So, um...long time no see?

Disclaimer: I do not own Mulan

Candlelight flickered on the shadowed walls as I swept and Mama washed dishes. I was extremely grateful for the peace and quiet which the cleaning allowed. The whole day had been a draining ordeal, as I'd tried to hold in my tears and socialize with my family. Now that everyone was asleep and the noise and chaos of the day had dissipated, I relished the silence. It didn't last too long, however. "Daiyu?"

"Yes, Mama?" I stopped sweeping, glancing up to meet her eyes. She was holding a teacup in one hand and a towel in the other, both posed with the intent of drying the porcelain vessel.

"Where were you today?"

I continued sweeping again, my eyes rivetted to where the broom was making small piles out of the dirt on the floor. I kept my voice down, even though everyone was gone. "I was sitting in my room for a little." To mourn, I wanted to add, but you never knew who was awake using the bathroom or searching for a late-night cup of tea. "I felt not so good after that, so I went to town."

"Were you with Lin Kai? Holea's brother?"

I tapped my fingers on the handle of the broom, sweeping a little harder. "Why?"

"I was just curious. Were you?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

Mothers always know." Mama was absently polishing the teacup, her eyes not meeting mine. "Do you like him?"

"Why are you asking? You've never talked to me about things like this." Maybe I was being a bit unfair, but I was angry. Angry that we had to pretend to live without Mulan, angry that the chasm I always felt without her widening between me and my family, angry at how lonely I finally realized I was.

"I just..." She trailed off, putting the cup away. "I never thought you would be thinking about boys. Mulan was the one who was going to go to the matchmaker and who was the oldest." She looked a little hurt at the confession.

"Yeah, I like him." My words were as tight as my grip on the broom, and tears were brimming painfully in my eyes for no reason.

"You know you could never marry him."

That one statement, in all its truth and simplicity, set off my defense mechanisms. "I know, Mama," I huffed. All the peace and comfort the quiet nighttime had bestowed upon me had evaporated, and I was busy in the process of restoring walls around my heart.

"What is it you like about him? His looks? His charm?"

"I'd rather not talk about it, Mama."

"Why not?"

"Because you just said I'll never marry him." I sucked in a breath through my nose, closing my eyes as I finished sweeping. My eyes and throat were stinging. "I'm going to my room," I said once I trusted my voice.

"Daiyu, please. Tell me about him." Was she pleading?

"Why? I like him, and that's a problem! I know that, Mama! His family is rich! Any romantic feelings I have are unimportant, so I don't want to talk about them!" I angrily stashed the broom and stormed into my room, dropping onto my bed. My tears were leaking out now, hot and tickly. All my feelings washed over me like ocean waves. Mulan could be dead. Dead. Gone. And if she was, we could never claim her body and she would never be buried. Everyone would think sickness had claimed her. Taking a shuddering breath, I peeked through the doorway, I watched the flickering orange light cast Mama's ghostly shadow on the wall as she retreated to her room. Then the light went out.

I crept out the front door, out of the courtyard and along the pathway to the shrine of the ancestors. It was dark and quiet and creepy outside, but the full moon bathed the world in soft silver light, illuminating the fallen cherry blossom petals dappling the ground. I crossed over the bridge, but stopped halfway across and leaned on it. The stream trickling beneath it churned more blossom petals beneath its surface, while others managed to float on top. Grabbing a few petals, I sprinkled them into the water and watch the water carry them away.

I arrived in the pagoda, watching myself carefully in the reflective stone surfaces etched with faintly shimmering characters. This one was Fa Deng, who was killed in battle, this one was Fa Liling, who defended our family from bandits a long time ago, and Fa Chao, our great ancestor...

The tears were coming again, hot and stinging and blurry, and this time I was alone, so I let them out. "Please," I cried, resting my palms on Fa Chao's faintly warm stone, "Please bring Mulan back. Please!" My words tore from my throat, louder and more sobbing than I had intended. My tears ran unchecked down my face, and it was almost impossible to see or to hear over my sobs. "She can't be dead! Please, she's not dead! I know she's not. Bring her back safely, please!" Out of strength, I dropped onto the floor, leaning against the stone and crying hard.

It felt good not to hold back. It felt good to sob and gasp and beg as loud as I wanted. This crying was cathartic; as the waves crashed into me, I let them roll over and out without drowning me. But no amount of tears would bring Mulan back.