[Saiunkoku] A False Rebirth
May. 16th, 2009 02:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreA False Rebirth
By: Amber Michelle
Prompt: death
Character(s): Ryuuki
Words: 566
For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
minerva_one (original request post here)
......................................................
Ryuuki should have learned to fear fire instead of the dark. Flames lit and consumed the pavilion his mother once occupied, though he didn't remember how or why. Fire warped the cherry trees in the little enclosure he lived in after Seien's exile - an attempt to kill him which did not succeed, though his wasn't the only pavilion to burn during the succession war. The third prince died with his mother when their roof collapsed upon them, while the crown prince's soldiers waited outside with arrows nocked, ready to shoot should anyone emerge from a window or passage. Ryuuki saw it happen from the top of the Tower of Immortals.
Their father emerged soon afterward and ordered the execution of his oldest son, the only child aside from Ryuuki to survive. His path to the throne was paved on that day, his brother's blood running in the channels between stones. He forgot their faces, though he could remember their voices through a door, asking what was wrong, why was he crying-- didn't he like the dark?
His father's face was also faded; his voice became a half-remembered baritone that used to fill the throne room on the rare occasions he spoke, following the ringing strike of the gold-tipped scabbard he slammed to the tiles for order. Ryuuki's memory clung to the image - to the blur of purple robes and gold embroidery seen in his peripheral vision while he stood beside the throne to listen and learn, and try to remember the names of the officials lined up behind their tables according to ministry, department, rank. Ou Ki was argumentative, easy to remember. The Ran triplets were mirror images of each other. Kou Reishin glared at them above a wood-slatted fan, a row behind.
When Ryuuki finally ascended the throne, he looked at his officials and tried to remember what he'd heard, what he'd learned. You resemble your father more than one of them said, and he wasn't sure yet if it was an insult or not. Was he a terrifying shadow behind a paper screen? Did his voice drive the court?
He dreamed of the curl of smoke rising from his father's pyre, carried by sparks, gray and purple as it meandered upward to join the low-hanging clouds blanketing the sky. A bell clanged, a recurrent noise piercing his temples and cramping his neck. No kind words, no lilac-scented embrace. Only the smell of death, like the burning of half-decayed mushrooms and old meat, and it was still enough to wake Ryuuki from the depth of sleep to be sick.
Death was his legacy - darkness, burning, and decay. The court crumbled around him like smoldering wood, and he wondered if he would escape the same way: on the pyre, his pale hair curling and turning black, his body rising to the sky to spread ashy wings, a false rebirth before the wind dashed him to pieces.
It was dark, and even his brother couldn't save him this time - nor could Shuurei, though he reached for her hand even when she wasn't there. He tried to remember her arms, her callused hands, her cherry-blossom sleeves. Her ghost stroked his forehead and lulled him to sleep, and her face was there in his dreams, the only one worth remembering.
.
By: Amber Michelle
Prompt: death
Character(s): Ryuuki
Words: 566
For:
minerva_one (original request post here)......................................................
Ryuuki should have learned to fear fire instead of the dark. Flames lit and consumed the pavilion his mother once occupied, though he didn't remember how or why. Fire warped the cherry trees in the little enclosure he lived in after Seien's exile - an attempt to kill him which did not succeed, though his wasn't the only pavilion to burn during the succession war. The third prince died with his mother when their roof collapsed upon them, while the crown prince's soldiers waited outside with arrows nocked, ready to shoot should anyone emerge from a window or passage. Ryuuki saw it happen from the top of the Tower of Immortals.
Their father emerged soon afterward and ordered the execution of his oldest son, the only child aside from Ryuuki to survive. His path to the throne was paved on that day, his brother's blood running in the channels between stones. He forgot their faces, though he could remember their voices through a door, asking what was wrong, why was he crying-- didn't he like the dark?
His father's face was also faded; his voice became a half-remembered baritone that used to fill the throne room on the rare occasions he spoke, following the ringing strike of the gold-tipped scabbard he slammed to the tiles for order. Ryuuki's memory clung to the image - to the blur of purple robes and gold embroidery seen in his peripheral vision while he stood beside the throne to listen and learn, and try to remember the names of the officials lined up behind their tables according to ministry, department, rank. Ou Ki was argumentative, easy to remember. The Ran triplets were mirror images of each other. Kou Reishin glared at them above a wood-slatted fan, a row behind.
When Ryuuki finally ascended the throne, he looked at his officials and tried to remember what he'd heard, what he'd learned. You resemble your father more than one of them said, and he wasn't sure yet if it was an insult or not. Was he a terrifying shadow behind a paper screen? Did his voice drive the court?
He dreamed of the curl of smoke rising from his father's pyre, carried by sparks, gray and purple as it meandered upward to join the low-hanging clouds blanketing the sky. A bell clanged, a recurrent noise piercing his temples and cramping his neck. No kind words, no lilac-scented embrace. Only the smell of death, like the burning of half-decayed mushrooms and old meat, and it was still enough to wake Ryuuki from the depth of sleep to be sick.
Death was his legacy - darkness, burning, and decay. The court crumbled around him like smoldering wood, and he wondered if he would escape the same way: on the pyre, his pale hair curling and turning black, his body rising to the sky to spread ashy wings, a false rebirth before the wind dashed him to pieces.
It was dark, and even his brother couldn't save him this time - nor could Shuurei, though he reached for her hand even when she wasn't there. He tried to remember her arms, her callused hands, her cherry-blossom sleeves. Her ghost stroked his forehead and lulled him to sleep, and her face was there in his dreams, the only one worth remembering.
.