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Shiori watched from afar. Observing, noting, jotting down whatever needed to be recorded. She writes in a hurry, finding everything else around her so… feeble, weak. Fragile. Like the flowers that swayed in the wind, fluttering petals dancing gently.
She never reached out for them, afraid her inky hands would soil their beauty. Afraid her strength would destroy such fleeting thing. They were always so beautiful. And with beauty came death, plucked first before the others for a decoration that lasts a day. A gift that lasts the first few hours.
She hated the idea. These gentle creatures. They don’t deserve such fates.
-
“Here!” Nerissa picks up a wildflower, bright and small. A forget-me-not. Shiori smiles, accepting the gift, her hands shaking as she held the stem as lightly as possible. She can already feel ink seep from her fingertips, and she stills. “Shiori?” Nerissa whispers, closer than the archiver expected her to be.
“Hm? What is it?” Shiori whispers, voice carried away by the wind as it blew. How they ended up in a clearing, she doesn’t particularly know, but the wildflowers were free, small, uncaring. She tried to mark it to memory: the view of the cloudy sky, not too bright, not too dark; the view of Nerissa laying down on the soft grass, careful not to crush a flower so uncaringly underneath her; the view of her plucking each flower to create some sort of crown as she cleared an area for herself and Shiori.
It hurt her a little, those poor flowers. Shiori’s hand was still shaking, still holding the myosotis with unnerving fear. Nerissa gets up, raising her arms and Shiori feels something on top of her head. Oh. She watches Nerissa’s smile, wide, cheerful, waiting. Patient.
“For you, my princess.” Nerissa huffs, proud, waiting for Shiori’s reaction to the line, as if it took every ounce of her charm to utter it. And it did. And Shiori saw through it, like always. Shiori laughs. Ah.
Countless flowers for a moment just as fleeting.
Shiori archives it to memory.
-
Shiori opens a book in her archives, only to be surprised to find pressed flowers. Individual hydrangeas, scattered, sporadic. Different hues of blues and violets. gently, she removes them, brittle, like they’d break with the wind if she so much as breathed too hard. She sets them down on a fresh piece of paper, blank.
Okay. The words were still readable underneath, good. Shiori wondered where they came from. She sets another piece of paper atop the already dried flowers, before setting a book or two on it to press it down again.
Maybe she’ll gift them to the girls, for something they’d use.
Shiori hums. Maybe she’ll gift them to Nerissa, with her fondness for written letters. Maybe she’ll write her own for the sake of it.
-
There was a vase of fresh flowers in the kitchen. Orchids, this time. Beautiful, but parasitic. Shiori stares at it unknowingly. She frowns, ever so slightly.
She doesn’t want to see them wilt over the days. She tries to ignore it really, but it doesn’t work. It never did. She finds herself standing over it, late at night, just watching. Waiting to see if it’ll just wilt under her gaze, if it’ll die like those before it. Instead, she hears footsteps, soft, careful. An unmistakable flutter of wings has her turning around.
Nerissa yelps, surprised to see Shiori’s bright eyes in the dark. She turns on the lights, wincing lightly, before smiling. “What brings you here, Shiori?” The archiver was simply looking at her hands, a fresh batch of orchids, and an old book none of them opened anymore. An old book Shiori slightly recognized.
“Is that from my archives?” Nerissa blinks, looking down at the book in her hand.
“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a copy of it, but no. This is mine.” Shiori hums. “Surprising, I know.” Nerissa laughs, and Shiori’s eyes widen slightly.
“Do you… press flowers in that book?” Shiori whispers.
“I used to, yeah. Thought it might be a good idea to use it again for these orchids.” Shiori watches her switch the flowers out, cutting the stems shorter, wiping away the water that still clung onto it, gently placing it on a random page in the book, arranging it meticulously. “It’d be a waste to just throw them away.”
Oh.
And there she stood, with fresh flowers, and soon-to-be preserved ones. All well loved, despite being cut short.
Oh.
Shiori gulps.
She never really liked real flowers. She was too afraid to do anything to them, yet here Nerissa was, picking them up, choosing them, and loving them, cherishing each of them down to the very last minute.
-
Shiori never dared to reach out to Nerissa.
The raven was like those flowers. Gentle. Vibrant. Beautiful. Oh so beautiful. Shiori was too afraid to hurt her, to crush her heart so readily given and placed in the archiver’s palms. She didn’t know what to do with it. No matter how gently she places it back into Nerissa’s chest. No matter how slowly she puts it back in her own hands. Every time, the raven was sure to give it to her again.
Because she trusted her. Because…
“I love you.” Nerissa kisses her forehead, and Shiori flinches. Nerissa pulls away with a soft apology, and the archiver only shakes her head.
“It’s okay.”
“Is it?” Nerissa smiles at her.
Nerissa was a flower, yes, but she was one that braved storms, even with a petal gone, her flawless pattern broken by an obviously missing piece. She was one that stood tall even then, a beacon that refused to back down, refused to stop being who she was.
Shiori reaches up, hand hovering over Nerissa’s cheek. Afraid. Still oh so afraid. Nerissa helps her, leaning into her fingertips, smiling as warmth takes over Shiori’s cold skin. “It’s okay, Reese. Promise.”
Nerissa sighs. “I really do love you.” Her heart in Shiori’s hand once more. The raven turns to kiss her palm, her palm stained with ink only she can see. Nerissa doesn’t seem to mind. Never did in the first place.
Ah. Shiori leans ever so slightly. Nerissa welcomes her with ease, though the archiver was sure she felt her pulse speed up, nervous.
Maybe Nerissa was the one real flower she’ll ever love.