PLASTIC FLOWERS ( k. bakugou )

chapter 11

' black rose unfurling '

━━━━━

She didn't expect it. It hit her like ten thousand volts of lightning. The thousand possibilities, all within her grasp, just two footsteps in front of her. To accept the hand that reached out, to accept the power, to dominate and cleanse this world of the unclean.

If only she would take it. The youth narrows her eyes, so distrusting that they looked like tiny red dots in the middle of a snow filled land. "Why do you think I would agree to this proposition?"

The man in front of her smiles, his palm still outstretched like a rose unfurled. His smile is warm and she thought that he could audition for Symbol of Hope once All Might retired. His skin is white, alabaster but not pale enough to make him look like Count Dracula in his black cloak. His eyes are azure, the bright ones and his smile was as bright and warm as a thousand suns. He was brightness.

And she hated the light.

The man brushes a stray lock of her hair and her heart twinges at the fatherly gesture. The youth feels weak and for the first time after a truly long time, twelve years eight months, seventeen days, five hours, twenty one seconds and counting, she feels the calm.

Not the stillness after a murder, after corpses are created by her hands, her dagger, it is the sort of calm that begins inside of her and it spreads- like a virus.

Millions of snapshots enter her mind, moments of calm, the gentle breeze, a baby's footsteps, dandelion fluff in the wind, dappled sunlight passing through stained windows, the soft, gentle unfurling of the leaves, a small wooden cabin in the middle of the forest, the soft shrill of the birds resting atop the branches.

"You would agree, dear one," the man whispers as the youth takes his hands and five fingers close over hers. She's vaguely aware of the handsome boy three paces east of the man. "The merits you will receive, the purpose you will have, it will fuel you. The cleansing."

"Yes," the words are out of the youth's tongue before she's aware. "Yes, I agree."

"Great," the man says and snaps his fingers and then the youth is falling into a vortex of darkness. She tries to hold on to some tangled ropes but her hands pass through it with ease and there's something at the back of her mind.

And she closes her eyes.

The darkness crawls on her again and she remembers the promises she's held, half conscious, she's aware of their entwined hands and the warmth. The warmth and she takes a step back, slaps the hands away from her and a shriek escapes the youth's throat.

"Get away from me!" she screeches, and the man looks at her and she finally notices the darkness in those azure eyes. The exact brightness, too perfect. The perfect warmth, too flawless.

"What are you doing with my mind?!" the youth screeched, fists clenched, fingernails digging crescent moons on her palms. "Get these images out!"

She took another five paces back, eyes showing the fear that clung to her veins, her entity like a second skin. The youth had power in her finger tips, she prided herself in knowing the end of others, took reassurance by counting the last minutes and seconds that floated in their eyes.

The youth had known her purpose; she needed no validation and calm. Her calm was inside her, like a storm. But her existence screamed of the harsh gusts of air and the bleeding numbers at the tips of her fingers. She knew what to do. And amidst the hurt, the carnage, her mind was her sanctuary. And this man was defiling it with images meant to tame her into submission.