Though I would love to not say anything or explain anything, for the sake of minimizing confusion I will explain the structure. :)

This is Mahoja's POV. Everything that is aligned to the center is addressed to Cross. Everything that is aligned normally is either about Anita, addressed to Anita, general thoughts, or dialog (Cross, Anita, and Mahoja are the only people who speak but it's all aligned to the left so I thought I'd specify).

I hope that clears things up, and I hope you enjoy! :)

Oh! And I highly recommend listening to any song from the soundtrack of "House of Flying Daggers" while reading it! :D Especially "Lovers (flower garden)".


"What's this?"

She tried so hard to hide it.

"It's nothing…"

My poor lady.

"Who did this to you?"

"It was an accident, I bumped my shoulder the other day, that's all-"

"Doing what?"

My poor mistress. She bruises so easily.

"Oh, I don't remember, please stop! Sit down, stop worrying so much! It doesn't even hurt, see?"

"Who did this to you?"

And there is never enough powder, my poor blossom. If only you weren't always in bloom. Perhaps you'd be picked less often.

"Who did it?"

"He was a customer…"

"A customer?"

"Yes, that's all and it was an accident. Anyone could have done it, even you-"

"What's his name."

Never the right clean dress, my poor beauty.

"I don't know and it's not important. Just sit and relax. I'll get some tea-"

"It's on record somewhere though, isn't it? Isn't it."

"I suppose so, yes…"

Never an easy battle, my poor warrior.

The smoke is heavy in the hall now and it is a wonder they are still both breathing.

He walks hard and heavy on boards built for our light feet.

"Please! Your tea."

She is shaking, my poor blossom. Do not fall off your tree.

The sound of waiting.

Just as I can feel her pull him in I feel her pushing me away so that if he escapes he will escape to an empty hall, a hall with no answers.

But, my poor fisher, you know that you play with catches much larger than yourself.

You cannot move him. You cannot move me.

To push and pull at the same time is the same as doing nothing.

Heavy and hard he comes.

Do not break our boards, you bastard.

"You know where the record is?"

Does he blow smoke at you like this, my poor blossom? How is it then that your ivory skin is not opium black after so many years?

"Of course I do."

"Will you show it to me?"

"If my mistress wills it."

And you know she doesn't, you fool.

Take tea. Peel a little more of her petals. Keep her warm tonight.

"Will you tell me where it is?"

You would be one of a million hes if you were not special, if she did not love you. But that is the only difference.

"If my mistress wills it."

He took tea. He peeled a little more of her petals. And he who put that bruise on her shoulder and ten other places you can't see yet kept her warm at night.

But he hasn't broken our boards yet, you bastard.

So much smoke, my poor fisher? What can you catch that could live in the water of his breaths?

"I see."

Hard and heavy he leaves and we know that he will find it soon because there is no hiding in a place like this: for taking tea and peeling petals.

For keeping all we hers warm at night.

Twenty blossoms for a million hes? Blooming or closed, bud or flower, we cannot feed the fancy of a million wasteful men who tear so many petals so quickly that they will never grow back.

He shakes your tree, my poor mistress, when you are the only blossom he wants and so many others fall.

But he loves you, my poor lady, when that is all you have wanted in the world.

What is the tree to do when her flowers are dying? When they are dead?

What is the fish to do when her fishers cease fishing? Wait to be eaten by her sons and brothers?

He shuts wood to wood hard and heavy closing a door that was made for our teasing touches.

Do not break our door, you bastard.

She is shaking, my poor blossom.

Why do you scare the woman you love?

Do you think it makes her happy to hear you walk away when she asked you to stay, to remember when she asked you to forget, to stiffen when she asked you to relax?

If she forgives, why can you not?

Is that the difference of the desert and mountains between our two worlds or the difference of the smoke you see everything through and the air we see everything through?

The sound of waiting.

It is the most awful sound in his or our world, with or without smoke, is it not, my poor, poor-

I am shaking.

The night splits open far away where a man with a name we cannot remember is paying for lust and carelessness with his last breath. And it is full of smoke.

She is crying, my poor warrior, she is crying.

The wind and waves and men are all the same, always hitting themselves, crushing themselves.

She is crying for the man she loves and for the man with a name we cannot remember all at once, such a hard thing to do.

Now you will take tea. Now you will peel a little more of her petals. Now you will keep her warm tonight.

You bastard.

I do not mind that my lady shakes or that she weeps for a man made of smoke, for the wind or the waves. We were built to shake, we blossoms, as long as the tree is hanging on, and I do my best, my poor mistress.

But I wish just once, my poor, poor blossom; will you cry for yourself?


The title (as well as Cross's twisted/touching sentiment) is inspired by the song "Think Twice" by Eve 6 (which I also recommend in addition to the HOFD Soundtrack XD). I did not intend this to be so harsh on our favorite mysterious, scarlet-haired general, but Mahoja has a way of bringing out all my sexist feelings and the story became what I would recommend to any girl who just broke up with a guy and is going through the "all men suck" phase instead of the much gentler piece I had invisioned. But I'm still rather happy with it! XD

Questions? Concerns? Comments? Homicidal urges? Please feel free to express any of the aforementioned in a review! :) I hope you liked it and a thousand thank yous for reading!!!

-bows-

-S