They say there is a fallen star.
A stranger among their native land.
Is it a gift or a curse? The true meaning is yet to be discerned.
The fallen star comes in the form of a boy, eyes too bright and hair too fair.
Rumour has it that he emerged from the desert, the blistering dunes and zephyrs ululating all around him.
No one knows where the boy comes from, and with the fallen star's perturbed gaze, no one ventures to ask.
High above her subjects, leaning into her balcony, relaxing in her future castle, the Princess Sakura hears the gossip in robes that she finds much too heavy for her liking.
She wonders.
She waits.
xx
He sits in a broken throne that is no longer his own. He knows it is broken, though it is not yet.
People stare; their curious eyes are fixed upon him, at every angle, on every inch. They long to reach and cling and claw; to cut away his satin sheets; to see what lies underneath. Aloof, his eyes remain downcast, firm on the floor, trying not to be self-conscious. He cannot bring himself to smile, only let himself be led, aimlessly led in one direction, then another.
there's a ghost around his neck, hung like a noose (and he misses that scent of jasmine)
The climate is too hot and humid for his taste, and the sun kisses his skin with razor blade teeth, burning what pale flesh he has without drawing a drop of blood.
One more step is another stumble — and dizziness blurs what remains of his eyesight; a merry-go-round spinning circles of paradise eclipsed in vapour; he stops, he falters —
twist
gasp
The King sits, in his unbroken throne, and the boy swears that he has seen him before — in a portrait or a picture, a glistening of amethyst eyes, telling of untold sadness.
— there, and there she is, curious, innocent, puzzled — kneeling on plumed cushions —
The girl who will change everything.
xx
oh, my dear, my dear, be patient
all i ask… is this one thing