the herrscher of sentience bites her lips to keep down the itch in her throat, and her blood drips and fades into the winter snow. shakily, she removes her hand from her mouth, and stares at the crumpled petals in her hands. it is everywhere, petalled spring and a bouquet of half-flowers and sap and blood, dripping down her chin, the cracks between her fingers, her thighs. They are a splash of color against the serene whiteness of snow, pink and freckled red by the blood on her tongue. The flowers start blooming in the middle of winter. but there is nowhere else that she can go to.
Really … why would anyone like being alone? there was no reason for her to come back here at all.
Herrscher of sentience free#
she is free as a bird that roams the sky without restraint. she has nothing to her – no name, no friends nor family. it’s a bit funny, she thinks, the way lost birds fall back into the cages they call their sky. The herrscher of sentience sighs, and lingers by the outer reaches of the temple fog. it burrows between the roots of roses and stone, the sense of antiquity, and the loneliness that permeates the place stands strong like the very earth itself.
It is dilapidated already, moss-ridden with weeds scattered with the late autumn wind. this is a dead man’s place, the gravesite of many people she has never known, and the desolate breeze that winds across the ridges of the decaying trees speak of haunted memories that were buried hundreds of years ago. Winter has arrived early, and the chill carries with it the memories of dead leaves and the fragrance of a spring fantasy. The flowering steps that lead to taixuan feel like a funeral path.
Summary : this love story has ended before the first page was ever written.
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