The gentle evening sun, descending softly behind the oak and sycamore trees, leant an odd and entrancing glow to the emerald meadow; now coming in to season and preparing to bloom like no other time. The sky and surrounding land found itself painted in the most beautiful blushing amber hue, and as the architect of light itself stole away to some unknown land, a new life had been delivered to the meadow. This life was of a most mysterious and rare kind, having flown on some obscure wind and, perhaps by chance, found its home beneath the lone sakura tree; the jewel of the meadow. This rare and precious life was little but a seed, and yet it quickly thrived and, before long, became a flower, both timid and fair.
As spring began to find its feet and the meadow, too, came into its beauty; a strange and wonderful visitor appeared in the distance. Merrily making her way towards the cherry tree, this outsider found herself at home amongst the beauty of the flowers in bloom more swiftly than any other. In fact, her very gaze seemed to lift the spirits of every living thing around. She moved like none before, with steps more akin to a graceful skip than a walk of purpose or solemnity. Her arms, too, moved with an individual elegance, slowly stretching out as if to greet the new, verdant world in which she, alone, seemed to belong. Beneath the tree, now in all its glory, blossoming for all to see with tender, silken bloom, the young woman found something to be out of place. Proud and alluring beneath the mighty sakura, a lone flower refused to blossom. Refused to show the world how beautiful it was made to be or, perhaps, knew not how.
The girl sat beside the naïve flower and watched it remain still. In truth, it was her desire to entice life from its dormant state and, yet, nothing happened. She lay in the sunny, spring grass for hours on end, closing her eyes and resting in the shade; Looking up from time to time to see the white, secluded flower, remaining still and infantile. With the night approaching, the girl gazed at her floral companion and wished, silently, for it to bloom, yet it remained as still as ever. The girl traced her finger across the bud and smiled, before softly sighing and ascending to her feet. Before she departed, the maiden of the flowers turned towards her new companion and made her vow; ‘Don’t worry. I’m like you, you see? And you don’t have to be alone’. As the same strange and wonderful visitor made her way back into the distance, fading, like the land itself, to the horizon, the pseudo-night of spring descended on the meadow. When the sun’s gaze turned away from that place, only one exotic flower stood, shaded and forlorn beneath the delicate cherry blossom.
The following afternoon, as the sun had once again began its slow and gradual descent; a newly familiar figure appeared in the distance. Beneath the cherry tree, however, was not the lone flower as expected, but a new companion. A young man who was to find unparalleled grace in the flower of flowers. Turning towards the midday sun, this new companion caught a glimpse of white and tender life, blossoming before his eyes. The figure approached and feature by feature, the gravity of her beauty was revealed. Beneath the old sakura, the boy sat, transfixed, in awe of this maiden. Without comprehension of how such a tender, pure bloom could be without ties to the earth, to walk and breathe and love. Her skin, like the whitest rose of Eden, was enough to steal his heart and instil in him a yearning like no other. Her hair, the deepest and most pure ebony; held in place with a simple sapphire ribbon that allowed no more hair to fall across her face than would accentuate her beauty. Her lips themselves were a mirror to the process of his heart, the most profound and charming scarlet ever to honour the eyes of man, or so it seemed to him. Above all else, her beauty, her grace, her virtuous, loving nature was to be witnessed through her eyes. To say that no sea, nor sky had ever been more blue; to say that the sight of any mortal or god had never been set upon a tone more rich or deep; to say that grace had never before been carried as it was by those two angelic eyes would be to render all the beauty of heaven itself as little more than fleeting.
