CW: Explicit language, sexual content, mentions of panic attacks/anxiety around trauma.
It took a full two weeks outside of the Training Room for the Rat to find his voice.
Until then, Bucky had exclusively taken care of him, delegating much of her usual duties and clients onto the other senior Roses while she tended to their new Rosebud.
Not one spoke out in protest. The Rosebud had, after all, spent almost four months in the Training Room while most of them had only spent a week. And yet, the Rat is cognisant and speaking so soon after leaving the cellar, much to Bucky’s relief.
She runs her fingers across his back, from his right shoulder to left hip, working the oily balm into the ugly, jagged scar that splits his torso in twain. Her brows furrow in focus and consternation, especially when she inspects the puckered pink scar tissue, tender and slightly inflamed.
The raven squirms on his belly as she pokes gently at the scar, shoulders tensing with every touch. He raises his head to catch her in his periphery, but she quickly pushes his head back down with a tut. “Are you a fish? Lie still and I’ll be able to finish faster.”
“But it tickles,” Rin grumbles, dropping his chin down onto his arms. He sighs and drowses, dark purple shadows smudged into the thin skin below his eyes. His face is sallow and slightly gaunt, ode to the many wretched and sleepless nights he’s had to endure since coming to his senses. “I don’t see why you gotta do this anyway. It’s just a stupid scar.”
“A Rose must be in pristine condition when serving their clients. This includes treating physical injuries until it has been completely healed.” Bucky sits back on her haunches, twisting the lid back on the tub of healing ointment. She eyes the too-skinny figure sprawled across the bed with a worried frown. Outwardly, Rin the Rat seems back to his regular self. He’s the same sardonic, loud-mouthed bitch he always has been. And yet Bucky knows that something has changed.
Every night, the Rat relentlessly paces his modest room from wall to wall, dusk to dawn, as if he could outpace his need for sleep. Of course, he would eventually collapse after a few days, but would awaken not a few hours later in a hysterical panic. This is a common side effect of the Training Room, amongst a myriad of others. Eventually, they would fade after several days of recovery. For Rin, it may take even longer.
“It’s already healed,” the boy scowls, pushing himself upright. The greasy ointment feels strange and heavy on his back and he rolls his shoulders with a grimace.
“Not until I say it is,” Bucky retorts, slipping off the bed. She sets the tub onto the bedside table and goes to wash her hands in the water basin. “How do you feel? Any aches or pains?”
“I feel fine. I’m perfectly healthy, Bucky, so you can relax.”
Rin hops off the bed to slip on a green chiffon robe, simple and plain in design. The silken cincture pinches in his waist when he ties it close, making the fabric intimately cling to his body. He sits in front of the vanity and starts brushing his hair, which falls well past his shoulders in long silken tresses. When he glances at the senior Rose through the mirror, he catches her watching him closely as she dries her hands on a cloth.
“What is it now?” he sighs, raising a brow. He’s used to the woman acting overly protective around him, but today has been…exasperating.
The Rose gives him a wry smile and sets down the cloth. She strides to the dresser and gently tugs the brush from his hand much to his chagrin. Allow me,” she says, her touch soothing, if not relaxing. “I do love your hair, Rin.”
Despite himself, his heavy eyes droop close and he stifles a yawn, drowsing like a pampered pet. “Are you kidding? Most Easterners have my hair. It’s nothing special like yours.”
“I am a native Easterner as well.”
He opens an eye at that, squinting at Bucky’s reflection with incredulity. “Really? You don’t look it.”
“My father was Eastern and my mother was Northern. Obviously, I look more like my mother, but I feel every bit Eastern.”
“Hm. I suppose I do see it after all.” He hums and closes his eyes, tilting his head back to give Bucky easier reach. “So what’s bothering you? You keep looking at me like I’m about to die.”
“…”
“Wait.” His eyes snap open, brows shooting to his hairline. “Am I–?”
“No, no, of course not,” the Rose tuts, setting down the brush to free her hands. “Don’t be silly.”
“Then why–?”
“Your training,” she cuts him off, sharply. Her lips purse and she tries again, this time her tone is gentler. “Your Rosebud training. It’s to begin today.”
Silence falls thickly between them. Rin gazes blankly at his own reflection as the senior Rose deftly braids his hair with the strands from above his ears. The rest of his hair tumbles down his back, a few locks catching on his shoulders. Simple wax flowers are placed in his braid, lining the elegant knots at his temples.
When Bucky has him turn in his seat and starts dusting his face with power, he finally remembers to speak, voice cracking midway. “What…what is it like? The training? Is it anything like the…” Pupils constrict to needlepoints. His pulse quickens and a cold sweat breaks out on his forehead.
“It’s nothing like that,” Bucky says quickly, pausing to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “It will be in one of the Orchid Rooms with me and another senior Rose. The Madame has allowed me to give you medicine for your nerves, if you should require it. But it will just be the three of us for today.”
Rin pushes out a light breath and nods, shoulders relaxing. He stares quietly at the Rose as she concentrates on his face, covering the dark smudges under his tired eyes and injecting colour into his lips and cheeks with some rouge.
“Are we going to fuck?” he asks, bluntly. While he finds his friend rather attractive, he feels uneasy at the thought of being intimate with her. It’s not quite what he envisioned when he thought of becoming a Rose.
“Of course not,” Bucky says, lips twisting slightly to the side. “I am your attendant, meaning that I am responsible for preparing you sufficiently for your debut. Today, I will be assessing your skills and your tastes to see where you might fit within the palace.”
“So what’s the other Rose for?”
“Duri will be your partner. He will be acting as a client.” Seeing the frown on Rin’s face, she quickly adds, “Don’t worry. He’s quite good with Rosebuds and very discreet. Nothing you do during the assessment will leave the room.”
Rin purses his lips but says nothing more on the matter. Even if he complained, all he’d be doing is showing the Madame how unfit he is as a Rose. No, he has to gain Her acknowledgement. If he fails to pass his trial as a Rosebud, he would be immediately ousted from the palace in a disgrace. He’d rather die than disappoint the Madame.
Clenching his trembling fists, the raven pulls in a calming breath and smiles at himself in the mirror.
***
Duri sits at the low ebony table on a zabuton, sipping windroot wine from a hot ceramic cup. He’s a tall youth with a broad, strong figure and a plain face. His features are gentle and warm however, which gives him a steady beauty not often seen in the Palace. White sleep robes wrap around his firm body and his cropped mahogany hair is slicked back.
Rin can’t help but be taken by those clear black eyes, flashing gold whenever they catch the dancing flames. He stands uneasily before the young man, leaning his weight from one leg to the other.
Behind Duri, Bucky sits elegantly on the couch, face half-hidden in the flickering shadows. She smiles coolly and waves a hand at him, indicating for him to settle. “Calm yourself, Rosebud. We just have a few questions to get through and then you can show me what you can do.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just hurry it up, won’t you?” Rin grumbles, adjusting his mask for the umpteenth time. Sweat prickles the skin around the edges and causes an irritating itch.
Grey eyes flare with a sudden pop from the fireplace, a rogue flame lashing the air. “Your age?”
“Twenty? Twenty five? I dunno. Not really keeping count.”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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“…I don’t know.”
“Giver or receiver?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you enjoy in bed?”
Rin purses his lips, eyes narrowing. “I. Don’t. Know.”
The senior Rose pushes a sigh through her nose and leans back into the couch. As expected, any question that had to do with his preferences would only be met with a blank. Madame Kahin’s influence is extensive, after all.
“Good. That will make it significantly easier for you,” she says with a bitter taste in her mouth. “It’s about what the client wants and needs. Their preferences are your preferences, understand?”
The Rat clicks his teeth together, eyes narrowing. “I know that. I consider those things all the time.”
“Then show me,” the Rose says, gesturing to the silent and serene Duri with a wave of her palm. “Show me how you would treat your client.”
With a surge of false confidence, the raven smirks and saunters towards Duri, stepping smoothly over the table and dropping right into the Rose’s lap. He wraps his legs around the man’s torso, squeezing his plush thighs into his strong waist. One hand rests upon a broad shoulder while the other idly pets his chest.
Duri had slid his drink to the side when Rin’s bare feet threatened to topple his set up, thus saving his precious wine. Without breaking his serene expression, the Rose calmly drinks as he gazes up at those glittering hellebores.
Duri’s eyes flicker golden in the firelight and Rin’s heart skips a beat. His mouth goes dry. The pearl in his throat rolls several times. He tilts his head and pecks the man’s jaw, heart pounding messily in his chest.
From this angle, Duri’s face melds into another. Golden eyes that regard him with an unending warmth. That beautiful, regal nose and tender, generous mouth. His sun-kissed cheeks that flush a gentle pink when he’s being teased. And those oaken locks, always so neat without a single hair out of place…
Sighing wistfully, the raven stretches out his slender fingers to rake through the little lord’s hair, his palm coming to rest upon his nape. He angles forward, pressing their bodies together. He can feel the other’s heartbeat, steady and strong. Soft lips graze the lord’s mouth, planting featherlight kisses upon each corner.
Strong hands come to grip his lithe waist, fingers gently kneading the cushiony flesh there.
Rin’s body is awash with a brilliant heat, his core roiling like molten lava. With increasing hunger, he pushes his mouth against Jun’s, his small pink tongue forcing those tender lips open to steal a taste. His little lord tastes like wine, slightly sweet and slightly bitter. A shiver runs down his spine and he deepens the kiss, ringing his arms around the lord’s neck.
Soon, Jun responds just as enthusiastically, and the raven moans brokenly against his tender mouth as his hunger sharpens. He melts into the other, turning boneless in his lord’s arms, thighs quivering and breaths scattered. His head spins. His flesh burns. His hips grind into Jun’s lap and something rapidly hardens beneath.
Rin gasps when they part, a string of saliva connecting their swollen lips. He licks his lord’s bruised mouth with a flick of his tongue and gives an extra sultry grind, drawing a low chested rumbling from the man.
The noble tightens his grip on Rin’s hips and forcibly rocks them at an angle that causes the most exquisite friction. The raven intakes sharply as bolts of pleasure sears his loins. The friction from the cloth of his robes and the hardness below, rapidly causes his own piece to twitch and swell.
“Little lord…” Rin huffs against Jun’s cheek, dropping his temple upon his shoulder. His eyes are narrowed into molten slits, heavy with desire. “Tell me what you want–”
“Stop.” A sharp voice cuts through the thick haze of pleasure.
The rocking obediently stops. Jun’s strong hands lift the raven from his lap and sets him down upon the table. Rin sways, a little delirious. He frowns at the cold wood under his thighs, irritation clearing away the haze like a wintry blast.
When he returns to his senses, it’s a slightly flushed Duri that meets his gaze, not the little lord. Those goldens replaced with dark, feverish eyes. That tender mouth is thin and wide, tilted up into an unfamiliar grin. His little lord is gone and along with him, the raven’s passion.
He wrenches Duri’s hands away and scrambles to his feet, quickly pacing away from the man. His steps are a tad unsteady and he comes to lean against the hearth. But no matter how close he stands to the fire, he can’t seem to get rid of the chill that’s settled deep into his bones.
“Who is he?” Bucky asks, watching her shaken charge hawkishly.
“Who is who?” Rin’s voice wavers and he clenches his fists, trying desperately to control his rattling heart.
“The one you were thinking of.”
He glances to the senior Rose, scowling. “I don’t know what you’re–”
“You can’t do that. Not as a Rose.” Bucky says, her expression softening. “Whoever you have in your heart, you need to let him go. As a Rose, we’re not allowed to have anyone. Do you understand?”
“No,” Rin snaps, pushing a fist into the burning mantle. “I don’t understand.”
“We must devote our entirety to Madame Kahin. How can we properly devote ourselves to her if we hold another in our heart? This is the most important rule for a Rose, so take heed – do not fall in love.”
“It is Her will and so it shall be.” Duri’s voice rumbles beneath Bucky’s voice, his serene expression returned, along with the wine.
“Sure, I understand being devoted to the Madame.” The raven pushes himself from the hearth to glare at the senior Roses. “But how can I give her my entirety if I’m fucking twenty clients? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Lust and love are two different things, Rin. We offer her our bodies as a sign of our devotion. With more training, you will come to understand this. And you will also learn how to survive.” The last is uttered in a low tone as a sudden austerity overtakes the blonde Rose. When she stands, her piercing gaze locks onto Rin’s, holding him hostage until he acknowledges her words.
“Fine. Whatever. I still think it doesn’t make much sense.”
“It is the Madame’s will,” Duri rumbles, frowning at the petulant Rosebud. “Do you not respect Her will?”
Ice water douses his insides. His heart leaps into his throat. An unspeakable terror like none other crawls up his spine and stabs at his heart, injecting its venom deep into his flesh. “…Of course I do,” he says, tremulously, cheeks blanching chalk white. “How could I not? It is Her will…and-and so it shall be.”
Warmth alights Duri’s face. “Good. You are a fine Rosebud, Rin. I think you have potential – don’t you, Bucky?”
“Yes, he does.” Her words are as cold as her expression as she watches the raven sweat and tremble. A sombre smile touches her lips. “He has great potential.”
***
“Strip for me, please.”
His voice is soft and calm as he sits at the low table, writing notes in a beautiful cream notebook. He pauses every now and then to glance up at the Rosebud, bespectacled gaze keen and thoughtful, before jotting down a few more points.
Rin bites his lower lip, brows falling low over hesitant eyes. Normally, he’d be quite brazen about being naked before others, but there’s something about this scholarly man that makes him uneasy.
“Why? We’re not gonna fuck are we? Bucky said you weren’t a client–”
“I merely wish to get to know you.” A thin lipped smile creeps across his pasty face and his eyes flinch wide as emphasis. Other than his unhealthy complexion, he appears rather plain and mild-mannered. Even moreso in his neat three-piece Northern suit. “Sweet thing. Don’t be nervous. Father Blossom is a friend to all Roses and Rosebuds. Now please, strip for me.”
“I don’t see how stripping is gonna–”
The fountain pen is set down and Father Blossom clasps his hands together, giving the Rosebud an expectant look. It would be difficult to miss the dangerous glint in those keen umber eyes.
Throat rolling with nervous swallows and unspoken curses, Rin reluctantly slips the chiffon robes from his shoulders and lets it pool at his feet. His body still holds traces of athleticism in the arms and legs, though the rest of his flesh sticks to his bones. Old scars and marks decorate his flesh, and they give this Rosebud a tender, bruised look. Father Blossom can see multiple hands, roughly roving over this body to wound and mark as it writhes and keens helplessly beneath. He licks his lips and picks up his pen to continue writing.
Rin fidgets as he stands, hands cupped before his groin. “Um. So what’s your deal?” His voice is like thunder in this tense silence. “Is this getting you off or something?”
“…You may think of me as a Healer,” the man says, a smile digging into his slightly gaunt cheeks. “The Madame has me interview Rosebuds to judge their suitability.”
“Suitability?” Rin shivers as a cold draft licks his skin. Bumps rise across his bare flesh.
“For this kind of work, of course.”
Dark bags hang under Rin’s eyes as he endures the man’s intense scrutiny. He had spent yet another restless night trying to escape his night terrors, resorting to pricking his fingers with a needle to keep exhaustion at bay.
It’s always a relief to see Solaris’ golden light peek over the horizon, washing away the empty pitch of night.
“You may dress,” Blossom says, setting down his pen. He watches as the boy puffs a relieved sigh and quickly pulls on his robe. “Would you like some wine?”
“Sure, why not?” Rin perks up at the mention of alcohol and he sits across from the strange man in a lotus position. He grabs the proffered cup with a lopsided grin and tosses it back in one. A satisfied gasp. And then Blossom’s refilling his drink to the brim. “That’s good stuff. What is it?”
“The Essence of Yage. A rare brew from the West. It has curative properties and a mild calming effect.” The man sets down the wine jug and takes a sip of his own drink. Lenses flash in the firelight as he glances at the boy over the rim of his cup. “You have not been sleeping.”
“You don’t get much sleep in this line of work,” Rin snorts, this time taking small sips of the precious wine.
A crooked tooth pokes out from between Blossom’s lips as he quietly laughs. It’s oddly charming. “Sweet thing. I can see you becoming the most requested in no time at all.”
“Obviously,” Rin says, flipping his hair over his shoulder. “Have you seen the others? They don’t stand a chance once I debut.”
“I’ve been told that you spent four months in the Training Room.”
Herbal liquor spills over the raven’s hand. He tugs his lips back in a grimace and lowers his eyes. “What of it?” he grits, sticky fingers turning white around the cup.
“To spend that long in the Room would have a serious impact on your mental stability.” Father Blossom picks up his pen and jots down a sentence or two. His handwriting is sharp and precise in its cursive script. “Rosebuds commonly experience insomnia, night terrors, nausea, and panic. Sometimes one can be subjected to hallucinations. Do you suffer from any of these symptoms?”
Rin digs his teeth into the rim of his cup, gnawing on the ceramic absently. He narrows his eyes at the man before responding with a wary, “Maybe.”
“Which ones specifically?”
“…I don’t sleep. And sometimes I get a little panicked. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He drains his cup and wriggles it under the man’s nose. Blossom smiles and patiently refills his drink.
“You dream about what you experienced in the Room.”
The boy doesn’t drink. Instead, he squeezes his cup between his hands. Hellebores are stark and deep within his masked face, the colour long drained from his cheeks. “Every night,” he mutters, staring into the nether. “I get dismantled. Every part of myself is disassembled and destroyed until there’s nothing left. The emptiness it leaves behind is…it makes death seem like life in comparison.”
His pale lips tremble and he quickly takes a big gulp of his wine. Liquor spills down his chin and drips from his jaw. “But then…” The creases smooth out in his forehead as his expression softens. “But then She comes to me. She fills in the empty spaces and makes me feel whole again. She saves me.” He raises his eyes to Blossom’s, the latter’s gaze penetrating and hungry. “Even so, I’d much rather forgo sleep than to experience that emptiness again.”
Blossom flips over to a fresh page, the nib of his fountain pen sweeping across the page in a controlled frenzy. “Why do you think it took four months for your training? As I understand it, most Rosebuds only require a week or two on average.”
“The Madame said it was because I had too many problems. It was too messy and noisy up here,” he taps his temple, “so She had difficulty showing me Her love. She had to fix me first, before I could become fully devoted to Her.”
“And now? How is the mess and the noise?”
“Better,” Rin shrugs, lips twisted into a wry smile. “When I only need to devote myself to Her, things are a lot easier to deal with.”
“Tell me – what do you fear the most?” Father Blossom pauses in his writing to slip off his spectacles.
“…I’m afraid of not receiving Her acknowledgement.” The boy squirms a little, pressing his forefinger into the rim of his cup. “I’m scared of leaving. I don’t ever want to be apart from Her. To feel that emptiness again. I…” He shudders and drains his cup.
“And what about before the palace? Before you met the Madame? What were your fears then?”
This gives the raven some pause. He blinks at Blossom with gaping eyes, plump lips pursed in confusion. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have a lover? Betrothed? An unrequited love?”
The Rat pauses when a flicker of gold tickles his periphery. Cold sweat dampens his back. “…No. I don’t have anyone. Only the Madame.”
Blossom gives him a narrow look. “No, of course not.” He slips his glasses back on and continues writing. “It appears you are quite suited for this work.”
He closes the notebook before the ink fully dries and tucks the pen into his breast pocket. “I will recommend you to debut. But if anything changes, anything at all, you call for me. Do not forget – Father Blossom is your friend.”
Rin blinks before huffing incredulously. “Sure. Friend.” And then he promptly takes advantage of his new friend by downing the rest of the Essence of Yage.
***
That afternoon, a restless group of Roses gather in the front garden as Father Blossom strides towards the main gate. Beside him is a willowy grey faced Rose, her arms linked around the man’s as she obediently follows.
Rin finds Bucky in the crowd and slips in beside, giving her a poke in the arm. “What’s going on? Who’s that?” He glances at his friend’s grim face and, after sweeping his gaze around, he realises that everyone’s expressions are just as dour.
“Father Blossom has chosen a Rose to take home,” Bucky says, hands curling into tight fists. Stormy eyes barely contain the tempest within. “Senna’s only been here for half a year. She’s hardly older than you.”
“Doesn’t matter,” a sharp voice calls out to their left. Delilah steps into view, arms crossed and holding a sour look on her face. “She tried to run away last night after ransacking the palace. There’s no going back from that.”
“I think I’d rather be retrained than go with Father Blossom,” another Rose mutters, and there’s a chorus of agreement and nodding heads.
“That should have been you,” Delilah says, glaring at Bucky with burning slits. “Senna may be stupid but it’s expected from a new Rose like her. You, on the other hand. You’ve been here the longest out of anyone and you still haven’t learned your lesson.”
The other Roses fall silent, awkwardly glancing between the two warring women. Delilah is a fierce presence and many are reluctant to stir her ire. Bucky is the senior most Rose and well respected amongst her peers. This is a conflict that none wished to be a part of.
“Again, you question the Madame’s judgement,” Bucky says, coolly. “If you take issue with how she handles punishment, then you can raise your concerns with her. There is little I can do for you.”
“You think you’re invincible, don’t you? That you can get away with anything?”
“Perhaps.”
Delilah scoffs loudly, glancing around at the others with an outraged expression. “Do you hear this? Don’t you see how she’s abusing her seniority?” She turns an ugly sneer at the blonde, cheeks turning blotchy from upset. “Enjoy it while you can, Bucky. This isn’t going to last. One day, you’re going to go too far, and even the Madame won’t be able to keep you safe.”
“Until that day, will you stop acting like a jilted lover and leave me be?”
“Fucking bitch.”
“That I am,” Bucky clips, apathetically.
Delilah lurches forward, fists raised as if she were about to throw one into Bucky’s face–
Only for Duri to step in between the women like a hulking brick wall. Her fist harmlessly bounces off his firm chest and she flaps her sore hand with a hiss. “Duri!” Delilah growls through grit teeth. “Why are you protecting her?”
Duri frowns at the irascible Rose, his black eyes clear and stern as he stares down at her in silence.
“You are exhausting,” she snaps, jabbing her finger in his face.
He blinks slowly, expression not changing an inch.
Realising that this giant golem of a man won’t be giving in, Delilah huffs, spins on her heels, and shoves her way through the crowd.
After giving Rin and Bucky a short nod, Duri follows after her.
The raven hums a laugh and turns his attention from the miniature spat. He gazes after the figures of Father Blossom and the Rose, disappearing through the giant green gates. “So…he hired her. What’s the big deal? A Healer can get lonely too.”
“Healer?” Bucky gives Rin a confused look, before realisation catches her tongue. “No, that’s not the problem. You see, when Father Blossom takes a Rose, they don’t come back.”
“What? So he buys Roses?”
“Perhaps.” The senior Rose sighs and grabs Rin’s hand, tugging him back inside. “It’s nothing to worry about. As long as you follow the rules, you don’t have to concern yourself about Father Blossom. Understand?”
Rin blinks at the woman as he follows her in a daze. “Should I stay away from the guy?”
“That might be for the best, yes.”
“He told me he was my friend,” the Rat says, smirking. “I feel bad for neglecting a friend.”
Bucky rolls her eyes and jerks on his hand. “Come on, stop dragging your feet. I need to give you the elixirs for your debut.”
“Elixirs?”
“You know, to prevent diseases and pregnancies–”
“But I can’t get pregnant,” Rin says, wrinkling his nose.
“You can get clients pregnant, Rin, dear gods. And that would be a complete and utter shitshow. Believe you me, I’ve seen it happen before. Twice. And both of the Roses were taken away by Father Blossom.”
“…So how many do I have to take?”
***
The Rosebud stands alone on the vast stage, cast in a gentle white light. Before him is a sea of shadows rolling fitfully like wind tossed waves. There’s a hum of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and bottles, chopsticks and cutlery scraping dishes, chair legs skidding across the floor, footsteps rushing about this way and that.
The Rosebud trembles, trying not to squint into the spotlight. He’s a breathtaking vision, unearthly and spectral. His charcoal hair and eyes are deeper than the midnight sky against his complexion, pale like snow jadeite. Diaphanous robes elegantly drape over his form, tantalisingly sheer. His body shimmers beneath the alabaster fabric like an illusion, teasing tender flesh and silken skin. White gold flowers adorn his sable tresses that tumble over his shoulders and down his back in luscious curls. Sight alone is enough to draw the attention of every single patron – and soon, the cacophony dies to a tense, anticipating silence.
At an invisible cue, a clear weeping note snakes its way into the hall. Chasing after it like an anxious dragonfly are delicate plucked notes. Two instruments weave around each other, intimately entwined one moment, then scattered apart the next. The melody is wistful and mournful. A lost love. A missing memory. The graze of another’s touch and a lingering warmth. The separation of death. The scars left in life. One is sometimes alone. One is sometimes with another, but barely.
The Rosebud glides across the stage, bare feet padding and twisting with every fluid, dreamy motion. Delicate gossamer ripple and flutter through the air, following every movement like a tapered brush stroke. He’s a little awkward, a little clumsy. He misses a step here, sways too hard there, his breathing is uneven, his pulse moreso, and the sweat of exertion glitters upon his flexing, flushed skin like a million diamontes.
And yet, the audience is completely entranced.
When the final notes ring in the air, when the final flutter of sleeves settle, a coin is tossed onto the stage. It skips across the surface and lands at his bare feet. A pure silver token embossed with the symbol of a luscious bloom. The Rose sweeps his hand down and picks it up between finger and thumb, the metal still warm from his first client’s hand.
Nooooo baby Riiin 😢😢😢
Yuki I swear you better let him be with his little lord soon 🥲
Both madame kahin and her organization/(probably satanic) sect can go die, thank
Thank you for the chapter!! ❤️❤️
Its a cult ngl…