I. Anticipation

He is a hurricane when he appears before her in the snow, a maelstrom of sakura petals to rock her to sleep and swallow her into whole and blessed darkness one last time

II. The Dreaming

When she sleeps, she dreams.

The day came where she found her hands wrapped so firmly around his neck that the crimson tips of her fingernails had made holes in the sides of his neck, like tiny punctures in a window screen, letting slow ribbons of blood unfurl themselves through the tiny crevices she had punched out and into the bathwater. He had seemed surprised at that - as if he hadn't believed that she would take him when he wasn't looking. The look on his face as she had first pushed him under the water had struck her as almost comical, such wide-eyed fury and disbelief. She held him there until he had stopped kicking, until more water was outside the tub than in it, and the front silk of her kimono had been soaked beyond repair, her mind one blank canvas throughout the drowning. Not one thought on what it was happening before her or why now, now of all times she would choose to do this, except for one simple statement she had made in her own mind the moment her fingers brushed his flesh - that this is love, and the surety of her belief in it had granted her all the power necessary to slide him down, deep under the water until one by one the bones in his neck crackled and snapped under her hands like old dried clay.

And the woman in the cage turns over again; she sighs softly and frowns in her sleep, turning the images over and over again behind closed eyelids not quite ready to surrender to waking. Instead she exhales a steady breath and sinks down once more under the waters of whatever spell it is that her unconscious mind has woven for her and continues to dream.

III. Son

He was tall and very handsome - carrying that same self assuredness that his father had and already his smile carrying that same bit of cruelty with it that had made her whisper 'bastard' in her head every time she had seen it on the other's face. But this was hers, and no matter if he was just like Him, no matter, no matter. The only real importance in the situation being that he was here now - this fruit that had formed on her branches a long time ago, taken away by others to ripen elsewhere before finally being returned to her. She lowers her head and then raises it before slowly swaying from side to side the way a snake might while picking up the scent of a small animal, and if he finds the action strange he says nothing.

"My son", she repeats again and this time he smiles.

"My son . . . "

IV. Burn (Second Trimester)

In a way it's just as if she is going to have him back again. As if she had taken him and swallowed him right down to where she could break him apart and reform him to her liking somewhere in the slick, dark recesses of her belly. And if he called and called out to her while she was picking the flesh off from his bones, if he kicked and turned and struggled while her body performed some secret alchemy that only it knew on his heart and organs and soul all she would have to do is hum and he would still, be satisfied that he could hear her.

There were times when she was angry enough at him that she thought about ripping him out before she had finished - to see the shocked expression on his wet not quiet done face and laugh. You see! You see what I now have the power to do to you? She would laugh it at him and then shake his tiny body in her hands until his head would rattle and break. But she was never quiet sure what she would do after that, never quiet sure that she possessed enough of the same magic to eat him up a second time and start the whole process over again without letting some of his soul out of her grasp and so she bit her lip instead and kept the rage inside. Maybe it would scald him instead.

V. Date

He is very young but he stands up tall and smiles when she talks. Everything about him is so wonderful and she can't help but giggle when they meet. Today she spent extra time combing her hair so that it shines like an oil slick down the back of her kimono to smother and choke the cranes an the fishes embroidered in the cloth. She sighs happily when he comments on how beautiful she looks today.

"You're so cute Seishiro-san. I bet you have pretty girls around you all the time and yet you still talk so sweetly to an old woman like me." Mother, she's very careful to never repeat what he calls her.

"That's not true mother, you're the prettiest of anyone I know."

"Oh?" She drops her lashes coyly. "It's not nice to lie to someone so close to you Seishiro-san."

"But I'm not, if there were any of them as cute as you I'm sure I'd definitely have a girlfriend by now." Her heart swells in an odd mixture of pride that's made of equal parts vanity and satisfaction that he's so prudent in who he chooses to keep company with.

"ku ku, and if I were one of those girls . . .?" Ah, there it is, he gives her that smile in reward and she feels a shiver go through her that starts at the top of her spine and ends in the warming place between her legs.

"Ah, now you'll have me wishing impossible things mother."

"You're so perfect Sakurazuka-senpai," she sighs, just slightly breathless now and wondering how long before she can coerce him into coming into touching range of the cage, and if he minds when she starts to call him that she never notices.