Sei-an City's nights always put him at ease. During the day, it was always so noisy, townspeople, aristocratic and commoner alike, milling about the streets, buying goods or going to the local taverns. It was a pleasant sight, to be sure, to gaze down from his fortress and watch the people go about their day, their colorful voices and personalities blending into a beautiful canvas of sights and sounds. But he would always prefer to be apart from that, away from the chaos and disorder of everyday life. His own was nothing but a web of disarray at the moment; he had no desire to add anymore turmoil to it.
The nights of Sei-an, however...That, he loved to be a part of. It was so much simpler than, when the moon held her sway over the city. The townspeople, asleep and hidden away in their homes, only a few stragglers roaming the streets, as well as the guards who fell asleep at their posts more often than not. He was free to roam as he wished then, with no worries of villagers spotting him or bringing attention to himself. He would walk along the cobblestone streets and gaze at the night sky, at the shadows drifting lazily along the walls, and feel, for a moment, at peace. If there were still times like this to be had, times when he could be at ease and allow his guard to slip, even in a world plagued by so much evil, than there was hope. Hope for Sei-an, and hope for all of Nippon. Hope for himself.
A breathy sigh escaped his lips as a cool breeze picked up, rustling the cherry blossom trees and lifting strands of his golden hair. His eyes closed of their own accord as he relished in the small caress, the chill wind against his face and the slight billow of his clothes.
His pushed wayward strands of golden hair from his face, fingers sliding easily through. A toss of his head sent the wave of blond locks rippling against his back. He felt...alive, as though the war between the Dark Lord and his minions never existed, as though his past were all a dream. The sudden urge to bring his flute to his lips and play came over him like a wave, an urge he hadn't felt in ages. What was it about this city that could make him feel this way?
His foot landed suddenly on something soft, something that made a strange crinkling noise beneath his sandals. He blinked slowly, gazing at the slip of parchment for a moment before bending to pick it up between two pale, slender fingers.
A soft gasp escaped his lips as he saw the cover. "Mon dieu!" he whispered, both hands gently cupping the sides so as not to damage it any further. It was smeared slightly from his sandal, the lines faded a bit, but the image was still clear as a bell.
An image of him.
It was...beautiful, would be the only way to describe it. His image, the vibrancy of his golden hair, the grace held in his limbs...all of it was pressed lovingly into parchment. The only thing that confused him was his face. It was cast in shadow, lending a sort of melancholy air to the otherwise majestic scene. He wondered why the artist had chosen to do such a thing.
Who had drawn this, he wondered, staring at his reflection in the worn, crisp paper. There was no other occupant on the street except for him, no soul near him that didn't slumber in their beds. Whose hands, then, had crafted such a beautiful image of him, of Waka?
The urge to find the soul who had burned inside him.
Notes: Mon dieu means oh god!
If I'm wrong about any of these expressions (now or in the future) I implore you all to tell me. I have no knowledge whatsoever of the French language, so I'm bound to get something wrong sooner or later. XD
