Crimson Sakura

Mitsuka stood there, dream like and peaceful, as she watched the burning sun sink lower and lower on the horizon. Cherry blossoms drifted lazily in the breath of the gentle spring breeze, as she turned abruptly to the sound of a horse and rider. In the distance, she saw someone on horseback approaching at break-neck speed. The thundering of hooves broke the serenity of the sunset as they beat at the ground, and Mitsuka watched, curious, as the stranger approached faster and faster. Fragrant cherry blossoms stuck in her hair like pink and white snowflakes as she waited. The thunder drew nearer... and she could tell it was a man.

Mitsuka shifted slightly, her hand falling to her side as the rider was nearly upon her, and with inhuman speed, she drew her katana with one quick motion. Time seemed to stop as she held her follow through; her katana gleamed in the dying sun like a shining, steel arrow. There was no thunder of hooves now, just the belated death whine of the horse that she felled as it hit the ground.

Mitsuka regained her calm stance once again, and smoothly sheathed her katana. There was not a crimson drop on her white hakama as she turned her attention towards the rider. Cherry blossoms streamed past her beautiful, dispassionate face, and their scent was heavy in the air, mingled with the scent of blood. The rider regained his feet and moved to quickly draw his sword, but Mitsuka was faster and with a flick of her wrist the rider was disarmed and her katana was at his throat. She saw the mon on his chest and her eyes narrowed.

Another ruined sunset…

There was no cry, only the momentary disturbance of the cherry blossoms’ course as they where briefly tossed in a flurry by Mitsuka’s swift sword.
She raised her eyes skyward, even as the rider at her feet began to dissolve into a sticky, red pool of slime.

Is there nothing sacred?

She didn’t think so. Not in this lifetime. Mitsuka sheathed her sword. They were coming, and soon it would be true. Nothing would be sacred. She turned back to the cherry trees, determined to watch the rest of the fleeting sun. She needed to feel that there was more to her life than just the blood on her sword. Suddenly, she heard a faint whistle and then sharp pain pierced her. Once. Twice. Three times.

Mitsuka saw the last shreds of sun disappear as she fell forward into the cherry tree, her back full of arrows. Half-rotted skeletal archers loomed in the fields surveying their kill. Satisfied at the slumped, and bloodied figure, they shambled off. If her wounds didn’t kill her, the poison would.

Nothing’s sacred… Mitsuka thought as she began to slide down the trunk of the tree that she so desperately clung to so she could remain upright. Nothing…

Her eyes closed and there was nothing but the whisper of cherry blossoms across her cheeks. Her last hazy thoughts were of Somei, and then there was silence once more.