The book lay open; pages white and new. She stared at it, trying to get her thoughts into order. Writing in her diary had become a ritual. Every night when he went to bed, she would write something. Even if it was just a few words on what she had done that day. It helped her now as it had helped her back then… Back when the pain was so unbearable, she couldn't even speak. The pain still lurked in the corner of her heart, like a thorn dug under her skin. But it was welcome now. It was something she would never get rid of. The pain helped her remember... And she had to remember. She couldn't let herself forget.
She lifted the brush, poising it over the ink. What should she tell her heart today? It had been a typical day, she supposed. Warmer than usual. They had gone down into the village to sell what they had been given. As usual, the children were the first to greet them. She smiled softly at the memory. The children only came to see him. They always gathered around him, talking about silly, childish things. As usual, he hadn't said much to them, but smiled and listened. Perhaps the children liked him because they knew he would listen. As one of the women told her earlier, if he attracted customers as he did children, they would be wealthy indeed.
He was so different from what he had been. He was still quiet…quieter then any man she'd ever known…but there was something else too. Sometimes, when she was straightening up the house, she could feel him watching her intently. When she tried to catch his stare, he would be looking somewhere else. Only once had she caught him. He hadn't said a word, only rose to his feet and left. But there was no mistaking the red that tinged his cheeks. There were times when he acted like nothing more then an awkward boy, struggling to fill the big role that the world had given him. Perhaps that was what he really was.
When she'd first met him, a day that by now seemed years ago, she could only see him for what he did. Blood-thirsty… Violent… Evil… It had never occurred to her that he might regret anything he'd done. It had never occurred to her that, though he was a warrior, he was still a child in so many ways. Now though, she was beginning to see what he was. A child…a man…searching for a sense of purpose in the bloody rain.
She turned her head a little to look at him. As usual, he was sleeping sitting up. Still unable to completely relax in the peace that their lives had become. His long hair slipped over his shoulder, the dim light of the lantern dancing along the soft red strands. He always looked so peaceful when he slept. Turning back, she dipped her brush in the ink and delicately painted a word on the waiting pages. Bibishii. Beautiful. She closed the book, hugging it to her. Then blew out the lantern and went to bed.
Notes: As usual. Just a little one shot inspired by something I was reading off TFME. I'm not sure if it came off very well but oh well…
Standard Disclaimers Apply