The Microfic/Drabble Meme
For: Forced Simile
Prompt: "Secretly, all along, it was me."
Flower: Yellow Irises
Irises weren't the most beautiful flowers, but they had become her favorite.
She'd always loved the way they smelled: sharp, but not as pungent as lilacs, not as nose tingling as lilies. They were attractive flowers, blooming in autumn and lasting through the first few frosts. A hardy, tough plant that managed to look stunning at the same time.
Some mornings, she would find one in her hand when she awoke. Nobody else seemed to know about it. She never asked, and it was never, ever mentioned, but she couldn't help but wonder where they came from or who settled a single stem consisting of several blooms in her loose fist under the cover of darkness. After a time, she stopped wondering. She didn't need to know who the perpetrator was.
But waking up and seeing that bright yellow, feeling the sturdiness of the stem in her hand and the soft petals brushing against her cheek, brought her a sense of peace that she seemed unable to find within herself.
The sun would rise over the place where they camped, and she always watched it appear. Her chapped lips would play with the blooms, and in that moment, she allowed herself to go back to her childhood, before she had been forced to grow up, before she had been forced to hide from the world.
A flower could not deceive. It was what it was.
She wished she could be as brave.
But still, she made sure her hair covered her ears at all times, and she fretted and worried that something could happen—to her, to Genis. The world was not a friendly place—either world—and some days she fell asleep feeling so powerless that she wondered why she was born to begin with.
The next morning, she would wake up to find another golden flower in her hands.
She wasn't sure how she felt about getting those irises—special, pretty, wanted, young—but they made her smile.
On a particularly bad day, she had been unable to sleep, but for the sake of the others, she pretended to. The journey was long, arduous, and she felt less optimistic about it with every sunset.
The chink of metal on metal caught her attention, and she felt the familiar press of a flower in her hand. She didn't have to look to see who had put it there; she already knew. "Thank you, Regal," she murmured.
She felt his hesitation, the pause in his movements, a hitch in his throat. He hadn't known she was awake. "You're welcome," he answered, and she felt his fingertips brush her hair back from her face.
She let him. Maybe she was too tired to care, or maybe…she wanted someone to see her for who she really was. Just once, for only a moment.
"If you need anything," he said when the world around her finally started to fade, his voice soft and full of a gentleness that reminded her of the way the iris's blooms felt against her skin. "You can talk to me."
I love Regal. He's so thoughtful. So considerate.