(Ki – Beginning)
“I wake where roses brush against twilight,
(thorns whispering secrets to the moon).
My hat, heavy with curled gold and crystal,
casts shadows that slither through blooms
(as if darkness itself wore petals).
Morning dew beads on the edge of my dress,
(droplets clinging like unwanted memories).
I pluck a petal, let it fall,
and the ground drinks it with a thirst
(one only the buried understand).”
(Sho – Middle)
“I braid spells into my pink curls,
(fragments of night and ash hidden within).
The air tastes of honey and ash,
every breath a promise half-kept
(and half-broken, like a petal crushed underfoot).
My fingers trace the edges of a vial,
its liquid a molten ember in glass
(poison or potion, the line blurs easily).
I think of the villagers, their fearful eyes
(hope tangled with hate behind their doors).
They leave offerings at the forest’s edge—
candles, herbs, a child’s ribbon
(tattered, the color of lost innocence).
They pray I am a myth,
though they feel my shadow on their skin
(with every rustle of leaves, they flinch).”
(Ten – Twist)
“They call me witch, though I am more
(or less, depending on how you see it).
I have tasted love and bitterness alike,
(sometimes from the same cup).
The stones I kiss turn to silver
(but the lips that touch mine wither away).
I was once a girl in the light,
(with laughter that rang like bells).
But betrayal is a dark ink,
(it seeped through my veins, stained me).
Now, my smile stills the wind,
afraid of what might escape my mouth
(a truth too sharp, a curse too sweet).
There is a man who comes at dusk,
(his shadow a blade against the setting sun).
He seeks to understand me, to save me
(though his eyes hold the weight of a blade).
I let him believe I am harmless,
the way a spider hums to the fly
(as if the web were just a net of stars).”
(Ketsu – Conclusion)
“Stars slip through my fingers,
(turning to ash on the wind).
I hum a lullaby to the dark,
and shadows gather at my feet
(as if I am the only warmth they’ve known).
The roses close their petals as I pass,
(not in sleep, but in mourning).
I leave behind nothing but the scent
of blooms and burnt offerings,
my footprints swallowed by earth
(as if the world itself wished to forget me).
When the man returns, his hands tremble,
(hope a fragile moth against the flame).
He asks if I will lift the curse,
but I only tilt my head, smile
(because there is no curse, only truth).
He draws his knife, silver against twilight,
and I step forward, unblinking
(for what is steel to a heart already cut?).
The blade meets flesh, yet I remain,
the shadows weaving me whole again
(as if the night itself were my skin).
I bend down, touch his cheek,
(his breath a fog on dying air).
“Shh,” I whisper, cradling his fear,
“Not all monsters wear teeth, love.”
And when his eyes dim, I rise
(the earth quick to take him, a hungry mouth).
The forest sighs, and I with it,
the only witness to a silence well-fed.
I walk on, the roses blooming behind me,
their petals a soft applause
(for every story that ends with a shadow).”