Season of the Plum Blossoms

Seasons have past, years have gone. We bid farewell to the innocent of the past. But even as we become different, do you still remember my hand, my voice... and our vow?

The sun peeked out after the first snowstorm of the year.

Stepping out into the bleak morning air, she was a single scarlet tear of blood in a world overlain by white feathers. Branches adorned with warmer shades on the palette only the previous evening were now burdened with a monochromatic cape. The swerving path in the concubine’s courtyard, already shoveled bare amidst its shoulders of snow, stretched on for half a mile before ducking under the stone arc marking the border to the imperial gardens. The morning was still, yet a chill persisted in the air.

She did not mind the cold. Unlike the other bushes of fragile flowers that would quiver in the wind, she was a branch of undaunted plum blossoms; unlike the sanctity of lotuses and the sensuality of roses, she held the beauty of those arduous crimson petals which smiled at their brightest during the harshest blizzards. There was one of them rooted in front of her quarters, bestowed by her beloved emperor four years ago. Drifting towards the lone dark figure already ornate with crimson beads, her fiery robe dragged behind as if the tail of a newborn phoenix.

                “Sister, you’re up quite early.”

                Shifting her lustrous pupils towards the twinkling chime of silver bells, her blood-red lips softened at the sight of a gown soaked in a familiar, soothing navy. Floating through the feathery field of foam, a blooming hydrangea approached with autumn-like clarity.

                But autumn was a season behind.

                “Will you walk with me, sister?”

                She nodded without hesitation and stepped onto the path beside her younger self, her bright red clashing with the placid blue. Hand in hand, the two glided over the frozen stones in silence.

The horizon was clearing, slightly donning a fish-belly white and washing away the lingering shades of indigo. The pair passed under the threshold of the garden and entered a world of ice that was once a rainbow of blooming beauties; a world of ice that will be a rainbow of blooming beauties.

But that certainly had to wait.

Continuing on the snaking trek, the hydrangea led her towards the path of elevated bridges stretching to a solitary pavilion within the palm of peaceful waters, the loyal sentinel of the immense and quiescent pond below. Halting gracefully, the delicate cobalt twisted to face the flaming cardinal. Reaching out with one snow-white arm, the hydrangea stroked her face.

“I love you, sister… But you know one of us has to back down.”

The twinkling silver melody was estranged and distant.

“So sorry, I have to kill you.”

Peering down, she discovered the acquainted innocence and purity untainted in those infatuating eyes. She met them with equal serenity, as if the announcement was expected all along. Her smile did not falter as she reached out with a hand as smooth as jade to hold that of the hydrangea.

But for the first time, plum blossoms quivered in winter.

                “Will you walk me to the end?” An intoxicating dirge flowed from her ruby lips.

                A breeze picked up as the two turned to finish their morning stroll. The wind seemed to have lost its usual mischief, and had instead donned a mask of sedation, flowing behind the demure figures slowly progressing toward their final destination.  The day was still young, yet to fully wake under the gentle strokes of the sun. She glanced wistfully at the unflappable figure trailing along and recollected the day they first entered the confining walls of this distorting palace.

                Four years ago, it was a morning just like this was maturing into - cold, lonely, unexpected - yet incredibly tranquil. They were youthful and timid, buds yet to display their ravishing colours. Linking hands, they trotted along the path towards their new residences with the parade of new ladies. Rumours emanated from the solemn palace walls that the maids favoured by the emperor all died cryptic deaths, and the sisters promised each other to circumvent this fate as best as they can. She remembered their promise by the bridge to hide from the young ruler; their promise to stand guard at each other’s back; their promise to accompany each other till the very end.

                But that all changed when they met him.

                Cloaks golden as the sun, he was a dragon beaming with a conquering brilliance. Ever since their encounter in the pavilion, the emperor adored the plum and hydrangea; and they reciprocated his passion. The more they dwelled around him, the more this furious ardour chipped away at those innocent vows. At last, the cracks gave away under sinful flames, and purity shattered into shards of lament. Hand in hand, the sisters engineered the gradual withering of a thriving garden - until there were only the two of them left.

But the Phoenix’s throne was only made for one.

In retrospect, this was somewhat inevitable.

                On the clearing of the delicate kiosk, crimson and navy intertwined with a last embrace.  The two shades were never made to accompany each other, yet the contrast made them inexplicably exotic. Petals danced in the wind, waltzing toward the edge of life as they drew closer and closer to the frozen tomb below.

                “Sister, do you remember our promise?” The hydrangea beamed with alluring strength, “Because I never forgot.” Reaching out with a cadaverous palm, cobalt caressed cardinal for the last time.

                “Did you ever think I was going to kill you?” Ultramarine robes fluttered in the wind, but the fragile frame kept its ground, “Sorry I can't keep all my vows.”

                Naive debased by lust, purity tainted by jealousy, the glow in those star-like pupils had darkened. She stared into them and wondered when those gems had lost their light. The hydrangea reached forth with a depraved glower in its eyes and clenched her with its sanguinolent vines, swerving towards the edge. She gasped in fear and twisted in the deathly grip. Conjuring all remaining force, the plum pushed away with a pair of hands equally bloodied. Stumbling back into the jaws of necropolis, the hydrangea had taken a false step.

                An ominous sourness surged to her throat as the plum blossom lunged forth to grasp the withering sapphire. Their leaves brushed, but the flower had fallen. She was a step too late, and had missed the hydrangea’s transient season. Surprise and horror flashed across the transcendent cobalt petals before being replaced by a pacified smile. Silver bells rang for plum blossoms for the last time.

“Farewell, my beloved sister.”

She watched the hydrangea as it kissed an equally calm indigo, as if it belonged there all along and had finally rediscovered its rightful sanctuary. The depth of those lustrous eyes did not stir with the fluttering below, undisturbed with a frightening equanimity, waiting until the sapphire finally succumbed into the embrace of the dormant pond. She stared blankly at the resentful ripples radiating away in rings and slowly dropped the sanguinolent sleeve numbed from the cold.

The wind had died down, and icy clusters of cotton had begun descending from heaven again. Back in the concubine’s yard, the first plum bud awakened with a stunning scarlet unparalleled by any of the other thousand blossoms in the garden.

It was red. Red as fire. Red as blood.

She realized her legs were shaking, inexplicably weak under the sudden heaviness of her body. The twinkling melody twisted into an agonizing screech, blanking out all her senses and evicting her sanity. With quivering hands, the young phoenix clenched onto the frozen railing and cried into the sky, pronouncing to the world of its rebirth. She would not fall, nor shiver anymore; she was the plum blossom, lived for the hydrangea, and the ruler of them all; she was the last bloom in the infernal garden.

Turning on her heels, the Queen stepped onto the long bridge.

“… Farewell, my beloved sister.”

 

Author's Note

My second attempt at a short story! Woohoo
I realized Fall was doing better than all the other ones, so I decided to write another one :)
Haha, this is associated with seasons and the palace as well... I honestly don't know how this turned into another one of them.
Originally, I planned for the younger sister (hydrangea) to sacrifice herself for her sister（plums), but decided that selfishness was much more realistic.
I hope you enjoyed that!
As always, comments, reviews, constructive criticisms come this way!

Reviews

[Kuandio]

Hello Windchaser. I'm getting back to you after a review you gave me a while back.

I chose this piece because the title intrigued me quite, and it's one of your newest, no?

Alright, I like to point out both strengths and weaknesses, so I hope you don't get upset

Right away I noticed the very good descriptions. You have an extensive vocabulary and use it metaphorically and with a lot of beauty. It feels like a long poem written into prose

- "So sorry, I have to kill you." - jumped out at me with a lot of power, contrasting with everything I'd read so far

The whole thing felt very surreal, at one point we go into the thoughts of the plum blossom, and then the hydrangea, which seems to be leading them. Little by little I realized that, in some way at least, these are people at the same time they are flowers. There is a lot of symbolism here

To a large extent I felt we have similar styles. Although there is a lot of poetic beauty in it, this piece does seem to be quite loaded with descriptions, and so I found myself having to reading over certain parts more than once. I feel like a bit of a hypocrite pointing it out, since I do the same thing so often, nevertheless, if you thin out the adverbs and adjectives, the whole thing will flow a lot easier for the reader

[Wind Chaser]

Hi Kuandio,

Thanks for the review! Constructive criticism is definitely welcomed :)
read moreHi Kuandio,

Thanks for the review! Constructive criticism is definitely welcomed :)

I do tend to use a lot of symbolism in my writing, and I do realize that sometimes my descriptions get a little overboard. Sometimes my stories "describe" more than "flow", and even my narratives do not really have a whole lot of dialogue.

I'm happy to learn that I have someone who is similar in writing style! We can learn from each other and become better writers together :)