The Waning (GojoHime) - Part 2

Something Old, Something New

In the early hours of the year 2018, Gojo's silent tears washed away any doubt that Utahime might have had: She was in love with him.

This revelation should have shocked her because she had been in denial about it for months, and yet it didn't. In that intimate moment in his childhood room, Utahime felt a profound connection, a poignant understanding of the pain that must have led Gojo to reveal such a vulnerability in her presence. Honored and touched, she wished to shoulder his burdens, to be the solace Gojo sought for the wounds that ran deeper than the visible scars on his skin.

Or maybe she was just much drunker than she had previously acknowledged.

Oh boy. The room whirled around Utahime with dizzying speed, prompting her to cling desperately to the fabric of Gojo's shirt. Amidst the disorienting whirlwind, she fervently wished, May the New Year be kind to you, inhaling deeply the familiar scent that enveloped her-yuzu and vanilla, a delicate blend of tartness and sweetness.

She must have fallen asleep quickly after that.

In her dreams, Utahime found herself in a bountiful garden adorned with plum trees and delicate lanterns on strings that swayed in the wind. The air was thick with the fragrance of blooming flowers, and from a distance, the sound of koto and shakuhachi wafted through the air. As Utahime strolled along the winding paths, she timed the soft crunch of gravel beneath her feet to create a rhythm that harmonized with the soothing melody of the traditional instruments. Every step revealed new wonders-a babbling brook lined with moss-covered stones, a graceful bridge crossing over a serene pond, and clusters of irises adding a touch of purple and blue.

As she ventured further, the branches began to form a natural canopy overhead, creating dappled sunlight that danced on the ground. The plum blossoms, in various shades of pink and white, swayed gracefully with the gentle breeze. Utahime marveled at the intricate details of each blossom, their petals delicate and ethereal.

Further ahead, she caught sight of a male figure sitting at a little table, his silhouette adorned with robes of indigo and gold and an eboshi. Approaching him brought a strong sense of familiarity: He was tall and well-built and when he turned around to face her, the family resemblance was so strong, she felt a treacherous surge of tenderness. But this man did not have Gojo's hair and he didn't have his eyes.

Michizane Sugawara, with ink-stained fingers and a quiver of poetry scrolls before him, smiled in recognition and stood.

"My bride," he uttered reverently, his eyes traversing her figure with an expression of awe.

Utahime's heart swelled with joy at the reunion because, despite everything, she had missed him. They strolled through the garden together, the path leading them to a cozy little pavilion nestled beside a pond adorned with blooming lotus flowers. Kneeling before her, Michizane began to recite poetry that stirred the depths of Utahime's soul, each verse an ode to the timeless beauty of nature and love. In rhythm to his words, plum blossoms drifted from the trees like delicate confetti, withered and died.

The light dimmed as an unsettling darkness encroached upon the edges of Utahime's vision, a menacing shape lurking where shadows clung and light struggled to penetrate.

Utahime felt a pressing need to shout a warning, but her tongue was too heavy to move. Michizane continued to weave his hands through the air, his dark eyes urging her to unravel the layers of meaning hidden behind his words, an elusive truth lingering on the edge of revelation. Simultaneously, the once serene pond began to stir with tumultuous waves. Utahime strained to hear Michizane's words over the growing sloshing sound that echoed around them, but the words slipped away, carried off by the strengthening wind, joining the petals of the plum blossoms.