Disclaimers: See previous chapter.
A/N: Italics denotes thoughts or memories. Are 400 words still classified as a flashfic?
Summary: Kendappa-ō. Sōma. Sharing a cup of herbal tea near bedtime. One habit of many which they share, before... Watching the heart of her focus quietly enjoying the fruits of her labour, a last survivor of her clan ponders many things, in this ritual before sleep.
Flowers of the heart and mind
'It is still somewhat hot. Be careful,' murmurs the teamaker. Before she can relinquish the cup, slim fingers wrap around her own, guiding charmingly-forged gold to lips which gently touch a part of the rim unmarked by moisture.
Camomile. Lavender. Oatflower. Skullcap. Valerian root. Lemon balm. Night after night, Sōma always has different concoctions to prevent one musician from suffering insomnia, for peace.
One habit which never changes is how the recipient of her efforts always watches her, as the three-legged vessel is drained. Unblinking, lips curving slightly at the corners, kind eyes perpetually convey stories she cannot always understand. She lets her emotions interpret what they might say, and the assumptions are too varied to be conclusive.
Sometimes the darkening blue of a storm about to break over impending tragedy or untold memories, sometimes a tender blue as melancholy as the fading seafoam of emotional tranquillity, sometimes an unmitigated playful river flooding gardens and accidentally drowning out all life, sometimes the light-hearted dancing sparkle of mischief being planned, sometimes a steely knife edge lending a menacing and calculative air to twinkling gaiety… And sometimes a fixed cornflower blue so unchanging and unrelenting, they resemble walls to keep her out.
What is this distance? What do you hide?
Whenever she asks, she never gets a direct answer, but a girlish laugh and merry dismissal, followed by sweeter proximity. Her dearest one harbours secrets in a chamber nobody can access. These secrets are an uncomfortable bolster between them, no matter how close she holds this woman and combs a gentle waterfall of beautiful black hair.
Kendappa-ō, one day, will you give me the keys to your heart and mind?
Hahahaha, one day I shall give you flowers! You will never forget that day, when it happens.
And she waits, as patiently as she advises her impetuous and expressive musician.
Can flowers of the mind and heart be reflected in those eyes? Sōma does not know. Cherished eyes may be a passionately calm paradox of blue, but the flowers she cannot stop imagining are blooming fields of blood-red spider lilies swaying in chilly winds. They must be figments of her imagination. Her musician is only ever shades of blue.
In the meantime, the flowers she offers of her heart and mind are golden curving days of summer wildly celebrating balmy nights gladly bestowing starless skies, until she leaves Gandaraja with Yasha and Ashura.
A/N afterthoughts: Writing Sōma here was enjoyable. The red spider lily (higanbana) in Japan has a certain significance, poisonous to wild animals, connected with death and the shifting of summer into autumn. Should I do longer pieces for RG Veda? Maybe crossover with characters from X/1999? Hm.