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The winters are always the most painful.
At the beginning, Yukari foolishly hoped that perhaps the wound would not sting so. It was a foolish thing to hope for, because if her eyes are open during the winter she remembers. She remembers the wrongness of the cherry tree’s blossoms that bloomed pink, fallen against the sparkling ice, a paler prelude to the dark red droplets scattered over snow. So now she sleeps.
The years — centuries — bleed into one another. That’s alright. Yukari always has her dreamless sleep to fall back upon. She sleeps through her grief, and when the snow melts her heart seems a little bit lighter. Perhaps it’s only an illusion of recovery, but Yukari would take an illusion of healing over the reality of what there is. Isn’t she herself an illusion — her image fabricated? The Youkai of Boundaries has a reputation of mysteriousness and fear to maintain, after all.
But in winter, she is just Yukari Yakumo. A youkai who remembers what she does not want to. A woman mourning a lost love. She is prone to shatter like glass during the winters.
And she wishes that she wasn’t.
“Are you alright, Yukari-sama?”
Her shikigami stands in the doorway. Ran’s bushy yellow tails twitch behind her, hand pressed against the doorframe. Yukari shifts so that she faces away from Ran’s face — she does not wish Ran to think she is weak. When she speaks her voice is dry and low.
“I’m alright, Ran. Just… very tired is all.”
“You aren’t sick, are you—”
“I’m not sick,” Yukari says harshly. When she hears Ran take a step back, she adds, “…Just very tired is all.”
“Is there anything I can get for you, Yukari-sama?”
“No, Ran. I just want to be left by myself to sleep.”
Ran leaves without a word. Yukari curls up further in on herself beneath the covers. The silence is both hellish and comforting. She is alone, without the presence of anyone else to aggravate her. But she is alone with her memories, too, memories of springtimes with her beloved.
She shuts her eyes. Just rest, she tells herself, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing.
The wind rippling Hana’s short, dark hair. Her smile’s set so wide and innocent upon her face as she points out how beautiful the butterflies are.
Yukari presses her face a little harder into the pillow. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—
Hana telling her about the poems she’d write in solitude, of beautiful purple butterflies whose fluttering, delicate wings meant death. The poems are her escape, because she sees those butterflies when others do not. They serve her beck and call.“Frightening, isn’t it, Yakumo-san?”
“I’ve never given much thought to death.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t trouble me. To me, death is nothing. What is there to be afraid of when it comes to nothing? And what we see of death is but a thought. What is there to be afraid of when it comes to a thought?”
She has to remember, even if it hurts her to do so.
“That’s an interesting way of seeing it.”
Does Hana know? She wonders. Does Hana know I can’t die? She never mentioned anything about it when we first met. She’s not saying anything about it now.
“It’s a strange thing,” Hana adds on with a pained laugh, “Because I fear death just as much as everyone else does… yet I wonder if they’ve begun to fear me, too.”
And why should you fear this girl? Yukari thinks. Indeed, she’s seen the Hana that isn’t the vengeful spirit the humans of her village make her out to be. She has known mornings spent drinking spiced tea with the girl, poring over the yellowed papers of her father’s poetry to study his craft, telling tales of the cherry trees and giggling over the stupid, silly notion that there are dead bodies hidden beneath them. Her hands are soft and fit hers well.
Before Ran, Yukari would always weep over these memories. These days it isn’t so much that she frets over her image, it’s simply that she’s too exhausted to even cry anymore. So she lets the memories wrap her up like a heavy, smothering blanket and sleeps, chasing after her past in her dreams.
Hana in her dreams is a blur. No nightmares, but Yukari seems to constantly be chasing after her. She’s not entirely solid — she’s a smudgy light source of a girl, pretty colors and softly laughing. And Yukari tries to follow this light wherever she beckons but can never quite catch upto her, let alone glimpse the girl solidly.
This is not Hana. Hana was crisp and clear, beautiful and painful. A mess of a girl, but a mess Yukari still loves dearly. Loves, not loved. Hana may be dead and gone, but what Yukari felt for her isn’t. She was the mess of an artist’s canvas: Wet paint messily blotched over the white surface, mismatched and sometimes frightening and unsettling to those who did not know her, but she was beautiful and glorious in her imperfection.
So she waits. She’s afraid of how the many years pass. What if she’s in love with a washed-out imitation? At least what she felt for Hana is a constant.
It’s with Hana that Yukari first learns of the pain of immortality.
Think about it, whispers that snide voice in her ear during one winter among many. Isn’t immortality more of a curse than a blessing? True, you have nothing to fear because death is nothing. But what of Hana? Wouldn’t you have liked to grow old by her side? Even if she hadn’t taken her own life so young, she would have grown old and withered while you lived on. You’ll watch death erode and tear apart everything you love.
She plays with death. She wreaks havoc on humans. She plays her games as she did during the summer and spring. And still she waits. She isn’t sure for what.
Then comes Yuyuko. She just knows it’s Hana. Yuyuko is delicate and doll-like, picture-perfect, far from Hana. Yuyuko sits primly eating sweets and gazes sweet yet shy upon Yukari with her lively red eyes. She likes Yuyuko for her nonchalance — loves her, perhaps.
“The Saigyou Ayakashi’s wasted potential,” declares Yuyuko. She nods a thank-you to Youmu when she sets down a tray of odango and tea for her and Yukari.
Though her heart does not beat like Hana’s did (and never will. This Yuyuko has seen more and knows more than Hana will, even if she is Hana) her hand does fit so perfectly in Yukari’s. She loves the softness of Yuyuko’s voice, her enthusiasm for old books, her clumsy attempts at botany. Pieces of a perfect puzzle, that’s what they are.
Yukari takes a pensive munch of odango. “What do you mean?”
“Well, think about it. I’ve heard rumor that there’s something beneath the tree. But it would take far too much power for me to get it to bloom and reveal what’s underneath. If there’s anything at all.”
She remembers that day. She watched the roots pull Hana’s cold, stiff body underneath — magic. Hana looked blissful in death, even though the blood had dried rusty brown on her fingers and robes. That was after she’d found she could will death upon others, justifying her position as the village scapegoat.
“Besides,” says Yuyuko, “I don’t think it’s fair to the residents of Hakugyokurou. I’m certain that when they come here they’d much prefer to see something beautiful after death, right? Let them have a little something peaceful.”
“Do you think those rumors about dead bodies being buried beneath the cherry trees are true, Yakumo-san?”
A light cackle. “Of course not.”
“I’m a bit wary of taking your word for it, but okay.”
“Now what could you mean, Hana-chan?”
“Well, if youkai like you are real, what’s to say you’re not lying to me and there really are corpses buried beneath the cherry trees making the flowers bloom pink? I mean, I’ve seen enough with my own abilities to question that sort of thing.”
If she tries hard enough she can make out the precise way Hana squinted when she was deep in thought. Is that what Yukari is searching for? A replica? A replacement for Hana? Is that who she’s decided to love? Because she knows Yuyuko is the ghost of the girl she’d fallen in love with all those years ago? It must be.
“I’ve always admired your thoughtfulness about these sorts of occurences, Yuyuko-san. That’s something I appreciate about you.” Or was it Hana that you appreciated that in? Do you even know anymore?
“You do?”
“Yes. From the moment I met you, you’ve had a certain sincerity about you that I’ve come to love.”
“Oh, that’s rather sweet of you to say, Yukari-san.”
It’s daunting to ask, but… “Say, Yuyuko-san, do you remember of your life before ending up here?”
“I can’t say I do. I just remember being here. I know it’s my duty as lady of Hakugyokurou. I just do.” Her expression distorts a little. “Why, do you think there might have been something before that?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
She sighs a little, setting her tea down. “You are an enigma, Yukari Yakumo.”
“I thought that was endeared me to you.”
“No, silly, what endears me about you is how you always let me finish the sweets you don’t want.”
Yukari feigns shock. “And here I was, thinking you liked me for me!”
Though laughter bubbles out of her throat, she can’t help but wonder if that’s the case for her. That’s the nagging whisper of a doubt. Where those hundreds of years spent in mourning and hibernation all for nothing? Does she love a replacement she’s trying to project onto? Does she love Yuyuko Saigyouji for herself? Or is it Yuyuko Saigyouji, the replacement?
Do I love you for you?
She continues to sleep in winter. The cycle continues. She asks herself about Yuyuko time and time again.
Then comes a new pattern to the cycle.
Did I love Hana for being Hana? Or do I love her memory?
She asks herself this for all the time spent dwelling upon memories of Hana breaking down, sobbing to Yukari of how worthless she was, how she did care whether or not the village saw her as a pariah for her powers, of the butterflies that meant death.
“I have to do what should have been done long ago,” Hana snaps, darting away from Yukari. The moonlight illuminates the first few tears falling down her cheeks..
Yukari answers the question with yes. Why else would she have waited for so long?
So she has her fun when Yuyuko steals spring away. She fights Reimu and Marisa, jests with them. At the end of the day, the snow melts and the Saigyou Ayakashi remains sealed. This is their happy ending. This is where they belong: Cherry blossoms blooming in soft pink upon dark branches, birds chirping merrily, dewy green grass beneath their feet. More importantly, this is her happy ending.
Yuyuko reclines beneath one of the cherry trees, humming softly to herself. She tilts her face upwards to greet Yukari — “What a nice surprise, Yukari-san.”
She looks to the petals strewn about in her soft hair, the sharp point of her chin. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe all the time spent talking into the night by her side didn’t mean a thing. Maybe Yuyuko is a replacement.
A lump forms in her throat. “Yuyuko…”
“Mm?”
“Ah, nothing. You just…”
“I just what?”
You remind me of a girl I knew long ago. I loved her very much, but now she’s gone. You were her, and now I don’t know whether I direct my affections towards a half or a whole.
“You have some petals in your hair.”
She paws at her head. “Why, so I do.”
“They suit you.”
“Oh?”
“They look nice in your hair. Very pretty.”
How can I keep on waiting when every little thing reminds me of someone else? I’m in love with a ghost — or am I?
Yukari smiles and it hurts the inside of her mouth.
I don’t know.
I don’t know anymore.
She knows what waits beneath the cherry tree. There lies Hana, tangled beneath the heavy roots. She didn’t want to be a pariah nor a mastermind, so she chose to take her own life and seal herself along with the powers she had.
Her confession of her feelings shall forever remain trapped between her tongue and teeth. She won’t know who she’s confessing to anymore.
Yuyuko does not remain so silent.
It happens at a festival, when the moon hangs pale in the sky and casts silver light upon the whole of Gensokyo. Mothers scold their bickering children, the enticing aroma of cooking food perfumes the air. It is a time of gaiety, where even the reserved shrine maiden Reimu cracks a soft smile at her surroundings. Yukari didn’t originally plan on stopping by, but she opened up a gap in the end and slipped through.
“What a lovely night.”
Yuyuko crosses her arms over her chest. “I know you’re behind me, Yukari-san. I’ve caught onto your tricks.”
“Have you?”
“I’m familiar enough with your spontaneity. We’ve known each other for long enough, after all.”
Long enough. “You’ve got me there.”
“Besides,” Yuyuko says, and Yukari can’t help but think about the soft, blue-silver sheen the moonlight has on her skin and the silk of her formal clothes, “I thought you said you didn’t want to come!”
“I got bored and decided to take a peek.”
“It’s like I said — how typical of you, Yukari-san.”
They meander their way through the festival, sampling food and trying out games. They join in the laughter and fun, even if Yukari’s desperately trying to forget about the corpse rotting under the cherry tree. Then:
“Yukari-san?” Yuyuko looks a bit sheepish.
“What is it?”
“…I was wondering if we could head over to somewhere a bit quieter.”
She pulls open a gap, guiding them both to a more distant clearing. Here they can see the starts, studded bold against a sky like black silk. The trees crowd in on them in dark green, the chirping of bugs audible in the distance. If she strains hard enough Yukari can hear the music from the festival drifting from far away to where they stand now.
“So…”
Her attention focuses on Yuyuko’s voice, so wonderfully soft. “What is it?”
“I’m not quite sure how to say this.”
Her heartbeat is deafening to her ears.
“I think I’ve been grappling with this for quite some time, Yukari-san. I’m not sure when it began.”
Yuyuko smiling so gently in the dark makes Yukari feel as though she’s been stabbed in the chest.
“I may not know everything about myself or my past, but I know one thing is clear.”
I know what it is, too. What I don’t know is how to feel about any of it.
“I love you.”
She feels so much at once: Despair, hope, joy, fear, anger (at herself, at Yuyuko, at Hana, at a world that sees to make things unfair for the girl who should have grown old and lived her life), everything. She’s kept up the illusion of the enigmatic Youkai of Boundaries for long enough and this is when the illusion begins to crack and fall apart. Memories of Yuyuko and Hana merge together till she doesn’t know who she’s trying to communicate with anymore—
“I’m sorry.”
Yuyuko tries to reach out to her but she only pulls away. Her voice is frail with concern. “What for?!”
“Too many things.”
“What things?”
“I—”
You remind me of a girl I knew long ago. I loved her very much, but now she’s gone. You were her, and now I don’t know whether I direct my affections towards a half or a whole.
So she repeats the first half of her thoughts to Yuyuko. “You remind me of a girl I knew long ago. I loved her very much, but now she’s gone.”
“Oh, Yukari-san… that’s horrible. You shouldn’t have had to go through something like that, and the poor girl, too.”
The second half comes out. She doesn’t want to condemn herself to lies in passivity anymore.
“You were her, and now I don’t know whether I direct my affections towards a half or a whole.”
The third part is sudden — she has no idea of where the words are coming from.
“And that’s why I’m sorry. Because I’m not sure if I love you or her or both, and you deserve someone better than me who can love you for you, and have it be a certainty—”
“And I don’t care.”
She throws her arms around Yukari, pulling her close and burying her head in her shoulder.
“Because,” and here, Yuyuko’s voice starts to crack, “I love you for you. Can’t you see? And I can’t stand seeing you as unhappy and conflicted as you are right now.”
Wrapped up in Yuyuko’s arms — is she her beloved? She’s not sure if that’s the word to use — Yukari begins to sob.
The cherry blossoms. The stories. The poems. The girl Hana. Yuyuko. It’s all coalescing into one painful, tangled mess that she’s spent too long trying to hide away from but now that Yuyuko is here confronting her, a quiet reminder that she is herself and no one else, she can’t hide anymore and she doesn’t know what to feel—
Moments later, Yuyuko begins to cry, too. Neither says a word. They don’t want to, and just let the tears flow.
Slowly, their crying fades to silence. Yukari breathes through her mucus-filled throat, struggling to speak. To be so exposed to Yuyuko (or Hana, or whoever this girl she cares for so dearly or thinks she does, at least) is a frightening thing. To be so vulnerable evokes revulsion in her. But…
“I’m not sure how to feel right now.” I’m not sure if I ever will.
“I’m not sure either. But we can try, right? We can try to sort it out.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
“I’m not sure. But we can try. No matter how many years it may take.”
“We can try.”
She’s not sure how long this will take. She knows that she loves someone — the name isn’t important, but she loves the past, present and future. There is overlap here and there that she can’t figure out, but that’s what Yuyuko will try to help her to. Even if she turns away. She wants to be able to figure out who it is that stands before her. She may not ever be able to.
But, Yukari thinks as Yuyuko smooths her heavy blonde hair away from her face, it was as they said.
They can try.