Sesshomaru's mother dresses him in reds and whites, but he favors blue above all colors.
Many springs previous, the castle groundskeeper planted a Wisteria. It was within its gnarled and bent boughs that Sesshomaru often found himself.
It is where he currently finds himself.
Relaxing into the strong trunk, he is hypnotized by the way the wind blows through the vines, rustling against the brilliant buds – more blue than the typical lilac.
In truth, he despised the tree at first – it had disappointed him, you see. When the groundskeeper first planted her, a younger Sesshomaru expected her to bloom readily and vigorously.
Much to the lordlings displeasure, this simply hadn't been the case. In fact, the wisteria failed to bloom the following spring, and the spring after that.
It took thirteen springs before she finally bloomed, and when it happened, Sesshomaru was secretly thrilled. Turns out, it'd been well worth the wait, as she bloomed gloriously.
The bluest wisteria he'd seen in his four centuries. And despite being disheartened by each spring that passed without a bloom, he couldn't bring himself to stop climbing her limbs at least once a day.
He was drawn to this element of nature as he'd been drawn to the baby blue eye he'd plucked and witnessed wither away a century prior.
It was a curiosity to him, the pull he felt, but it wasn't one he questioned. It was one he relished, like having a secret friend all his own.
He drew comfort from her, his wisteria, when his training became tedious, or his body became bruised.
A light breeze and her sweet scent coats his tongue. His lips quirk in the corners.
"Sesshomaru, it is time to return to your lessons."
His father is standing below the wisteria, looking up at him curiously.
"If you spent half as much time practicing with your sword as you do in the boughs of this tree, you would show vast improvement."
"Do not worry, father," Sesshomaru says, jumping down from the tree to land before the general. "I will surpass your expectations, and then some."
"I look forward to the day, my son."
Sesshomaru glances over his shoulder catching a glimpse of blue just before he turns a corner, and she is out of sight.
The wisteria bloomed for seventy-eight springs more – far longer than any other to his knowledge. His previous disappointment long forgotten; it reared its monstrous head the spring she failed to bloom.
She never bloomed again.
Three springs and three moons following, a violent storm blew in – a typhoon – and his wisterias roots finally gave. She tumbled to the ground, the impact splitting her in two.
He mourned.
The crestfallen lordling was uncertain, but somehow, he knew he'd lost something dear.