Title: The Evolution of Affection
Chapter: 1
Anime: Mai-Hime
Rating: T
Author: Death Mountain
Disclaimer: I don’t own Mai-Hime. Oh, well.
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She is bent over a rosebush, a slender, fair-skinned girl with long, wispy dark hair. She wears the middle school uniform and looked every bit as Japanese as I do not. For my sharper edges and loud angles, she is soft and curvy. She could have stood in this same spot a century ago and still fit perfectly, a girl and a rosebush.
What really stands out is how she carries herself, not as a standing peony like the other girls or even a daffodil like Suzushiro; but a strong and solitary pine that bends in a storm but refuses to admit it or to break.
Whatever my name says about me, I am a lily, even if no one knows it.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I call as she bends poised to crush a fragile rose, her hand a pale spidery clump of snow creeping over the pink bush. “That flower does its very best to grow in its short life, so we should give it the love it needs. If you crush it, that beautiful rose will never grow.”
She turns swiftly, the wind lifting dark hair away from a face much too mature for a young girl, especially in the glittering green eyes clouded by life’s cruelty. Perhaps she is surprised to see someone else in the garden, but I often find myself here. Flowers do not make me happy in the least, but as least they are something I understand.
“It’s just one flower,” she argues in a voice like a hammer striking a temple bell. “What should it matter if it’s going to die, anyway?” Such a bitter statement from such a beautiful girl, though I do not say so, but are the most beautiful statues not those that stand alone?
I take care in my gait, as is usual, but the smooth grace my classmates take such delight in claiming of my character is merely the painful result of inescapable childhood conditioning. In the Fujino household one learned quickly that the only way to survive was to be as much a proper, polite, and well-mannered puppet as everyone else. For a mixed child, it was the only way to prove the Fujino blood ran in one’s veins, when all else spoke otherwise.
I bend forward to cup the rose in a saving had, murmuring, “But it is a very sad thing, a rose that does not bloom.” My finger curl around the stem, and a thorn draws a single bead of red. My enigmatic audience looks at the offended finger questioningly. I hold the hand up and smile pleasantly.
“You, can’t you be more careful?” She searches her person, presumably for a handkerchief, a bit unreasonably in the case of such a minor wound. Perhaps she finds blood distasteful.
There is a handkerchief in my pocket, embroidered but otherwise simple and plain. I blot my finger on it and fold it again unhurriedly. “Do you know why roses have thorns?” For my efforts I receive a look that suggests I am less than saner. “It is only to protect themselves, not to cause harm. But it hurts anyway, whether the rose knows it or not.”
The wind has died, and her hair settles around her shoulders like a shawl. “You’re weird,” she says, nevertheless still here.
“Oh my, have I said something strange?” I laugh gently, not in the way that sounds like as a strangled bird, I hope, as I have heard my mother and aunts do, but I can never bring myself to throw my head back in unabashed guffaws. Few people share my sense of humor, which you cannot really call funny anyway.
“I don’t know,” she admitted indignantly. “I guess I just don’t get this school.”
“Fuuka Gakuen is unusual in many ways. Have you met the chairman?”
Her face revealed she had, as she confirmed. “Yesterday. She told me I should look for the student council president.”
Had the planets moved? I wonder so. “In a rose garden?” My smile grows teasing. The blush that colors her cheeks actually makes my stomach flutter. Any other reward I could not have asked for.
“The vice-president said she might be here,” she mutters.
“Oh my, Kanzaki-san did? How very thoughtful of him; would you perhaps be kind enough to escort me back to the council room so that I may thank him?”
I enjoy much more than expected the realization dawning over her pretty face. Her emerald-green eyes narrow; she apparently does not care to be played with. “You’re the president?” she said coolly.
Sweeping into a practiced bow, I nod and hold out a hand. “If it pleases you, I am Fujino Shizuru, high school class 1-A. Certainly I would be honored to know your name?” If this is the gods’ gift to me, I am going to take every advantage of this unexpected meeting.
“Kuga,” is all she offers. Kuga-san, as it is, clearly is not happy with me. Her chagrin is charming, but I take pity on her.
“Kuga-san,” I say carefully, “it is very much a pleasure to meet you.”
Very much a pleasure, indeed.
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This, I think, is going to be something I turn to when I feel like taking a break from other fics, so don’t expect anything from it.
Thank you for reading, and review would be much appreciated, as always.