It Came with the Blooming Plum Trees

When had it started? She couldn't remember, she wouldn't remember. There was nothing much she remembered these days, her memory was scorched and her mind tired. He rewrote her with every night which passed, and she could not but lie helplessly in his arms, and she knew, knew it too well, she couldn't even bear to remember.

Nights were stifling, so oppressive and hot, and she lay on the floor listlessly her eyes staring at the moon which peeked through the window. Her body was broken, her mind empty, but she was afraid to move, afraid he would sense her, afraid she would give in again, and again. Why did it happen? Why would it stop? Now that they were caught in it, she could not but wonder had it ever been otherwise? The first time he had looked at her with the wild eyes of a stranger, her blood had frozen in her veins and she had heard the door on her past closing with a deafening screech. Two people who had lost their faith, their innocence had accidentally brushed their fingers over a cup of tea. He hadn't even looked at her, instead he had sat down staring out of the window at the first plum blossoms that spring. She had stood still, her eyes fixed on his face, waiting for a sign to explain what had just happened. Because something was definitely amiss. Then he had turned his gaze on her, and those were not the eyes of her brother – there was so much longing, hope and despair it had made her take a small step back. "Nii-sama?..." Then his eyelashes had fluttered closed and he was himself again. Or what she thought, what she imagined his self to be. Blossoming plum trees always made him act out of character, and she had never asked him why. But now she knew… He had written his story on her skin, breaking her little body, grazing his teeth on her throat, closing his lips over that soft spot which throbbed with life, stilling her underneath him with all the heavy weight of the truth. And she had watched with silent despair as their past was fading away.

He had never been too talkative. Now he was even less. Except that now she could no longer be fooled, his mask had slipped. His extreme sense of honor, his dutiful actions – all a façade, all a desperate way to find his path again, to find a meaning. But he had strayed too far already. He had never needed to say a word, but by the way his fingers brushed shyly over her body she knew her sister had never loved him the way she was supposed to. His lips over her skin told how much he had loved Hisana though, and that story was as painful as it was sweet, it made her dizzy with desire while it shattered her heart to pieces. And she hated him for it, she hated him with a bitter taste in her mouth, with a maddened shadow in her eyes and a secret curl of her fingers on his throat. She hated him for seeking redemption in her body and never looking in her heart, not even once. Because the day this stranger she had always called "brother" in a shaky voice had set his longing gaze on her, that very day her heart had burst open, overflowing with a feeling she had never known to be trapped inside.

He rewrote her memories every time he took her in his arms, erased all past experience and laid the foundations for a future that would never come. What was she to him but a means to drug the pain away? He hardly ever looked at her when outside his bed chambers. And yet her eyes never left him, her world stood still when he passed by, cold and unaffected, as if lifeless. But there was so much life and warmth in his touch that it melted her frail body.

She had stopped fighting him, she had ceased to scream inside at the horror that was happening to her. It was so wrong and twisted that it had become devoid of meaning, so surreal she had swept it into a corner of her mind and locked it away. By all moral standards she should have been revolted. Did it mean she had no morals if she was not? Because in the darkness of his room there was no one to point accusing fingers at them, because there it was only them and they didn't want to judge themselves or each other. They just wanted to feel…

But she had questions. And although she inquired with tentative fingertips, answers came back only as riddles she had to solve. She could no longer lie to herself and pretend Hisana was a memory she loved and respected. His story had taught her otherwise. As repentant as she had felt towards the end of her life, facts could not be ignored that she had abandoned her infant sister. Facts could not be overlooked that she had failed to return a love so deep that it had left him scarred and emotionally crippled. Facts had to be acknowledged that one night he had slid open the door to his bedroom and burning eyes that she had never seen before had silently invited the sister of his late wife to take that one small step which brought her inside. Just his eyes. There was also the riddle of why she had let herself persuaded.

It was frustrating and maddening to hate her face in the mirror. It was annoying to undress and wonder if her skin felt the same as… It was sickening to snap her eyes open while he kissed her because the shocking thought of "does it remind him?..." had just occurred to her. It was bothersome to care so much for things unimportant. Because she was not supposed to care, she was supposed to hate him. And not hate him because he didn't care…

So when had it started? She couldn't remember, she wouldn't remember. If she had been bold enough to ask him, he would have said it had begun with the first plum blossoms. Because that's when all heart-wrecking things always began.