Prologue
The young flower girl tucks herself into a corner of the train station. She doesn't like this part. The train roars into the station, breathing black smoke and sparks. Beneath her bare feet she can feel the waxed marble rumbling. The iron tracks shake. The train whistles, the high pitches tearing at the young girl's ears. She squeezes her eyes shut. The whistle cuts off and the shaking station calms. A hand lands on her tangled hair. She flinches.
"Easy." The voice is clear, calming, and male. She opens her eyes to see the most beautiful man in the world. His long hair dangles over his shoulder as he kneels in front of her. He pats her head gently and tucks it into his pocket. "It's okay," he smiles. "I don't like trains much either."
She smiles back timidly. "But aren't you getting on?" she asks.
"I am."
"Aren't you scared?"
"A little," the beautiful man says. "But I'm going to see the person I love and I want to get there as quick as I can. So it's worth it."
She nods because this makes sense.
"Your flowers are so pretty. I think they would make my person smile."
A man behind the beautiful one snorts. It's the first time the girl notices the other, but he's almost as beautiful as this one. His curly hair falls past aristocratic cheekbones to his shoulders. He's wearing a suit like the man speaking to her. But she doesn't like the way he snorted at the beautiful man's words so she ignores him.
"If she's in love she'll want roses," the flower seller says. "Red ones," she adds helpfully.
"It's no she," the cynical standing man says. "And he won't be smiling anytime soon."
The girl frowns. "Why is he so sad?"
"He isn't sad," the second man says. "He's dead."
"Lilies," the girl says quietly after a moment. "You should give him lilies."
"For resurrection," the kneeling man says thoughtfully.
The girl nods. She ruffles through her basket of flowers and pulls out a bundle of white flowers. She ties a blue ribbon around the bouquet and hands it to him. He hands her a roll of bills. "This is too much," she protests.
"It isn't," the man says. "If they make him smile."
"But he's dead," the girl says.
"Hm," the gorgeous man smiles. "No. I don't think so."
"I hope you're right," the girl says shyly.
"As am I." The man rises and boards the train, taking the lilies with him.
Itachi gazes out the window as the train rumbles by fields of golden wheat. The feathered tops sway in the winds that weave through the air.
"For two years he has been officially dead," Shisui says from the opposite bench. "Why are we going back now?"
"I miss him," Itachi murmurs.
"And if he really is dead?"
"He isn't."
"How do you-."
"I can tell," Itachi interrupts crossly.
"The flowers?"
"What of them?"
"Sasuke won't appreciate them."
"Perhaps not," Itachi says.
Outside a gust of wind makes the fields shiver. The warm air presses down on the drying stalks, bending them almost flat, and the sun beats down from a clear autumn sky.