A droplet of water falls, disturbing the surface of the pool and sending fragile silver ripples out like distortions in a sheet of perfect glass with a soft *glop* sound. Cherry blossoms floats around me, held aloft by the slight breeze hissing through the silent courtyard. I kneel at the edge of the pool, my simple white robe stirring slightly in the wind.
My eyes gleam silver. I raise a hand and several delicate blossoms settle on my palm, coaxed there by nothing but pure will. I reach in again, deeper still, through the halls of gilded dragon guarding my heart of hearts, deeper than ever, down to the core of my very being. Down there, I burn molten.
I breathe out.
The blossoms float towards the pond, turning an orange grey similar to that of burning parchment, before disintegrating into ash before my eyes. Drops of fire hiss across the surface of the pool, bobbing for a moment like the lanterns on festival day before being completely consumed.
I breathe in.
The water stills, reflecting my starlit face.
I bow my head, satisfied.
All is well.
YOU ARE READING
The Collection
Short StoryAn ongoing Collection of my short stories and other creative endeavors. Dark, Light Tragic, Humorous Romantic, Vengeful Fantastic, Mundane Strange all.
