⋆˙⟡♡ ‘ WE WERE NOT CREATED FOR BLOODSHED THAT IS HIS MAJESTY’S IDEAL - NOT OURS ‘ upon the endless expense of blue seas, she pondered the reasoning for creation, the swaying figure in black calmly remarking; to weave the binds of fate, that is all. There was no other explanation, one would assume through personal violation, merely to be loved by a creator that was benevolent. Though, she pondered if such a being existed anymore, all hellfire in waxy pallor, glistening jade eyes, hollow, unlike the cunning ruthless nature of the moon or the whimsical shine of the sun. Rabbits sleeping amongst their burrow, content with the gardens until the wolves came, too treacherous, too fast, harkening another name. The children clamber together in their pristine white robes, they speak another language not of their own, the light, they believe, that is the driving force that shall burn away the impurity. They never will understand, there is a cruelty in such reflections, the light which serves only to blind them.
“No, a pity, I make a terrible soldier” her remarks are flippant with no need for any meaning, too small, too weak of heart, her mind was better at work within the vicinity of research so it was deemed. The sudden proclamation causes her to pause, hands resting in her lap, bottom lip pouting outwards. “That’s a shame, it seems drastic, the Oracle & you have always led an odd relationship. Sadly, I cannot cast judgement, he has been correct a majority of the time which makes his existence utterly infuriating” by nature, her hunger was an abyssal void, all consuming in its nature that never knew of moderation. Leaning into his touch, there is a tinge of sadness echoing within her, fingers that clasp around his arm to hold tight like she once did.
Trembling legs, the hem of her mauve colored robes still smoldering, tearful eyes where she viewed him as protection when the Moon itself wept openly upon failure. All of them, scared, children guiding one another with tarnished hands. “Even then, I’m sure one day he will get sick of us, we’re too bold for our own good. As for names? I don’t care, somehow, I know it’s safe with you” how long have they lived? The continuous dance that they moved through, affection, pulling, yearning even when her ire grew thick, her voice cracking in emotion she rarely subjected herself to in the presence of others. They could run to another corner of the realm, where the village once stood even in the ashes, she thought naively for a moment, it could regrow. Ideal hopes that were best kept locked away, the Balance, The Fate Weaver, her hands could not pull the seams to create an illustrious vision for them all. Only could she smile, half knowing, half deceiving them both in the belief; maybe they could be more than this. “We both are” the sickly daughter, who had not yet earned the throne of the universe. The bronze mirror sits within her palms, nose wrinkling as Sayuri thought of it, the shinigami, boisterous with hubris.
Poison, the accusations of trinkets that would proudly be displayed as an innovation to science, the sublime weaponry. Inquisitively, her head would cant, a being lesser that did not know their station could not understand the ideal pursuit of supreme perfection - domination in utmost harmony. Foolish creature, she once thought, this was not the will of His Majesty but the reverence of her judgement. For now, she cryptically would display it as submission, the astute diligence to the Empire. Too luminous, the figure in black would laugh, the reflection of herself burning into the silver of the mirror, it would strip away & scorch upon demand. “They would have to be brave in order to steal from me. Father once said, if you gazed into the mirror you will find Tsukuyomi’s palace, the origins of his birth but for I, the mirror would only ignite itself, the reflection too bright to be held” for once, in what seemed centuries, millennials, she gazes to him, laughter bouncing joyously.
“Why must we constantly be in one another’s debt? Keeping tallies like we once did since youth. Tell me, would your soul live within the blade?”