Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Ague ❯ Ague ( Chapter 1 )

Kaoru sat quietly on her couch, in her little living room, a blank page of her sketchbook in front of her. She twirled the pencil between her fingers, not knowing what to draw.

 

Her mind was occupied with the conversation she'd had with Misao, her cousin, on the subject of the mysterious bouquet she'd found. The flowers really were beautiful, each in full bloom. It had been a week since she'd received them, and they were still bright as though freshly cut. It was such an unusual combination- white carnations and lavender roses. She'd had liked the pale pink stripes, almost invisible, on the carnations especially. Out of idle curiosity, she'd done a little research and found that lavender roses stood for love at first sight and white carnations with stripes stood for regret that a love couldn't be shared.

 

Either her admirer was trying to send her a message, or it was an uncanny coincidence.

 

Meanings aside, the flowers were a nice change. Her current boyfriend always sent red roses and daisies, two species that clashed and never looked good together. They were usually infested or wilted as well. She had put this bouquet in her best vase and set it on her desk in her room, so the smell would perfume the room.

 

Her mind went back to her boyfriend. He didn't know about her admirer, and she didn't plan on telling him. The whole incident seemed surreal. She had been feverish and delirious (so she thought) at the time, and might have dreamed the entire thing. Except that the flowers, those lovely flowers, were there, and she couldn't figure out from whom.

 

All she really knew about that night was that it had been almost too dark, with no moonlight peeking through her blinds comfortingly as it usually did. She had been afraid, and disoriented, but in her ill state that was natural. The only clear thing she recalled besides that were the eyes.

 

Someone had been looking at her with fiery amber eyes, like hot coals. She had been simultaneously drawn and repelled by those eyes. That seemed the most dreamlike quality of her nighttime experience. No one's eyes could really be that color, or shine that way. Who would break into her house, watch her, leave flowers and not steal anything or even speak to her? She had searched for some sign of an intruder and had discovered nothing at all. It was if the flowers had sprung from her overactive imagination.

 

With a tired sigh, she turned her attention to the blank paper in front of her. She began, slowly, to draw with thin, light strokes an image.

 

A pair of sharp eyes, staring out of the page at her.

 

- - - -- - - -- -- -- - -- - - - -- - - -- - - - - - -- - --- -- - - - - - - - - - -- - -- - - -- - - - - - -- - -

 

He was only checking in on her, making sure she was well. At least, that was the excuse he made to himself.

 

In truth what he wanted was to kiss her again.

 

The flowers had been a mistake, but in her fevered state he doubted she would remember the kiss. He had darkened the room too much for her to have seen him.

 

It was a mistake to return, but that night found him slipping through her window again. He drew the light away. It the dark, she would remember nothing. Or so he told himself.

 

He paid closer attention to the details of the room this time, absorbing its image into his mind. The carpet was stained with paint, and bottles and brushes were strewn across the floor. No longer distracted by pain, he walked silently around, examining her desk, where he was pleased to see the flowers sat, and the easel. It was large, and a sheet covered whatever canvas lay beneath.

 

When he lifted the cloth aside, he saw the painting beneath.

 

His own glowing eyes stared back at him. So she had seen him, after all. He could not find it in him to be upset; if anything, he was glad to know she at least knew, in some remote way, of his existence.

 

He continues to pace the room silently. If he looks at her, he will not be able to turn his gaze away again. He keeps his eyes averted from her sleeping form, lest the intensity of his stare wake her.

 

How did this girl's eyes pierce the darkness?

 

He knows he should leave, before she awakes as she did before. It was foolish of him to even return.

 

He must be a fool, for he sits at her bedside and gently plays with a strand of her hair until the morning sun begins to glimmer on the horizon. He watches her sleep, listens to the regular rhythm of her breath, and is amazed by the ease with which she sleeps despite his presence. Is it because she is unaware, or because his presence does not trouble her? He does not know.

 

When the sun's first rays pierce the sky, he lets the darkness fade into the sunrise, allowing the day to steal her away from him.

 

But not before he steals another kiss.

 

- - - -- - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - -- -- - - - - -- - - - - -- - - -- - - - --- -- - - -- --- -- -- - -- - - -

 

In her dream, she is in a wintry forest where the naked trees and frozen ground cover themselves in gowns and gloves of the purest ice and snow. Before her, the winding path is marked with tow sets of footprints, and she follows them.

 

She is chasing someone, a stranger who is always just around the next bend, so that she barely glimpses his flickering shadow as it beckons her to follow. But no matter how fast she turns, she can't keep up and the stranger keeps out of her sight.

 

The silence of the wood is broken when the sound of clanging metal rings out. She instinctively thinks of swords, and runs even faster. The harsh cacophony sounded too close for comfort, the flashing of cold steel barely visible through a gap in the trees. With a frightened heart she runs straight through the underbrush and falls, into blackness. All around her, the snow has turned to white plum blossoms, stained red...

 

With a jerk she awakes, rubbing her eyes and disorientedly staring at the dawn shining outside her home. The sun has called her from dreamland, and she looks around her, hoping half-heartedly for another bouquet as she has done every morning this week.

 

Beside her, the sheets where she hasn't slept are wrinkled and depressed, as though someone has been sitting there. It is as if someone was reclining against the pillows alongside her, but she is alone. The pillow is still warm.

 

She glances afresh about the room and her eyes land on the first bouquet. Overnight it has withered and dried into a black, gnarled stems and petals. The colors have faded. Only one carnation and one rose have retained their former beauty. She rises from the bed and pads across the carpet with bare feet. Taking the two blooms into her hand, she empties the vase into the trash with the other. Replacing the blossoms, she sees for the first time that the cover on her easel has been disturbed.

 

The painting is untouched, she finds, but another bouquet has been left, one with peonies and white tulips, and a single vivid orange rose. White tulips for beautiful eyes, peonies for healing, and the rose for passion.

 

No coincidence then; her admirer chooses his flowers for a reason. She puts up the flowers in another vase and rushes through her shower and breakfast, wanting to retreat to the solitude of her studio.

 

Once there, in the calming atmosphere, she prepares to paint. The bloody flowers in her dream, the perfect flowers in her bedroom, the deadened flowers in her trashcan; they all are clamoring in her mind, images just waiting for her to give them life on canvas.

 

She takes a brush between her teeth and paints the first stroke.

 

- - -- - - - -- - - - -- -- - - - -- - -- - - - - - -- - - - -- - - -- - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- -

 

Here it is; the sequel to Delirium. It was way too much fun to write. This is going to be a series; I just know it. Will Kenshin ever talk to Kaoru? Who is Kaoru's boyfriend? What the heck is going on?

 

All to come. Please, please, check my profile for updates, I do update at least one a week. Plus there are polls and stuff. It's all good. Go there! Now! But review first!