Chapter Text
Deep in the city of the moon was a flower shop.
Inside, surrounded by plants of innumerable species and cultivers, a Lunarian stood with a pair of shears in one hand and a rose in another.
With a swift diagonal cut, the bloom was placed in a vase, joining a dozen others that had been ordered by a customer. Said customer, a long-term patron, wanted an arrangement that they could present to somebody they loved who was especially fond of white roses.
The rest of the city slept, but working at night was something that Cinnabar had done for almost the entirety of their existence, in some form or another.
The flower shop had been suggested by another former Lustrous; Diamond, upon seeing how much they'd taken to caring for flowers. It had been nerve wracking at first... but this truly was a job that that everyone appreciated them for.
In truth, working in the early hours was something Cinnabar enjoyed, endeavouring to prepare the various bouquets and decorations ready for the day's customers.
Despite being so very ephemeral in nature, barely lasting for the blink of an eye, the Lunarian's loved flowers and plants just as much as the Lustrous had. Short-lived, beautiful things added joy to an endless life.
But still---
A faint yet sharp sensation broke their concentration.
The Gem-turned-Lunarian winced and, carefully moving the flower with the other hand, examined the thumb that had been holding it.
The rose had thorns, and in their flow state of cutting and placing the blooms, they'd gripped the stem wrong and driven one of them into the pad of their thumb.
The sudden sensation still caught them by surprise, even after millennia of life.
Thorns had never been a problem in their previous body. The small barbs of the various plants that were to be found on the Land had never so much as left a mark or scratch over the centuries that they had carried out the night patrol.
Even a gem of only hardness two like them, the most fragile of them all, had been above such things. Not so much now, though.
According to the Lunarians, these rose plants still kept their thorns even though the seven shooting stars had extinguished all the animals that they were meant to deter. Did they keep them to provide a counterweight to their own beauty? To remind those that held them that even the most beautiful things could conceal pain if mishandled?
Raising their pricked thumb, Cinnabar placed the end of the digit in their mouth and idly sucked at it.
Living creatures bled; Lunarians did not, but the action brought about some strange, phantom relief still.
Even after thousands of years spent on the moon, a part of Cinnabar still struggled to recognise the sensation of pain as something natural to them now. Even though the memories of their life on Earth had begun to fade, drastically outnumbered by their experiences on the moon, there were times when Cinnabar expected to still break and shatter like before.
But they didn't; they just dissipated into mist and then reformed.
They'd grown distracted from what they were doing.
With renewed care, Cinnabar once again lifted the rose, forgiving it the crime of hurting them and instead inhaling its scent.
Their eyes closed as they did so, delighting in the flower's sweet simplicity.
When they were still made composed of the gemstone that served as their namesake, it had been completely impossible for Cinnabar to even approach a flower without killing it, let alone appreciate it. The silver poison that seeped from within their body was unique, and yet, it had created so much distance from both other gems, and life itself.
It had driven them into self-isolation.
It had driven them to wait to be taken away to the moon.
And finally, the consequences of their poison had driven a stupid, reckless gem to make a promise they could never hope to keep.
'I'll find you something only you can do, something better than the night patrol!'
"..."
Their eyes opened.
That ancient memory dredged from a place deeper, perhaps, than the inclusions that once made up their body. They'd almost forgotten it, yet now those words rung in their head as clearly as they had that evening, all those tens of centuries ago.
Cinnabar lowered the rose and regarded its densely packed pink petals for a long moment, mulling over each word in that ignorant, well-meaning statement uttered so forwardly.
Then they turned their head towards the paneless window beside them.
High in the perpetual night of the moon's sky, a small blue and white marble hung half shrouded in darkness; the planet Earth.
It had been awhile since Cinnabar last thought of Phosphophyllite. Perhaps as much as a decade? Truthfully, they struggled to recall exactly when their thoughts had last drifted towards them.
Time didn't matter so much when you had forever without any risks or dangers. Yet occasionally, like the very poison that they once carried within their body, memories of the peppermint green gem came back to them.
That evening, at that place... what had it been called again?
The Cape of Emptiness?
Yes, that was it. On that evening, the other gem had made such a bold declaration. Nobody, certainly not Cinnabar, could have anticipated the consequences of that conversation and the road it led the other Lustrous down. At the time their thoughts had been consumed with bitterness about how the Lunarian's had appeared at once to take Phosphophyllite, but not them.
... And in the end, despite the setbacks and how it was only by accident, Phosphophyllite had managed to make that same promise come true. Despite forgetting the promise, the consequences of their actions had led to Cinnabar finding their place, pairing up with Bort and even managing to become an actual member of the community.
And it had led to them being able to stand here, smelling the very flowers that once upon a time would have wilted and died from just their mere presence.
Everything Phosphophyllite had done to improve their life was merely a consequence of circumstance, in the end.
But what would Cinnabar say to them, if they were to meet face to face again?
It was impossible; Aechmea had forbidden it, and when they would finally see Phosphophyllite again, it would be for the end of everything, rather than for a conversation. Perhaps they would hate Cinnabar for everything, or maybe they would barely even remember them after ten-thousand years?
Cinnabar exhaled, and focused on the flower between their fingers once again.
Between their fingers, they turned the rose, making its head spin anticlockwise in a seemingly endless dance of petals spiralling outwards and yet never growing. It was hypnotic, and despite the ephemeral nature of the flowers, Cinnabar never quite stopped finding it utterly enchanting...
But right now, the charming illusion only served to distract them from their thoughts on the gem who had caused all this.
They'd already said 'thank you' back then, after their fight.
So perhaps, if they did have the opportunity to speak before the end, all they would say would be 'goodbye.'
