could converse freely about this world they visited. Only here was where he recalled she was more than another hand to hold him closer to his already blinding glory. She was his daughter. Someone who would play her a song written by a man pining for the love of a god, eat on the new-year with, and drink tea with under a full moon.
This was their special place, and now it was only hers.