Work Text:
Before her eyes, before she knew it, the lush, bright green leaves growing on the trees in abundance had dried out and died, and where they had once decorated the sky they now decorate the earth in hues of red and orange and gold.
One last leaf clings to its branch for dear life— but it’s no use. One gust of wind and it’s free, soaring through the air before making its descend and landing on her hat.
Carefully, she takes it into her hand, holding it by the stem as she inspects it. It’s a maple leaf, a pretty one. Its surface is a mishmash of warm colors; a sizeable amount of orange here, some gold at the tips there, all dominated by an eye-catching red. There’s probably a thousand of these surrounding her, a thousand she’s already seen, but she continues to stare.
Her eyes then look out into the distance, and she closes them, taking in the crispy autumn air.
There had been a time, once, where she didn’t know this existed. Where she didn’t know the world could… change like this. Back where the only thing she knew were grey walls and a grey ceilings and a grey, locked door. A colorless, tiny room littered with papers upon papers upon papers of amateurish art, surrounding her, enveloping her. Droplets of dried blood stained the countless pages. The evidence of her timeless torment.
There had been a time, once, where the days, before that world fell apart, that had delivered sunny days and comfortable heat as if to compensate for the overwhelming stress, the fear of death, the sickeningly familiar stench of blood and a horrible announcement following shortly after that struck helplessness into her splintered heart every time.
There had been a time, once, where the sky bled red. Where mechanic monsters infested the world, wandered the ruined streets. On the run and on the streets she did anything to survive. Days spent playing up the cruel and powerful queen, scamming money out of gullible morons. Cold night spent huddled in abandoned buildings, leaning for support and clinging to a man that never quite seemed to care.
Those times feel like a lifetime ago, even though they aren't at all.
An avalanche of nausea crashes down on her, and she leans her arm against the bark to steady herself. She’s lived through seasons changing at nonsensical speeds, pleasantly warm one moment and deathly cold the next. Through sun, to snow to rain in a day. She’s lived through stagnation, trapped in her bedroom-- that prison-- sixteen years of her existence the same dreary sight. It’s overwhelming, she realizes, living in a mix of both worlds. The days are slow, the change is gradual, and she’s free to breathe and laugh and indulge in it all in a way she was never able to before. It should be natural. It isn’t for her.
Think positively, think positively. That was her motto, one she repeated to herself daily. It’s a motto live by, a mantra to dispel the darkness ensnaring her, threatening to choke her. A desperate prayer to make it all go away. Think happy thoughts.
Her fist knocks against her forehead before she repeatedly slaps her cheeks, a fruitless effort to stop her spiraling thoughts. In her mind she holds her tiny brain, shaking it violently as if to get it to do something. C’mon, brain. Think happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Trigger the happy chemicals!!
With a slump, she lets out a deep exhale. A beat passes. Her brain conjures the image of Shobai, helpless and adoring, secured in a muscular man's arms like a newly wed bride. With a bright smile, she gently places the leaf into her waist bag, as if it were her most precious possession. That should be the last one she needs for her painting. That’s right— her painting! Humming satisfied to herself, she pushes off the tree and turns her heel, her legs skipping contently towards the empty sidewalk.
This too, will fade, buried under piles of white not too long from now. And then the flowers and green grass will peek from the earth when the snow finally melts as well. It’s gradual, the change of seasons. The passing of life. It’s new, different, unfamiliar and overwhelming. It’s proof that she’s alive, that she’s finally free to enjoy the world so many others she once knew couldn’t, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with that.
There will be a time, one day, where she will. Until then, she’s fine with distracting herself with art instead.