The aura of sadness about Megumi was almost palatable. Kenshin stopped in the hallway, glancing around the jamb of her open door to observe the girl where she sat.
As usual, she was by the window, sprawled slightly, kimono pooling around her legs like a forest lagoon. One of her flower arrangements sat half-completed in its white cracklware vase on the low table before her: beautiful white plum blossoms. A few more sprigs were gripped tenderly in the fingers of her other hand. The kimono she wore was a beautiful silver-grey color, belted by an obi of the softest white, with a diphanous quality that was like sunlight streaking across spring clouds as the loose ends flowed down her bottom and legs, the usual fancy knot absent. Her hair, in its flowing, raven's-breast glory, hung quite loose. And despite the wistful smile on her sweet vermilion-colored mouth, he could sense the anguish and despair welling up inside her tender heart, slowly blackening and burning through her icy facade. As Kenshin watched, a single tear cascaded from each eye, landing to create dewy spots on the blossoms she cradled.
With a slow heaviness, the despair faded. But he instantly recognized the new emotion as being something much more dangerous. Her movements were langurous, graceful, appropriating a geisha in the midst of a dance...
Suddenly she was holding the knife she used to trim the flowers' stems, gripping it uncertainly as though she'd never used it, as though she were not a skilled surgeon and reknown lady doctor. Her rich brown eyes lifted to the heavens. The hand she lifted did not tremble. Kenshin found himself transfixed by the misty silver sunlight that streaked through her hair and illuminated the tear-trails on her high cheekbones. The plum blossoms she clutched to her breast, and he could already see them stained scarlet with her blood.
A slight jerk of her shoulders tore him from his reverie; the start turned his eyes wide and golden. But there was no blood. She had remembered something. Some force had stopped her.
Putting the knife back down on the table, Megumi made a show of delicately arranging the remaining blossoms in the vase. They made a beautiful white fan of plum spray, with a fragrance that would permeate the dojo for days. Kenshin had been watching her. She would not die in front of his eyes. Megumi could never understand why the fates tormented her, allowed her to always feel his closeness. Even as far from her as he stood now, she could all but smell his unique male aroma, all but feel his warmth. All but feel his arms around her. Burying her face in her hands, Megumi wept. He'd might as well see her cry. To herself Megumi was worthless, the mere street whore Kanryu had called her.
The unpleasant memories of her past few years were swift to flow into Megumi's tortured mind, like a current of black water flooding a riverbank on the stormiest of nights. Memories in awful, vivid color. The three sunsets that had turned the landscape near her father's manor horrible shades of crimson and flame as she had watched her family violently murdered; snatches of the sickly, choking purple of the night she caught through tear-drowned eyes on the last night, during the occasional break her tormentors allowed her from their brutalities. Brutalities on her body and soul.
Her time with Kanryu hadn't been much different. Always standing out in her mind was his horrible jaundice, colors and textures that went along so well with his cruel, mocking voice and insane laugh. And then there was the thin but suffocating white haze that had covered her existence like a dread snowfall when she was forced to produce opium for the evil drug lord, and the scarlet despair that had washed over her. Was the burning she had felt in her eyes from stray opium in the air, or was it tears for her unwanted victims?
And then everything had changed. There had been the warm, beautiful, cosmic lavender of Kenshin's eyes; the honey caramel-color of Sano's skin, the golden melody of Ayame and Suzume's laughter at play. Life at the Kamiya Dojo had been nothing short of rose-colored, despite her unrequited love for Kenshin.
In a sudden warming blaze of emotion, Megumi chastened herself for her selfishness.
What else could you want out of life, baka? These people have risked their lives for you more than once, and succeeded every time.
The ache didn't leave Megumi's golden heart as she inhaled deeply of the plum blossom fragrance, but some burden on her soul was lifted. Satsified, Kenshin watched from beyond her doorway.
And amidst the pastel blossoms of the exquisite Tokyo spring, there was peace once more.
As usual, she was by the window, sprawled slightly, kimono pooling around her legs like a forest lagoon. One of her flower arrangements sat half-completed in its white cracklware vase on the low table before her: beautiful white plum blossoms. A few more sprigs were gripped tenderly in the fingers of her other hand. The kimono she wore was a beautiful silver-grey color, belted by an obi of the softest white, with a diphanous quality that was like sunlight streaking across spring clouds as the loose ends flowed down her bottom and legs, the usual fancy knot absent. Her hair, in its flowing, raven's-breast glory, hung quite loose. And despite the wistful smile on her sweet vermilion-colored mouth, he could sense the anguish and despair welling up inside her tender heart, slowly blackening and burning through her icy facade. As Kenshin watched, a single tear cascaded from each eye, landing to create dewy spots on the blossoms she cradled.
With a slow heaviness, the despair faded. But he instantly recognized the new emotion as being something much more dangerous. Her movements were langurous, graceful, appropriating a geisha in the midst of a dance...
Suddenly she was holding the knife she used to trim the flowers' stems, gripping it uncertainly as though she'd never used it, as though she were not a skilled surgeon and reknown lady doctor. Her rich brown eyes lifted to the heavens. The hand she lifted did not tremble. Kenshin found himself transfixed by the misty silver sunlight that streaked through her hair and illuminated the tear-trails on her high cheekbones. The plum blossoms she clutched to her breast, and he could already see them stained scarlet with her blood.
A slight jerk of her shoulders tore him from his reverie; the start turned his eyes wide and golden. But there was no blood. She had remembered something. Some force had stopped her.
Putting the knife back down on the table, Megumi made a show of delicately arranging the remaining blossoms in the vase. They made a beautiful white fan of plum spray, with a fragrance that would permeate the dojo for days. Kenshin had been watching her. She would not die in front of his eyes. Megumi could never understand why the fates tormented her, allowed her to always feel his closeness. Even as far from her as he stood now, she could all but smell his unique male aroma, all but feel his warmth. All but feel his arms around her. Burying her face in her hands, Megumi wept. He'd might as well see her cry. To herself Megumi was worthless, the mere street whore Kanryu had called her.
The unpleasant memories of her past few years were swift to flow into Megumi's tortured mind, like a current of black water flooding a riverbank on the stormiest of nights. Memories in awful, vivid color. The three sunsets that had turned the landscape near her father's manor horrible shades of crimson and flame as she had watched her family violently murdered; snatches of the sickly, choking purple of the night she caught through tear-drowned eyes on the last night, during the occasional break her tormentors allowed her from their brutalities. Brutalities on her body and soul.
Her time with Kanryu hadn't been much different. Always standing out in her mind was his horrible jaundice, colors and textures that went along so well with his cruel, mocking voice and insane laugh. And then there was the thin but suffocating white haze that had covered her existence like a dread snowfall when she was forced to produce opium for the evil drug lord, and the scarlet despair that had washed over her. Was the burning she had felt in her eyes from stray opium in the air, or was it tears for her unwanted victims?
And then everything had changed. There had been the warm, beautiful, cosmic lavender of Kenshin's eyes; the honey caramel-color of Sano's skin, the golden melody of Ayame and Suzume's laughter at play. Life at the Kamiya Dojo had been nothing short of rose-colored, despite her unrequited love for Kenshin.
In a sudden warming blaze of emotion, Megumi chastened herself for her selfishness.
What else could you want out of life, baka? These people have risked their lives for you more than once, and succeeded every time.
The ache didn't leave Megumi's golden heart as she inhaled deeply of the plum blossom fragrance, but some burden on her soul was lifted. Satsified, Kenshin watched from beyond her doorway.
And amidst the pastel blossoms of the exquisite Tokyo spring, there was peace once more.