Jin is blue, and silent, and accepting, and everything she hates loves about him. When they finally faced the fork in the road, he chose the road well traveled. And she loves hates him for it.
Mugen is rough, and dirty, and everything that annoys calms her. He is stupid and brash, and that's why he chose the road less taken.
She'd like to think of herself as a proper girl, a smart girl, a strong girl. But she's not, and never will be. She chose a new road, because that was the only road left for her. She traveled the road well traveled, and traveled the road less taken, and all the while hated both roads.
But it seemed ironic for one to call it a fork, or at least, she thought it was. Because in the end, she knew they'd meet again, no matter what road they chose. It was more like a spoon to her, than a fork. Because a spoon is always going to lead you to it's center, and then you'll start all over again. At least with a fork, you can either fall off the end, or find a new road to take.
Her road is blocked, and long, and something that she doesn't does want to go through. But for once, she'd like to think that she was at least a strong girl.
But she wasn't, and the thought, the hope, didn't last long.
She got through her road, though, found the end beginning, but she never really cleared it, and even when she had grown older, and settled down, the not so quit cleared road wormed its way into her head.
And ate away at it like a parasite. That's when she knew that the roads they were taking, could neither be described as a fork, or a spoon. They were knives.
Forks leave you choices, and spoons leave you wandering, but a knife, a knife cuts through you. A knife leaves you bloody and beaten at the end of your road. And then you die there, utterly alone surrounded with the painful memories you've made.
And every day is a living hell for you.
They eventually met again, their roads leading them to her on a nice, spring day, and it was to swords, and sunflowers, and all the yelling she had known that there'd be. Jin was still blue, and silent, and accepting, and Mugen was still rough, and dirty, and brash…but she…she had grown tired, her steps more weary, and her hair more dull.
They looked concerned at first, but that might have been a reflection within a reflection.
Their reunion was short, and filled with half-truths. "I'm okay sick," she would say. "Happily miserably married," she would smile. "Life is treating me well," she would tell them.
Lies lies lies…and they would return her the favor.
"I'm fine lonely," his broken heart told otherwise.
"Shino and I will be reunited to end what we started," his eyes would wander to a far, far away place--beyond the reach of time and memories.
"We are happy for you," they would say. She could hear their real voices. But she knew that the words they spoke, were not all lies.
She could distinguish that too.
They were happy for her. For her husband, for her life, for the complete and total peace they must have imagined for her.
And she smiled softly at them in response. Their paths would end and begin over and over again, and the roads they chose would always lead back to the beginning of time and before that.
Throughout the spring, she covered up the sickness, and smiled while lying, and showed a love for her husband that was not there. She treated them to false dreams of children, and teahouses, and a comfortable, long life.
They left on a cool, summer morning, and the following winter they returned to an empty house, a weeping husband, and a garden of sunflowers.
And in the not-so-faraway future, many years into time, they would reunite, and continue along their silverware roads.