- The Wordsmith's Flower -

A/N: Welcome back to The Wordsmith's Flower, a Yumi x Sei story written at request. With their feelings in the open, the former White Rose and the incumbent Red Rose now seem to have much more to deal with apart from Sei's novel. It means sharing their newfound (rediscovered?) love with their inner circles and most intimate associates.

The time has come to start wrapping up some loose ends.

The wordsmith now needs to face the most important women in her life - the girls who shaped her into who she is - and bare her soul to them.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it. ^.^

- Sixth Draft -

- Goodbyes Given -

Shimako closed the door behind her. She surreptitiously placed her ear against the wood, listening closely (and guiltily) to Yoshino and Yumi's footsteps and chattering voices receding down the stairs of the mansion. She had just concluded her Thursday meeting with her peers and longtime friends, and she had requested the Red and Yellow Roses for some time alone to prepare for some extracurricular work after their discussion. Naturally, they had obliged, forgetting that Shimako had always been the most efficient of the three, the one with the best grades and busiest calendar. As a student council member, Yumi had always been rather normal as per expectations, despite holding the prestigious title of Rosa Chinensis. And Yoshino had the potential and drive to compete with Shimako, but her never-ending emotional roller-coaster ride with Rei kept her ambitions in check.

So no, Shimako hadn't quite told the truth to her two best friends. She wasn't here to do homework or organize club activities. She remained behind at the request of a very special someone.

Shimako set about boiling a new pot of water and preparing a new blend of tea - Western rose with Chinese oolong would be served first, and then a less adventurous green leaf with a pressed peppermint scent. She lost herself in the tea ritual until a quiet knock came rapping at the door. "Please," called Rosa Gigantea, lifting up the tray with the ornately painted teapot and matching cups. She could almost visualize the soft but firm knuckles of that hand behind the entrance, tapping almost sheepishly on the mahogany.

The door clicked open, and in walked her onetime onee-sama, her grande soeur, her predecessor. "Yo," she chuckled, giving a playful salute. "Thanks for joining me at such short notice."

For the past two years since Sei's graduation, Sei had never referred to Shimako as her petite soeur again. But to Shimako, she would always be her guiding light, her glimmering star in the night sky. She wished Sei would understand that. Yet Sei had her own ways of expressing love and affection. Locking Shimako in as Sei's petite soeur was, in the novelist's eyes, the cruellest thing she could do to her. It was like imprisoning a bird inside an opulent cage, even when the little bird had outgrown the rusting bars. Sei prized freedom above all else: not only the freedom to do what she wanted, but the freedom to leave. She wanted Shimako to enjoy the same.

But what if Rosa Gigantea wanted to stay shackled, chained to Sei's heart...?

No. That was not Sei's way. That never was her way, was it? The former White Rose sat down reclined back against the chair, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes. "That smells good," she muttered, taking in the waft of the tea leaves. "Can I have some?"

"But of course. I have prepared exactly two servings for us both. Just the way you like it. As it has always been." Shimako walked over to her, hands clutching the tray. She set it down on the table, turning her eyes to Sei. Her onee-sama looked up at her, not even glancing at the teacup.

"Shimako."

"Yes, onee-sama."

"I need to bare my soul to you."

"I know."

"I don't recall you ever having a heart-to-heart with me," said Sei. "Aren't you curious why I'm asking you now?"

"We never had one because we never had to," replied Shimako softly. "But now you've left Lillian, and your life has begun anew. You're the same, yet so different. So I understand if the relationship between us has... changed."

Sei didn't move her gaze. "Do you know who this is about?"

Shimako felt something in her chest. It had been stuck there ever since Sei had texted her and asked her when she was free for a chat. For an entire week, one whole agonizing week, she had eaten, studied, and breathed with this lump in her bosom. "They will find out, eventually. All of them. There's no sense in hiding this from the girls. In a way, I've already resolved to tell everyone." She started, stopping as she felt Shimako behind her, draping her arms around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, unable to stop herself relishing the touch of Shimako's lips sifting amongst her hair. "I suppose you know. Even though I haven't said a word, or spoken her name. You really are my imouto. You are inside me, a part of me."

But Shimako didn't move her lips from Sei's tresses. "I'm jealous, onee-sama. Please don't deny me this basic right to hurt, to ache." Sei felt her heart break as her soulmate's running tears slowly dripped down and dampened her locks, a waterfall wearing away even the hardiest of mountains. "You said it yourself. Shiori-sama was an angel, but I am human. And I've never felt more human than before, now that I know that you've given your heart to her. Her, a soeur of a different Rose, with a heart that I can't compete with."

"Shimako, I'm so sorry," gasped Sei, resisting Shimako's gentle clasp for the first time. She forced herself up, pushing away her chair and facing the trembling White Rose. "Even when I try to move forward, I end up hurting someone. It doesn't matter whether I was screaming at Youko, or embracing Shizuka, or reuniting with Yumi. There is poison in my touch."

"You have a heart of gold," argued Shimako, her voice trembling as her knees visibly buckled. "I love you. I will always love you. I'm strong enough to accept anyone who is blessed with your adoration. But God has declared that a person should ever only hold one person close to their heart, and to not be able to touch you as I please - "

"Listen to me, Shimako," Sei half-growled, clutching Shimako's shaking wrists. She stared down at her. "I wish to make this journey with Yumi-chan. Whether or not it works out is irrelevant. I'm tired of thinking of the consequences. I just want to have the journey."

"But why with Yumi-san?" cried Shimako, losing control for the first time.

"Because of who I am, and was all along," said Sei sombrely. "Because of what I want to be. When I join my heart with Yumi's, everything will fall away from my skinny body like a serpent renewing its skin into a new life. But you - you'll be like a scar on my face. Like Shiori was. It'll be hard, probably impossible, to forget you both."

Shimako's eyes widened. "You... you haven't."

Sei's gaze was shining. "Yes. Yes, I have. I've arranged a date with Shiori. At her convent. We must have closing. But you don't need to worry about that. All you need is to be reassured that I will never abandon you. I'm not leaving you. Make no mistake about that," she said, pulling Shimako closer into an embrace.

"So Yumi-san has become your light, while mine has dimmed and flickered," murmured Shimako, burying her face in Sei's chest. "Has she really outshone me so easily in your eyes?"

"No. Yumi is only one of many lights in my life. I will walk by whatever light I want. But..." Sei tilted her head and gave Shimako's reddened ear a tender, loving kiss. "You have handed over my rosary to Noriko-chan. It's only fair; it was never meant to be kept. But here, here is a gift from me that I will never give anyone else. This is our marriage, our contract of eternity." Pulling away, Sei reached into her pocket and revealed, much to Shimako's stunned disbelief, a a glimmering silver rosary with a crucifix.

"What is this?" stuttered Rosa Gigantea, speaking so bluntly for the first time she could remember.

The former White Rose smiled. "This is something that I want you to keep. Just between us. No handing down to some junior. But more importantly, it's a paradox. A parting gift that also affirms my devotion to you forever. A Christian rosary from a gal who's long stopped believing. But the paradox is the whole point. Because..." Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and it was clear she was struggling to hold them back. "I don't... can't... believe in God. But because of you, Shimako, I'll keep on trying."

Sei didn't come out from that room for a while, mostly because a crying Shimako held her close for so long.

Sei had planned this trip for an entire week. Doing her research. Locating the address. Making the call. Taking the plunge. It was windy up here, on this cliff that was once splashed with the blood of Japanese martyrs resisting the Shogun's anti-Christian purges. A fitting place for a final meeting. The chapel was unassuming, perched between the border of the high hill and the waves crashing into the rocks far below. Placed between the borders of twilight and dayspring, between the office of aurora and the evensong.

Sei adjusted the collar of her black jacket, which covered her signature white shirt. She approached the quiet chapel's door and knocked. "Good afternoon," she called uncertainly. "It's Satou Sei. I had an appointment with the abbess here...?"

The doors suddenly swung open, revealing a young woman in a business suit standing amidst a humble, sparse cloister. Sei stepped in. It had been so many years since she last set foot in a church of her own accord. "Hello," said the woman quickly. "I'm Horiguchi, Sister Kubo's assistant. Let me fetch her for you - "

"No need," rang out a gentle, light voice. "I've been waiting too."

Sei had already heard her voice on the phone, but it sounded so... refreshing in person. Horiguchi quickly bowed and stepped outside, nodding to Sei. Sei peered into the gentle, non-threatening darkness, where the candles illuminated the simple cross and the Virgin's statue. Kubo Shiori stood there, hands in front of her demurely. She raised her eyes to meet Sei's. "It's been a few years, Shiori. Or should I call you Sister?"

"Hello, Sei," said Shiori quietly. Her tunic declared her poverty and simplicity, but Sei knew better: she was anything but simple. "There's no need to address me by my title. It doesn't... suit you. Japan's Catholic communion is not a large one. I shouldn't have been surprised that you could find a certain abbess so easily."

"Would you still avoid me, were it possible?" Strangely, Sei didn't feel any tension at all when asking such a question. If anything, she was coolly curious, like a mindful observer of their tumultuous relationship. There was also something different to the student-turned nun. She had grown older, to be sure - people can change a great deal in three years - and Sei had to remind herself that Shiori was still younger than her, of Sachiko and Rei's generation. If she hadn't made the decision to leave Lillian that fateful night, she might even have become friends with them...

And become the White Rose?

No, thought Sei to herself, because if she had really chosen Shiori back then, then Shiori herself would have had to choose an heir. And had she done so, it was almost impossible that Shimako would be the White Rose today.

Perhaps it was this brief epiphany, dreamt up in a matter of moments, that eased Sei's regrets once and for all. She and Shiori really were never meant to be, because Shimako was meant to be Rosa Gigantea. Perhaps this was one of God's cruel jokes: how could Sei decide if one blessing was better than the other?

"I'm sorry for giving the impression of avoiding you. That was never my ultimate intention." Shiori's black veil concealed her long black hair and part of her face, but to Sei it simply accentuated her maturing beauty. "Back then... we were simply unhappy because we desired things that couldn't be."

"You seem to have managed well enough."

Shiori walked closer, moving towards Sei. "Me? No. Do you know how many tears I shed for you? How many sleepless nights I endured, praying to Maria-sama to rid me of my impure thirst? But I was always asking myself, did I really ever want my hunger for you to depart?" Clothed in her full monastic glory, she stopped before Sei, looking up at her and beaming.

"And now, I am unattainable."

Sei stared down at her, silent. Shiori's expression had turned solemn. In the background, the light intonation of hymns by the sisters could be heard. Soon it would be six o'clock. The evening rites would be beginning soon. "Only God can claim me as his possession. You can kiss my hand in reverence, but you can no longer kiss me on the lips, unless you wish to destroy me. And, like it or not, my struggle with you has made me into what I am. I cannot apologize for that."

"Yes," replied Sei, eyes shining amidst the candles and late sun filtering past the stained glass, "and by the same token, I can't make amends for loving you more intensely than anyone in my entire life. I don't regret a single moment of it."

"Neither do I, Satou Sei," confessed Shiori, her smile utterly tender and loving. "Who knows? I may even feel some tinge of desire for your touch, but I'd never tell you that. My sins are a matter between Him and myself only."

Sei giggled, and Shiori giggled along with her. Suddenly, they were shaking in quiet, almost embarrassed mirth together, and they had no intention of stopping each other. It was like they were back at Lillian, surrounded by the plants in the greenhouse. "Fair enough. The buck stops with me, Shiori. It always has. In the time we were apart, I've learned a few things about responsibility." Recovering, Sei gazed down at Shiori's eager face. "I became Rosa Gigantea. I took on a petite soeur. I'm finishing a novel.

"And... I fell in love just recently."

"That's wonderful and blessed, Sei," breathed Shiori, and the depth of her sincerity was so obvious and palpable. "Truly wonderful."

"I wanted to share my newfound joy with you because I want you to know that I'm happy. Not only with myself, but with the part you've played in my life. I want you to know I'm still around, cherishing your memory. Cherishing you. I want to depart from you with a bond of happiness, confidence, and love. I don't want us to stay severed in misunderstanding and despair. I'm sorry for coming here to tell you this, but a hastily written letter from you never sufficed."

"No, I could and should have done better. It has taken a long time for me to have a chance to make amends for hurting you like that. I'm very glad you came here," said Shiori softly. "You have become more mature than I remember, my dear. A long time ago, we had to decide whose will be done: ours, or God's. Perhaps now we can make peace with the fact that both need to be fulfilled, as one. Only then can we be truly happy."

"Meh. I'm still a filthy heathen unbeliever," shrugged Sei cheekily, closing her eyes in mock-defiance.

She opened an eye and peeked at the greatly amused nun.

"I wouldn't want to change that for the world," declared Shiori quietly, with the same smile that greeted Sei at their first meeting in Lillian's chapel. She suddenly looked so shy, so embarrassed, and she turned away briefly. "Keep the defiance. It's what has always made you beautiful."

The wordsmith's heart melted. She shifted, and slowly lowered herself before a visibly pleased Shiori.

"I might not ever be able to touch your lips again, it's true. But you said I could kiss your hand," she sighed, staring at Shiori's waiting right hand while planting a knee on the ground.

"Kiss it respectfully, chastely," insisted Shiori quietly, but even her languid face betrayed her anticipation, her expectation. If there was one thing Sei couldn't be, it was being chaste. Respectful sensuality was the best she could offer. Sei gently took the sister's hand, admiring its fragile contours, the angles at which the afternoon sun licked its pale skin, and the short yet undeniably feminine nails completing the work of art.

She slowly brought Shiori's fingers to her waiting mouth. This hand... this woman, she thought, as she kissed her former lover one last time. If there was ever a God, then surely Shiori was one of his masterpieces.

Shiori blushed at the contact, the sudden flush spreading across her adorable cheeks. This softness, this tenderness! How long had it been since... ! "Hurry up, before one of my novices sees us."

Those slightly panicked, unusually direct words from the abbess were just too sweet. They needed to be savoured. "Thy will be done," murmured Sei, unable to resist lingering her kiss on Shiori's knuckles, before running her lips off her fingers. "Temptress though I may be, you won't see me here again." She stood up, slightly woozy from the unspoken eroticism that impregnated their final rite. Shiori stared longingly at Sei's face. Sei knew she looked tired, but no longer did her countenance betray weariness. It was a good kind of tired, like a wayfarer having reached the end of a long but very fulfilling journey.

"Trust God, but also your instincts. Be absolute in your charity, in your service to the Lord," declared the atheist to the nun. She turned away, walking back to the doors of the chapel. "Be yourself, until it bleeds," she advised quietly, not looking back.

She knocked on the wood again, and Horiguchi opened the doors from the outside. She stepped past the holy threshold, alone, and Horiguchi quietly slipped behind her and pulled them back shut. Soon, Shiori couldn't see Sei's shrinking form as the outdoor light was dismissed by the closing boom.

How could she have been so foolish as to just leave her with a letter all these years? How cowardly had she been? Why did she have to force Sei to come to her like this?

Tears of gratitude, of relief, of closing, poured down Shiori's closed eyes as she thanked God for forgiving her, and for sending her beloved to her for a true farewell. And deep in her heart, she thanked Sei for her forgiveness as well.

She lifted her hand to her heart. It still throbbed with the painfully delightful caress of Sei's lips.

"Goodbye, my lifelong love," whispered the nun quietly to herself.

"Thank you... and be happy."

Sei has bid farewell to Shimako and Shiori.

At last, Sei and Yumi acknowledge that things between them can never be the same.

Next draft: A Novelist's Pride.