effleurage.
Title: effleurage.
Pairing: Victoria-centric; very minor sultoria
Genre: drama
Rating: PG
Length: one-shot; 6,089 words
viii.
Victoria wakes up in a room with gleaming glass windows that allow the radiant sunshine from outside to stream onto her bed. The birds perched on the willow by her balcony are alive with the excited chirp of their song and the melodic glee with which they greet the sun above them - merrily and joyous, as per usual. The room itself is quite large with a pale pink and white motif, and the extravagant canopy bed on which the young woman lies is cushioned with soft ivory comforters and rose-colored pillows. Above her head, the drapes of her cover shimmer with a coral shade that dances in the light’s rays as though they are encrusted with diamonds. Along with the minute finish of platinum gold sprinkled throughout the room, it truly looks like the residence of a princess.
Which should be so, because if anyone could be considered royalty within their perfect society, it would surely be the daughter of the Magistrate herself. After all, that would only make sense.
The young woman allows a small smile to grace her features as she lightly steps out of bed to cross over to the balcony on the opposite side of the room in order to survey the masterpiece of her father’s creation.
Though the town below her is by no means large (even from her high position atop the small hill) it’s clear that it gives off an aura of peaceful harmony: something that she knows is rare in other areas of the world in the world in which they inhabit.
If possible, her grin widens, and she stifles a yawn before heading back to bed because she knows that if any trouble arises, her father will assuage the situation before she even bats an eyelash.
After all, that is his job, and Victoria doesn’t see the point in arguing with the elderly man when she can spend her hours doing otherwise.
Sleep has always been her favorite pastime, especially since she’s started dreaming of a beautiful woman whose looks are able to rival even her own, twirling in an endless meadow of flowers while her laughter - the jingling of bells - sounds throughout the landscape and rejuvenates the entire land.
Victoria doesn’t know who she is and doesn’t know if the woman in her dreams even exists, but she supposes that that doesn’t really matter as long as the girl continues spinning and smiling and giggling and singing because Victoria finds that seeing this figment of her imagination beaming so brightly is enough to make even the sun’s perfect rays fade to gray in comparison.
iii.
Victoria wakes in a room with opaque windows that filter the sunlight from outside, making sure that the blinding rays don’t nudge her awake too harshly. The only noise that echoes through the cramped room is a fuzzy static from some unknown source, creeping through the walls and into the young woman’s ears. Not that that’s too difficult to do, of course, seeing as the size of the room is barely large enough for her to pace around and the sad excuse for her bed is simply a worn mattress covered in mothball-infested sheets thrown precariously onto the cement floor.
It’s uncomfortable and she hates it, but perhaps there’s nothing that she can really do about it. After all, it would be horrible if she thought that she could have everything because she already does.
Victoria floats in a perfect utopia of her father’s creation, so having the audacity to complain about her current surroundings would be nothing short of selfish and ridiculous.
She already knows that.
So with a sigh, she stretches her arms and forces herself to place her feet on the floor, ignoring the urge to wince at the harsh texture of the cement below her. As though it is some sort of subconscious habit, she finds herself moving towards the blurred picture of the town below her that the window provides. Her dainty hand slowly raises itself to touch the distorted glass, and Victoria finds herself faintly amused at the scene that is before her: a sizable town, bustling with high-tech transportation systems, busy streets, and smiling faces.
It’s all thanks to her father, of course. As long as the citizens of the older man’s utopia are happy, then she shouldn’t upset herself with the current dilemma of her living conditions. The dirty room is a well-kept secret; something that the shining eyes of their populous know nothing about.
And she intends to keep it that way.
With that final reassurance of a faded promise, Victoria hesitantly parts from the view of the town in the valley below the hill, before twirling around in order to exit the ugly room and releasing the idea of it from her memory.
vi.
Victoria can’t remember when she woke up, but she supposes that she must have at some point as she is currently seated in the throne room to her father’s left, watching as he tries to compensate for some of the neglect that this elderly man is complaining about. He seems to be angered by the neighboring waters of the ocean whose tides softly lick the outskirts of their island paradise, but Victoria doesn’t understand why this upsets him.
She could have sworn that yesterday, this man (or at least, someone who looks strikingly similar to him) had come to complain about the lack of water for the fishing industry. He had said something about how the delicate rivers of their valley home had become so miniscule that there was no way for the villagers to capture the salmon that used to run within them, which is funny, because the villagers have never lived in a valley before and they’ve always lived on the island.
Then again, she’s not very sure about this statement. All she knows is that she lives on the hill and that she’s lived on this hill ever since she started counting.
Victoria has never been good at properly recalling the order of events or the time at which they occurred, and she finds that, more often than not, she orders entire days in the incorrect chronological order. It sounds burdensome, but the young woman doesn’t bother to concern herself with it.
After all, time is just time. And in this perfect world, Victoria has all the time in the world.
(The man yells something about the recurring theme of change before stomping out of the hearing, but Victoria finds that she doesn’t really care. She thinks that this selfish man is simply taking everything he has - everything that her father has worked so hard to achieve for his citizens - for granted.)
(It makes her squirm in her jeweled chair with anger.)
x.
Victoria counts the number ten, but logic tells her that that would be impossible. After all, her conscious is insisting that this event could only occur after she counted the number six. But Victoria has never been particularly good at counting, so maybe this shouldn’t make her as uncomfortable as she is now.
In her father’s stateroom, the councilmen have gathered to argue about the rumors of a rebellion taking place within the metropolis. The young woman sits across from her father in her delicate chair of porcelain with wide eyes, not entirely sure what is going on and unable to follow the fast-paced conversation that is being held between her father and his advisors.
But what she does realize is that the people within the paradise that her father had struggled so intensely to create have found the audacity to be ungrateful enough that the officials surrounding the community have caught wind of ploys to overthrow her father and issue a democracy.
However, their society is already a democracy. It’s a flawless, foolproof system that elected her father as the head official to call the shots to keep their already perfect world clear of any troublesome issues that may arise during his reign.
Victoria doesn’t understand these people or where they’re coming from. Especially since she knows that her father goes out of his way to make the people of their utopia as happy as they can possibly be - he has never once made a promise that he has not kept. And she can personally attest to that, because she has silently declared it to be her duty to remind him of anything that may casually slip his mind.
After all, age really does do things to the memory of an individual.
The meeting ends without drawing a proper conclusion or formulating an intricate course of action because this is the first time in their history that their happiness has been attacked by the tides of revolt. Her father is a reeling mess, still unable to come to terms with the fact that his reign has been encompassed with such a horrible stain of imperfection, does nothing but continue to sit in his seat at the table with glazed, vacant eyes. And no matter what Victoria does in an attempt to gain his attention, it seems as though it’s all in vain.
She decides that come the next day, she’ll start to take matters into her own hands.
xiii.
Victoria wakes at the crack of dawn when the larks have yet to rise in order to sing their melancholy song and the water of the lake that their village is centered around catches the rays of the sun in a truly breathtaking way.
Her room’s color scheme is that of an ivory white with specks of lavender thrown about here and there, and the simplicity of it all makes the young woman squirm in discomfort because she swears that something is a bit off about it all, but she can’t quite point out what it is exactly.
She’s never been good with details because details have never been that important. In her worry-free world where everything is picturesque and perfect, it only makes sense if she allowed herself to be swept away like flower petals in the wind of time.
The young woman dresses herself in a simple navy dress that ends in a bell right above her knees with dark stockings and a pair of black creepers. After affixing a single red ribbon in her hair, she quietly exits her grandiose room and, eventually, the castle on the hill itself.
It’s not until she’s hit by a pleasant breeze that she realizes that she can’t recall the last time she left the confines of her home. The thought intrigues her, but she can’t find the strength to dwell on the idea for long. She glances upwards to see the sky of the rising sun in its various shades of violet, scarlet, and gold, painting their paradise with its stretching shadows of warmth and awakening each individual as it gently strokes their cheeks. The tingling sensation on the ends of her nerves pleases her enough to make her smile and gives her the strength to continue down the path towards the village enveloped in the valley beneath her hilltop abode.
As she carefully meanders towards the base of the natural affixture, she hears a sudden crunching of leaves from her right, and quickly pivots to stare at the unseen individual in shock.
Initially because of their abrupt appearance; soon after because of the sudden burst of recognition.
At the bottom of the hill sits a cherry blossom tree: its branches parted and reaching for the sky in desperation and the blushing petals of its flowers a stark contrast to what Victoria sees as an otherwise monochrome world. The blossoms are full and brimming with purity, surely enough to cause any individual to stop whatever they’re doing and gaze longingly at its beauty, all of them longing to reach out and grab a piece of the perfection for themselves, but none of them finding the audacity to do so. After all, there is a certain price to pay for touching something that you know is forbidden.
It is here, under the skeletal woodworks that Victoria sees her: a young woman, surely younger than she is, with hair the color of cinnamon brushed towards her left shoulder and a simple, shapeless, white dress concealing her form. The color of her skin is pale in pallor - a clear difference to the harsh saturation of the wood behind her.
What startles Victoria is the fact that she can recognize her. Or at least, she thinks she can recognize her.
She isn’t sure where it all comes from, but flashes of an endless meadow and a twirling dress and the jingling of bells scatter her vision and her world begins to spin around her at an alarming rate and suddenly Victoria begins to doubt her original intentions of leaving the safety of her hilltop home.
But then the young woman sitting beneath the tree raises her eyes to meet hers and Victoria’s world instantly comes to a standstill.
Her amber orbs look tired and vacant, yet they somehow manage to shine with the light of a million stars which shouldn’t be possible (but then again, perfection itself shouldn’t be possible), and she sits beside the trunk and surpasses its splendor.
Victoria finds herself moving towards the mysterious woman without fully understanding why.
“Good morning,” comes the voice. “I don’t usually see people awake this early. You frightened me.”
Victoria angrily chastises herself for nonexistent carelessness and whispers an apologetic, “I’m sorry.”
The younger woman turns to face her with a small smile, “Don’t be.”
She gestures for Victoria to take a seat beside her which she gladly does.
A silence settles between the two individuals: the stranger lost in thought as she stares upwards at the blossoming flowers and Victoria lost in thought as she stares at the stranger. She knows well enough that staring is rude, but she feels that she can’t be bothered to care because something in the back of her mind is whispering that it won’t be long before this perfect being becomes only faded fragments of memories that lull her to sleep as her eyes gently shut.
There’s only so much time left.
“The petals will be falling soon.”
Her voice shakes Victoria from her trance and it takes her a moment to retrieve an intelligible response from the depths of her mind. “What do you mean? It looks like they’ve just blossomed.”
The woman beside her only shakes her head lightly, “That means nothing. They’ve awoken from their slumber. Just because you’re newly arisen doesn’t exempt you from death’s cold blade.” Victoria blinks at these words, not expecting such pessimistic sentiments to escape the scarlet pair of lips beside her. “There’s only so much time left before they’ll be gone. But it’ll only be then that we’ll all be free.”
If she had thought that forming a proper response had been difficult earlier, then Victoria is surely at a loss for course of action now. She opens her mouth momentarily but closes it almost instantly.
It is during this time that the petite figure beside her rises to her feet with a sad sigh.
“Everything will change once the rebellion begins.”
The mention of rebellion quickly brings Victoria to her naïve senses.
"You know of the rebellion?” She, too, stands up out of her former sitting position in order to properly address the younger woman once more. “Please, what can you tell me about it? I’m willing to do anything to stop it.”
“It’s something that cannot be stopped. The gears are already in motion, Lady Victoria.”
She feels herself turn rigid, “How did you know my name? I don’t believe that we ever introduced ourselves.”
“It’s never too late to do so,” comes the nonchalant response. “My name is Jinri. Now excuse me, but I have to get going.”
Victoria blinks in surprise at the woman’s smooth departing statements before hurrying to grab the other’s wrist to prevent her from disappearing. “Why are the people upset? Why do they want to overthrow my father?”
There’s a beat of silence as Jinri stares in silent surprise at the harsh grip around her arm and she makes no move to respond until Victoria hesitantly lets go. The younger woman quietly regards the bright red finger marks that offer a contrast just as similar to the one that belonged to her and the tree before finally murmuring, “Because this world of ours holds no true form. One day we live in this world and the next day we’ll live in another. The people are tired of forcing smiles and pretending that they’re happy. All they want to do right now is wake up - and they’ll do anything in their power to do so.”
Not a single one of her words makes sense to Victoria, whose head can only reel in confusion.
But perhaps this is the younger woman’s intention as she allows a bright smile to grace her features in contrast to the older woman’s confused frown. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, Victoria. There’s only so much time left until then.”
Victoria blinks for a mere second due to her confusion, and when her eyes open once more, Jinri is gone.
Victoria has never been that good when it came to counting, but she’s quick to realize that she needs to learn. Fast.
Time has gained significance, as have the array of details that merge together to create the ticking clock on her wall: the gears spinning against one another behind its face, the delicate brush strokes that have formed its numerals, the golden hands that she now realizes move at an alarmingly slow rate.
It’s all important.
And it’s all disappearing quickly.
xiv.
Victoria doesn’t have time to survey her surroundings because she doesn’t even remember falling asleep the night before.
She had intended to talk to her father about the words spoken by the young woman, but she supposes that if she can’t even remember laying her head to rest, then it’s highly likely that she also didn’t bother taking the time to speak to him.
With a string of mumbled curses, Victoria sets her feet on the glass of the floor below her, grabs a coat to cover up her nightgown, and rushes towards her father’s chambers.
She knocks once, twice, and then throws the door open without waiting for a proper response.
Unsurprisingly, her father is already fully dressed in his day attire, sitting by his desk by the window, looking deep in thought. At his daughter’s sudden arrival, he hurriedly turns to face her with a worried expression of surprise, “Oh, it’s just you, Victoria! What’s the matter, darling? You look absolutely horrified!”
“Father, have you received any news regarding the current status of the rebellion?”
The old man blinks at the direct nature of her question before slowly shaking his head, “No, I don’t believe that I have. But I don’t want you to worry about that too much: I assure you that the Council and I will handle the situation appropriately. I promise that no harm will come to anyone once we are able to make the rebel leaders see sense.”
“But do you even know what it is that they want?” she asks. “What course of action could you possibly be planning if you don’t even know why the people are so angry?”
He says nothing for a moment but his expression is one of pure exasperation. “We’re all trying our best, Victoria. I don’t suppose that you have any clue on the matter?”
She parts her lips in order to properly answer him but is surprised when she finds herself hesitant to do so. The idea makes her squirm in discomfort as her conscious screams for her to keep her mouth shut, but logic is telling her that this confession is the best course of action for the sake of her utopia, so she forces the words through her lips. “I left the castle yesterday and came across one of the village girls. She told me that the people are upset because of something about our world having no true form? I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’m almost certain that if we try to talk to the village people more and more, we’ll be able to properly find the meaning behind her words and -“
The Magistrate cuts her off with a sad sigh. “I was afraid that it would come to this. My child, there is nothing that we can do now. If this is what is upsetting the people, then there’s no hope for our salvation - and if they were intelligent enough to stop and properly think of the situation, they would realize that there’s no hope for them as well.”
Victoria feels her heart drop in her chest as she had thought that this information would produce a more optimistic response. She figures that she should at least be somewhat curious about how easily her father understood what she could barely manage to recite, but she finds that doing so would be in vain. “But… We can still try to find a solution to all this, right, Father?”
The old man forces a sad smile before standing up out of his position in order to lovingly ruffle his daughter’s hair. “There’s never any harm in trying, Victoria. Always remember that.”
Despite knowing that her hopes had been dashed instantly because Jinri had been right when she claimed that there was evidently nothing that could be done to stop the coming rebellion, Victoria finds herself throwing on another one of her expensive dresses in order to meander down the pathway once more to see if perhaps she can find the younger woman sitting at the base of that cherry blossom tree even though she feels as though she’s hours late.
(Then again, Victoria can never be too sure since the concept of time is something that she’s just beginning to force herself to become familiar with.)
She’s surprised at the lush smell of a thick forest around her, occupying every component of her vision with an endless ocean of trees. She racks her mind for some sort of explanation to this because she could’ve sworn that there had been no river flowing beside the bark of the cherry blossom tree - with flowers that are in full bloom - that she had seen yesterday because she would’ve remembered a detail like that. She knows that once the blossoms begin their graceful ballet towards the tender land of the earth, a few will settle within the river’s glistening water, making the scene even more picturesque than it already is.
She would remember something like that.
She knows that she would remember something like that.
So why can’t she?
The thought plagues her: a whisper in the back of her mind insisting that there’s something wrong - that there’s something that she’s not getting but she just can’t put her finger on it.
However, as soon as she catches sight of the petite, young woman leaning against the base of the tree, her anxious heart allows itself to settle more within her chest.
Jinri is clad in a formless white dress and her wavy, auburn locks are brushed towards her left shoulder. Her eyes are shut, making the dark rows of her lashes look like tiny butterflies caressing the smoothness of her pale skin. Rosy red lips seem to be the only true component of color present on her figure, and Victoria can’t help but wonder why she feels like she’s stumbled across a similar scene before.
As she allows herself to step nearer to the seemingly slumbering woman, Victoria casts the thoughts away. It isn’t until she takes her seat next to the petite frame that Jinri stirs in order to rest her head on the older woman’s shoulder, butterflies fluttering away as her gentle eyes open.
“I told you that there was nothing you could do.”
The blunt nature of the words stings considerably, but Victoria still somehow manages a weak, “There’s always something that you can do. There has to be.”
Jinri laughs, but this time, instead of hearing the laughter of innocent fairies, Victoria hears something darker and more malevolent - something that she can’t quite name.
It scares her.
“You’re the only one who can actually do anything in this world. Haven’t you managed to come to that conclusion yet?"
Victoria shakes her head slowly. She doesn’t understand where the younger woman is coming up with these conclusions, but she knows that it would be ridiculous to actually argue with her because she speaks with this erudite sort of intelligence that simply doesn’t seem natural for someone of her age. Despite her logic telling her that this all seems like a grand trick of some sorts, there’s still a small voice nagging at the back of her mind, begging her to hear what this girl has to say. “I don’t understand what you mean. The only individual who’s able to make laws in our utopia is my father, and the things that I do have little to no influence on any of his actions.”
Another giggle.
“Oh, you’re still so wrong, still so ignorant to the world around you. To your world around you.” There’s an amused smile on her lips - one that would belong to a child who knows a secret and refuses to tell it. “You’re the one who started the rebellion and you’re the only one who can stop it. You’re the only one who created the world in which we live in, so you’re the only one who can fix it. It’s too bad that our heroine is too sleepy to understand what’s going on. Perhaps we’ve all been forsaken from the very start.” The mirth in her chuckle returns, making Victoria shiver - that is, if the words themselves weren’t enough to do so.
“Now you’re just not making any sense,” she begins uneasily. “I’m not tired at all. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours now.”
“And why should I trust your judgment of time above mine? In all honesty, can you, yourself, even trust the ticking of the clock? Shouldn’t an individual like you be able to easily twist and bend the hours of time to your choosing?” Her words only confuse Victoria further, and sensing this, she shifts her weight in order to sit up straight as she continues, “You feel like you’re late to our meeting right? This meeting that we didn’t even properly schedule? Haven’t you wondered why I showed up here in the first place, or why I came here hours later than I usually do? Aren’t you curious as to the reason why I’m actually here and not elsewhere?”
Victoria is unable to answer any of these questions because, frankly, she doesn’t understand what any of the questions mean.
So Jinri answers for herself.
“Because this is what you have willed. And whatever you wish for, we must give in to.”
Millions of questions race through Victoria’s mind, but she finds herself unable to answer any of them.
The heavy silence weighs on both of their shoulders for what feels like an eternity, until Jinri steps up out of her position to follow the river south towards the village.
She doesn’t leave the older woman with so much as a parting word.
xv.
“Father, something needs to be done about the situation with the villagers.”
The elderly man sighs at these words, raking a hand through thin wisps of grayed locks. “My child, I don’t think that there’s anything that I can really do to stop the coming battle. All we can do is pray that it won’t be too damaging to our estate and that no one will get hurt.”
Perhaps under normal circumstances, this answer would have been good enough for the young woman. But taking into account the recent events of her given situation, the words only frustrate her. “If you can’t do anything, then what can I do? There’s something that I must be able to do; something you’re not telling me about.” This accusation makes him quickly turn towards her in surprise: lips parted but voice mute. “Father, if you care about your people as much as I do, then you have to let me know what I’m missing. You have to give me the missing pieces of the puzzle so that I’ll be able to solve it.”
“I can’t do that, Qian.”
Victoria blinks, “Qian? Who is Qian?”
Her father simply stares right through her as he monotonously asks, “And who is Victoria?” in retaliation.
The words send her mind reeling, and once she closes her eyes for a split second in order to gather her thoughts, the old man is gone.
Victoria runs through the castle and towards the cherry blossom tree as fast as she possibly can because she needs answers, and it’s frustrating her that she isn’t getting any of them.
Between the smug metaphors of the younger woman and the nonsensical monosyllables of her father, she figures that the former is her best choice for a source of information.
And besides, the former is much more appealing for her to look at.
But she supposes that that’s beside the point.
The barren landscape before resembles that of a desert, and for a split second, as she’s dashing towards her meeting spot with Jinri, she frets about whether or not she’ll actually get there in time and if the tree is still there and if Jinri is still there.
Her doubts are cast aside as soon as she realizes that the beautiful cherry blossom tree has materialized in front of her: the young woman in the simplistic white dress sitting within its branches and delicately caressing the few gentle blooms it has left.
Victoria blinks in surprise and quietly chastises herself for not being aware of her surroundings. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot - why is she just realizing that she had forgotten her shoes? - and allows he toes to wiggle themselves into the grainy sand at her feet. It shouldn’t make sense that a lush tree such as the one before her is able to survive in such a harsh climate and Victoria knows that. She knows that that doesn’t make sense at all and becomes further stressed when she realizes that she can’t remember what the tree looked like yesterday.
“It looks like you’re still stuck at square one. I told you that there wasn’t a point in trying,” Jinri states with an air of innocence. Her legs dangle as though they are extensions of the branches in which she sits, dancing in the heavy wind of the desert. “Then again, I suppose that when an artist inserts a piece of himself into the world of his creation, it becomes difficult for him to escape it.”
The older woman sighs, and not knowing what else to do, allows herself to drop down to her knees in an exasperated heap. Last night, before she had gone to bed, she had tried to piece together the information that she knows (or at least, what she thinks she knows) with the metaphors that escape the mysterious bright red lips, but all to no avail. In fact, it’s beginning to become clear to her that perhaps this entire concept is something that will forever be out of her grasp; something that, no matter how hard she tries, will always elude her like a fleeting dream after moments of her awakening.
It pains her.
“I’m no artist,” she deadpans, not knowing what else to say. She isn’t sure if she’s supposed to take the young woman’s words literally, but she feels that at this point, she doesn’t really have any other choice.
“Oh, but aren’t we all? An artist is not a profession, after all. It can be, but we each possess the qualities to assume that role ourselves, don’t you think?” Jinri counters instantly. “And I think that that’s the case you’re in right now. Perhaps you don’t intend to be the artist, but you’ve simply been forced into the position. It just so happens that this is a job that you can’t resign from.”
Victoria regards the words in silence for a moment, realizing that it’s probably the closest she’ll ever be to clearly deciphering the meaning behind the young woman’s words. She comes to the conclusion that the best path to understanding lies not through the route of argument, but rather through going along with the metaphor that dances through the air.
“But isn’t it true that an artist is not an artist without a vision? Without a motive, the splatters of paint are nothing more than shapeless colors that refuse to blend and awkward shapes that look horrid and unnatural. If this is the case, then wouldn’t the artist lose their job?”
Jinri beams down from her perch, and in a sudden burst of excitement, drops down to face Victoria directly. “That’s right, that’s right! But the art isn’t real, so neither is the composition. Everything is just in the artist’s head because she can’t put it down on paper until she wakes up. Now that the artist is trapped in her nightmare, she’s forced to relive day after day after day of creation without understanding the true depth of what it is that she does. No matter how hard she tries, the world of an artist cannot maintain stability. After all, a constant environment has no hope for expression at all.”
Victoria’s eyes widen with a sudden understanding while Jinri’s face instantly darkens as she realizes that perhaps she’s said too much. She steps away from the Magistrate’s daughter, eyes averted and assuming a persona of extreme aloofness.
The older woman quietly picks at the strands of her long, wavy locks, not wanting to accept the reality of the situation that has been thrust upon her. “But that doesn’t ‘make sense. That doesn’t sound plausible. It can’t be real.”
“You may choose to believe whatever you wish to believe. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”
A sigh echoes throughout the empty desert as Victoria quietly asks, “Then please just answer me this: why do we sleep? Why are some people subject to a loss of the perception of time and waste away living but not really living? How is that possible? Why is that possible?”
“Because we aren’t loved and so we can’t love. We fall victim to the world of sleep because a fabricated lie is better than the cruel truth.”
Victoria closes her eyes at the words in an attempt to compose herself but allows a single tear to slip through her defenses.
When she opens her eyes again, the tree and Jinri have disappeared.
It begins to pour heavy sobs from the sky and Victoria realizes that she’s beginning to lose hope - if it all hasn’t disappeared already.
xvi.
When Victoria wakes up, it is in a blank white room with no shadows and no light. It is a void of pure emptiness and the more rational side of her registers the feeling of sadness, but she’s decided to throw all rationality out the window because it seems to never really do her any good.
She slips through what she imagines to be a closed door and desperately tries to stumble across someone - anyone - just for some sort of reassurance that she isn’t actually alone.
It feels like hours and hours have gone by, so she eventually gives up after finding no one.
There’s an emptiness with its root at the pit of her stomach, churning her very body into an uncomfortable mess of wanton cries and desperate possibilities of escape, but she knows that no matter how hard she tries to fight the feeling, it’ll be impossible to make it disappear.
So she closes her eyes and sits within the empty space around her, fighting the urge to cry out and plea for assistance.
After what feels like centuries, she opens them once more.
A cherry blossom tree made of dainty porcelain branches has appeared in front of her, only a single crystal blossom left.
Her heart skips a beat.
Victoria quietly walks towards the tree and strokes the petals of the delicate flower with the utmost care.
Another tear falls.
Then another. And another.
She snatches the precious crystal from its position atop the porcelain and smashes it on the ground.
fin.
Pairing: Victoria-centric; very minor sultoria
Genre: drama
Rating: PG
Length: one-shot; 6,089 words
viii.
Victoria wakes up in a room with gleaming glass windows that allow the radiant sunshine from outside to stream onto her bed. The birds perched on the willow by her balcony are alive with the excited chirp of their song and the melodic glee with which they greet the sun above them - merrily and joyous, as per usual. The room itself is quite large with a pale pink and white motif, and the extravagant canopy bed on which the young woman lies is cushioned with soft ivory comforters and rose-colored pillows. Above her head, the drapes of her cover shimmer with a coral shade that dances in the light’s rays as though they are encrusted with diamonds. Along with the minute finish of platinum gold sprinkled throughout the room, it truly looks like the residence of a princess.
Which should be so, because if anyone could be considered royalty within their perfect society, it would surely be the daughter of the Magistrate herself. After all, that would only make sense.
The young woman allows a small smile to grace her features as she lightly steps out of bed to cross over to the balcony on the opposite side of the room in order to survey the masterpiece of her father’s creation.
Though the town below her is by no means large (even from her high position atop the small hill) it’s clear that it gives off an aura of peaceful harmony: something that she knows is rare in other areas of the world in the world in which they inhabit.
If possible, her grin widens, and she stifles a yawn before heading back to bed because she knows that if any trouble arises, her father will assuage the situation before she even bats an eyelash.
After all, that is his job, and Victoria doesn’t see the point in arguing with the elderly man when she can spend her hours doing otherwise.
Sleep has always been her favorite pastime, especially since she’s started dreaming of a beautiful woman whose looks are able to rival even her own, twirling in an endless meadow of flowers while her laughter - the jingling of bells - sounds throughout the landscape and rejuvenates the entire land.
Victoria doesn’t know who she is and doesn’t know if the woman in her dreams even exists, but she supposes that that doesn’t really matter as long as the girl continues spinning and smiling and giggling and singing because Victoria finds that seeing this figment of her imagination beaming so brightly is enough to make even the sun’s perfect rays fade to gray in comparison.
iii.
Victoria wakes in a room with opaque windows that filter the sunlight from outside, making sure that the blinding rays don’t nudge her awake too harshly. The only noise that echoes through the cramped room is a fuzzy static from some unknown source, creeping through the walls and into the young woman’s ears. Not that that’s too difficult to do, of course, seeing as the size of the room is barely large enough for her to pace around and the sad excuse for her bed is simply a worn mattress covered in mothball-infested sheets thrown precariously onto the cement floor.
It’s uncomfortable and she hates it, but perhaps there’s nothing that she can really do about it. After all, it would be horrible if she thought that she could have everything because she already does.
Victoria floats in a perfect utopia of her father’s creation, so having the audacity to complain about her current surroundings would be nothing short of selfish and ridiculous.
She already knows that.
So with a sigh, she stretches her arms and forces herself to place her feet on the floor, ignoring the urge to wince at the harsh texture of the cement below her. As though it is some sort of subconscious habit, she finds herself moving towards the blurred picture of the town below her that the window provides. Her dainty hand slowly raises itself to touch the distorted glass, and Victoria finds herself faintly amused at the scene that is before her: a sizable town, bustling with high-tech transportation systems, busy streets, and smiling faces.
It’s all thanks to her father, of course. As long as the citizens of the older man’s utopia are happy, then she shouldn’t upset herself with the current dilemma of her living conditions. The dirty room is a well-kept secret; something that the shining eyes of their populous know nothing about.
And she intends to keep it that way.
With that final reassurance of a faded promise, Victoria hesitantly parts from the view of the town in the valley below the hill, before twirling around in order to exit the ugly room and releasing the idea of it from her memory.
vi.
Victoria can’t remember when she woke up, but she supposes that she must have at some point as she is currently seated in the throne room to her father’s left, watching as he tries to compensate for some of the neglect that this elderly man is complaining about. He seems to be angered by the neighboring waters of the ocean whose tides softly lick the outskirts of their island paradise, but Victoria doesn’t understand why this upsets him.
She could have sworn that yesterday, this man (or at least, someone who looks strikingly similar to him) had come to complain about the lack of water for the fishing industry. He had said something about how the delicate rivers of their valley home had become so miniscule that there was no way for the villagers to capture the salmon that used to run within them, which is funny, because the villagers have never lived in a valley before and they’ve always lived on the island.
Then again, she’s not very sure about this statement. All she knows is that she lives on the hill and that she’s lived on this hill ever since she started counting.
Victoria has never been good at properly recalling the order of events or the time at which they occurred, and she finds that, more often than not, she orders entire days in the incorrect chronological order. It sounds burdensome, but the young woman doesn’t bother to concern herself with it.
After all, time is just time. And in this perfect world, Victoria has all the time in the world.
(The man yells something about the recurring theme of change before stomping out of the hearing, but Victoria finds that she doesn’t really care. She thinks that this selfish man is simply taking everything he has - everything that her father has worked so hard to achieve for his citizens - for granted.)
(It makes her squirm in her jeweled chair with anger.)
x.
Victoria counts the number ten, but logic tells her that that would be impossible. After all, her conscious is insisting that this event could only occur after she counted the number six. But Victoria has never been particularly good at counting, so maybe this shouldn’t make her as uncomfortable as she is now.
In her father’s stateroom, the councilmen have gathered to argue about the rumors of a rebellion taking place within the metropolis. The young woman sits across from her father in her delicate chair of porcelain with wide eyes, not entirely sure what is going on and unable to follow the fast-paced conversation that is being held between her father and his advisors.
But what she does realize is that the people within the paradise that her father had struggled so intensely to create have found the audacity to be ungrateful enough that the officials surrounding the community have caught wind of ploys to overthrow her father and issue a democracy.
However, their society is already a democracy. It’s a flawless, foolproof system that elected her father as the head official to call the shots to keep their already perfect world clear of any troublesome issues that may arise during his reign.
Victoria doesn’t understand these people or where they’re coming from. Especially since she knows that her father goes out of his way to make the people of their utopia as happy as they can possibly be - he has never once made a promise that he has not kept. And she can personally attest to that, because she has silently declared it to be her duty to remind him of anything that may casually slip his mind.
After all, age really does do things to the memory of an individual.
The meeting ends without drawing a proper conclusion or formulating an intricate course of action because this is the first time in their history that their happiness has been attacked by the tides of revolt. Her father is a reeling mess, still unable to come to terms with the fact that his reign has been encompassed with such a horrible stain of imperfection, does nothing but continue to sit in his seat at the table with glazed, vacant eyes. And no matter what Victoria does in an attempt to gain his attention, it seems as though it’s all in vain.
She decides that come the next day, she’ll start to take matters into her own hands.
xiii.
Victoria wakes at the crack of dawn when the larks have yet to rise in order to sing their melancholy song and the water of the lake that their village is centered around catches the rays of the sun in a truly breathtaking way.
Her room’s color scheme is that of an ivory white with specks of lavender thrown about here and there, and the simplicity of it all makes the young woman squirm in discomfort because she swears that something is a bit off about it all, but she can’t quite point out what it is exactly.
She’s never been good with details because details have never been that important. In her worry-free world where everything is picturesque and perfect, it only makes sense if she allowed herself to be swept away like flower petals in the wind of time.
The young woman dresses herself in a simple navy dress that ends in a bell right above her knees with dark stockings and a pair of black creepers. After affixing a single red ribbon in her hair, she quietly exits her grandiose room and, eventually, the castle on the hill itself.
It’s not until she’s hit by a pleasant breeze that she realizes that she can’t recall the last time she left the confines of her home. The thought intrigues her, but she can’t find the strength to dwell on the idea for long. She glances upwards to see the sky of the rising sun in its various shades of violet, scarlet, and gold, painting their paradise with its stretching shadows of warmth and awakening each individual as it gently strokes their cheeks. The tingling sensation on the ends of her nerves pleases her enough to make her smile and gives her the strength to continue down the path towards the village enveloped in the valley beneath her hilltop abode.
As she carefully meanders towards the base of the natural affixture, she hears a sudden crunching of leaves from her right, and quickly pivots to stare at the unseen individual in shock.
Initially because of their abrupt appearance; soon after because of the sudden burst of recognition.
At the bottom of the hill sits a cherry blossom tree: its branches parted and reaching for the sky in desperation and the blushing petals of its flowers a stark contrast to what Victoria sees as an otherwise monochrome world. The blossoms are full and brimming with purity, surely enough to cause any individual to stop whatever they’re doing and gaze longingly at its beauty, all of them longing to reach out and grab a piece of the perfection for themselves, but none of them finding the audacity to do so. After all, there is a certain price to pay for touching something that you know is forbidden.
It is here, under the skeletal woodworks that Victoria sees her: a young woman, surely younger than she is, with hair the color of cinnamon brushed towards her left shoulder and a simple, shapeless, white dress concealing her form. The color of her skin is pale in pallor - a clear difference to the harsh saturation of the wood behind her.
What startles Victoria is the fact that she can recognize her. Or at least, she thinks she can recognize her.
She isn’t sure where it all comes from, but flashes of an endless meadow and a twirling dress and the jingling of bells scatter her vision and her world begins to spin around her at an alarming rate and suddenly Victoria begins to doubt her original intentions of leaving the safety of her hilltop home.
But then the young woman sitting beneath the tree raises her eyes to meet hers and Victoria’s world instantly comes to a standstill.
Her amber orbs look tired and vacant, yet they somehow manage to shine with the light of a million stars which shouldn’t be possible (but then again, perfection itself shouldn’t be possible), and she sits beside the trunk and surpasses its splendor.
Victoria finds herself moving towards the mysterious woman without fully understanding why.
“Good morning,” comes the voice. “I don’t usually see people awake this early. You frightened me.”
Victoria angrily chastises herself for nonexistent carelessness and whispers an apologetic, “I’m sorry.”
The younger woman turns to face her with a small smile, “Don’t be.”
She gestures for Victoria to take a seat beside her which she gladly does.
A silence settles between the two individuals: the stranger lost in thought as she stares upwards at the blossoming flowers and Victoria lost in thought as she stares at the stranger. She knows well enough that staring is rude, but she feels that she can’t be bothered to care because something in the back of her mind is whispering that it won’t be long before this perfect being becomes only faded fragments of memories that lull her to sleep as her eyes gently shut.
There’s only so much time left.
“The petals will be falling soon.”
Her voice shakes Victoria from her trance and it takes her a moment to retrieve an intelligible response from the depths of her mind. “What do you mean? It looks like they’ve just blossomed.”
The woman beside her only shakes her head lightly, “That means nothing. They’ve awoken from their slumber. Just because you’re newly arisen doesn’t exempt you from death’s cold blade.” Victoria blinks at these words, not expecting such pessimistic sentiments to escape the scarlet pair of lips beside her. “There’s only so much time left before they’ll be gone. But it’ll only be then that we’ll all be free.”
If she had thought that forming a proper response had been difficult earlier, then Victoria is surely at a loss for course of action now. She opens her mouth momentarily but closes it almost instantly.
It is during this time that the petite figure beside her rises to her feet with a sad sigh.
“Everything will change once the rebellion begins.”
The mention of rebellion quickly brings Victoria to her naïve senses.
"You know of the rebellion?” She, too, stands up out of her former sitting position in order to properly address the younger woman once more. “Please, what can you tell me about it? I’m willing to do anything to stop it.”
“It’s something that cannot be stopped. The gears are already in motion, Lady Victoria.”
She feels herself turn rigid, “How did you know my name? I don’t believe that we ever introduced ourselves.”
“It’s never too late to do so,” comes the nonchalant response. “My name is Jinri. Now excuse me, but I have to get going.”
Victoria blinks in surprise at the woman’s smooth departing statements before hurrying to grab the other’s wrist to prevent her from disappearing. “Why are the people upset? Why do they want to overthrow my father?”
There’s a beat of silence as Jinri stares in silent surprise at the harsh grip around her arm and she makes no move to respond until Victoria hesitantly lets go. The younger woman quietly regards the bright red finger marks that offer a contrast just as similar to the one that belonged to her and the tree before finally murmuring, “Because this world of ours holds no true form. One day we live in this world and the next day we’ll live in another. The people are tired of forcing smiles and pretending that they’re happy. All they want to do right now is wake up - and they’ll do anything in their power to do so.”
Not a single one of her words makes sense to Victoria, whose head can only reel in confusion.
But perhaps this is the younger woman’s intention as she allows a bright smile to grace her features in contrast to the older woman’s confused frown. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, Victoria. There’s only so much time left until then.”
Victoria blinks for a mere second due to her confusion, and when her eyes open once more, Jinri is gone.
Victoria has never been that good when it came to counting, but she’s quick to realize that she needs to learn. Fast.
Time has gained significance, as have the array of details that merge together to create the ticking clock on her wall: the gears spinning against one another behind its face, the delicate brush strokes that have formed its numerals, the golden hands that she now realizes move at an alarmingly slow rate.
It’s all important.
And it’s all disappearing quickly.
xiv.
Victoria doesn’t have time to survey her surroundings because she doesn’t even remember falling asleep the night before.
She had intended to talk to her father about the words spoken by the young woman, but she supposes that if she can’t even remember laying her head to rest, then it’s highly likely that she also didn’t bother taking the time to speak to him.
With a string of mumbled curses, Victoria sets her feet on the glass of the floor below her, grabs a coat to cover up her nightgown, and rushes towards her father’s chambers.
She knocks once, twice, and then throws the door open without waiting for a proper response.
Unsurprisingly, her father is already fully dressed in his day attire, sitting by his desk by the window, looking deep in thought. At his daughter’s sudden arrival, he hurriedly turns to face her with a worried expression of surprise, “Oh, it’s just you, Victoria! What’s the matter, darling? You look absolutely horrified!”
“Father, have you received any news regarding the current status of the rebellion?”
The old man blinks at the direct nature of her question before slowly shaking his head, “No, I don’t believe that I have. But I don’t want you to worry about that too much: I assure you that the Council and I will handle the situation appropriately. I promise that no harm will come to anyone once we are able to make the rebel leaders see sense.”
“But do you even know what it is that they want?” she asks. “What course of action could you possibly be planning if you don’t even know why the people are so angry?”
He says nothing for a moment but his expression is one of pure exasperation. “We’re all trying our best, Victoria. I don’t suppose that you have any clue on the matter?”
She parts her lips in order to properly answer him but is surprised when she finds herself hesitant to do so. The idea makes her squirm in discomfort as her conscious screams for her to keep her mouth shut, but logic is telling her that this confession is the best course of action for the sake of her utopia, so she forces the words through her lips. “I left the castle yesterday and came across one of the village girls. She told me that the people are upset because of something about our world having no true form? I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’m almost certain that if we try to talk to the village people more and more, we’ll be able to properly find the meaning behind her words and -“
The Magistrate cuts her off with a sad sigh. “I was afraid that it would come to this. My child, there is nothing that we can do now. If this is what is upsetting the people, then there’s no hope for our salvation - and if they were intelligent enough to stop and properly think of the situation, they would realize that there’s no hope for them as well.”
Victoria feels her heart drop in her chest as she had thought that this information would produce a more optimistic response. She figures that she should at least be somewhat curious about how easily her father understood what she could barely manage to recite, but she finds that doing so would be in vain. “But… We can still try to find a solution to all this, right, Father?”
The old man forces a sad smile before standing up out of his position in order to lovingly ruffle his daughter’s hair. “There’s never any harm in trying, Victoria. Always remember that.”
Despite knowing that her hopes had been dashed instantly because Jinri had been right when she claimed that there was evidently nothing that could be done to stop the coming rebellion, Victoria finds herself throwing on another one of her expensive dresses in order to meander down the pathway once more to see if perhaps she can find the younger woman sitting at the base of that cherry blossom tree even though she feels as though she’s hours late.
(Then again, Victoria can never be too sure since the concept of time is something that she’s just beginning to force herself to become familiar with.)
She’s surprised at the lush smell of a thick forest around her, occupying every component of her vision with an endless ocean of trees. She racks her mind for some sort of explanation to this because she could’ve sworn that there had been no river flowing beside the bark of the cherry blossom tree - with flowers that are in full bloom - that she had seen yesterday because she would’ve remembered a detail like that. She knows that once the blossoms begin their graceful ballet towards the tender land of the earth, a few will settle within the river’s glistening water, making the scene even more picturesque than it already is.
She would remember something like that.
She knows that she would remember something like that.
So why can’t she?
The thought plagues her: a whisper in the back of her mind insisting that there’s something wrong - that there’s something that she’s not getting but she just can’t put her finger on it.
However, as soon as she catches sight of the petite, young woman leaning against the base of the tree, her anxious heart allows itself to settle more within her chest.
Jinri is clad in a formless white dress and her wavy, auburn locks are brushed towards her left shoulder. Her eyes are shut, making the dark rows of her lashes look like tiny butterflies caressing the smoothness of her pale skin. Rosy red lips seem to be the only true component of color present on her figure, and Victoria can’t help but wonder why she feels like she’s stumbled across a similar scene before.
As she allows herself to step nearer to the seemingly slumbering woman, Victoria casts the thoughts away. It isn’t until she takes her seat next to the petite frame that Jinri stirs in order to rest her head on the older woman’s shoulder, butterflies fluttering away as her gentle eyes open.
“I told you that there was nothing you could do.”
The blunt nature of the words stings considerably, but Victoria still somehow manages a weak, “There’s always something that you can do. There has to be.”
Jinri laughs, but this time, instead of hearing the laughter of innocent fairies, Victoria hears something darker and more malevolent - something that she can’t quite name.
It scares her.
“You’re the only one who can actually do anything in this world. Haven’t you managed to come to that conclusion yet?"
Victoria shakes her head slowly. She doesn’t understand where the younger woman is coming up with these conclusions, but she knows that it would be ridiculous to actually argue with her because she speaks with this erudite sort of intelligence that simply doesn’t seem natural for someone of her age. Despite her logic telling her that this all seems like a grand trick of some sorts, there’s still a small voice nagging at the back of her mind, begging her to hear what this girl has to say. “I don’t understand what you mean. The only individual who’s able to make laws in our utopia is my father, and the things that I do have little to no influence on any of his actions.”
Another giggle.
“Oh, you’re still so wrong, still so ignorant to the world around you. To your world around you.” There’s an amused smile on her lips - one that would belong to a child who knows a secret and refuses to tell it. “You’re the one who started the rebellion and you’re the only one who can stop it. You’re the only one who created the world in which we live in, so you’re the only one who can fix it. It’s too bad that our heroine is too sleepy to understand what’s going on. Perhaps we’ve all been forsaken from the very start.” The mirth in her chuckle returns, making Victoria shiver - that is, if the words themselves weren’t enough to do so.
“Now you’re just not making any sense,” she begins uneasily. “I’m not tired at all. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours now.”
“And why should I trust your judgment of time above mine? In all honesty, can you, yourself, even trust the ticking of the clock? Shouldn’t an individual like you be able to easily twist and bend the hours of time to your choosing?” Her words only confuse Victoria further, and sensing this, she shifts her weight in order to sit up straight as she continues, “You feel like you’re late to our meeting right? This meeting that we didn’t even properly schedule? Haven’t you wondered why I showed up here in the first place, or why I came here hours later than I usually do? Aren’t you curious as to the reason why I’m actually here and not elsewhere?”
Victoria is unable to answer any of these questions because, frankly, she doesn’t understand what any of the questions mean.
So Jinri answers for herself.
“Because this is what you have willed. And whatever you wish for, we must give in to.”
Millions of questions race through Victoria’s mind, but she finds herself unable to answer any of them.
The heavy silence weighs on both of their shoulders for what feels like an eternity, until Jinri steps up out of her position to follow the river south towards the village.
She doesn’t leave the older woman with so much as a parting word.
xv.
“Father, something needs to be done about the situation with the villagers.”
The elderly man sighs at these words, raking a hand through thin wisps of grayed locks. “My child, I don’t think that there’s anything that I can really do to stop the coming battle. All we can do is pray that it won’t be too damaging to our estate and that no one will get hurt.”
Perhaps under normal circumstances, this answer would have been good enough for the young woman. But taking into account the recent events of her given situation, the words only frustrate her. “If you can’t do anything, then what can I do? There’s something that I must be able to do; something you’re not telling me about.” This accusation makes him quickly turn towards her in surprise: lips parted but voice mute. “Father, if you care about your people as much as I do, then you have to let me know what I’m missing. You have to give me the missing pieces of the puzzle so that I’ll be able to solve it.”
“I can’t do that, Qian.”
Victoria blinks, “Qian? Who is Qian?”
Her father simply stares right through her as he monotonously asks, “And who is Victoria?” in retaliation.
The words send her mind reeling, and once she closes her eyes for a split second in order to gather her thoughts, the old man is gone.
Victoria runs through the castle and towards the cherry blossom tree as fast as she possibly can because she needs answers, and it’s frustrating her that she isn’t getting any of them.
Between the smug metaphors of the younger woman and the nonsensical monosyllables of her father, she figures that the former is her best choice for a source of information.
And besides, the former is much more appealing for her to look at.
But she supposes that that’s beside the point.
The barren landscape before resembles that of a desert, and for a split second, as she’s dashing towards her meeting spot with Jinri, she frets about whether or not she’ll actually get there in time and if the tree is still there and if Jinri is still there.
Her doubts are cast aside as soon as she realizes that the beautiful cherry blossom tree has materialized in front of her: the young woman in the simplistic white dress sitting within its branches and delicately caressing the few gentle blooms it has left.
Victoria blinks in surprise and quietly chastises herself for not being aware of her surroundings. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot - why is she just realizing that she had forgotten her shoes? - and allows he toes to wiggle themselves into the grainy sand at her feet. It shouldn’t make sense that a lush tree such as the one before her is able to survive in such a harsh climate and Victoria knows that. She knows that that doesn’t make sense at all and becomes further stressed when she realizes that she can’t remember what the tree looked like yesterday.
“It looks like you’re still stuck at square one. I told you that there wasn’t a point in trying,” Jinri states with an air of innocence. Her legs dangle as though they are extensions of the branches in which she sits, dancing in the heavy wind of the desert. “Then again, I suppose that when an artist inserts a piece of himself into the world of his creation, it becomes difficult for him to escape it.”
The older woman sighs, and not knowing what else to do, allows herself to drop down to her knees in an exasperated heap. Last night, before she had gone to bed, she had tried to piece together the information that she knows (or at least, what she thinks she knows) with the metaphors that escape the mysterious bright red lips, but all to no avail. In fact, it’s beginning to become clear to her that perhaps this entire concept is something that will forever be out of her grasp; something that, no matter how hard she tries, will always elude her like a fleeting dream after moments of her awakening.
It pains her.
“I’m no artist,” she deadpans, not knowing what else to say. She isn’t sure if she’s supposed to take the young woman’s words literally, but she feels that at this point, she doesn’t really have any other choice.
“Oh, but aren’t we all? An artist is not a profession, after all. It can be, but we each possess the qualities to assume that role ourselves, don’t you think?” Jinri counters instantly. “And I think that that’s the case you’re in right now. Perhaps you don’t intend to be the artist, but you’ve simply been forced into the position. It just so happens that this is a job that you can’t resign from.”
Victoria regards the words in silence for a moment, realizing that it’s probably the closest she’ll ever be to clearly deciphering the meaning behind the young woman’s words. She comes to the conclusion that the best path to understanding lies not through the route of argument, but rather through going along with the metaphor that dances through the air.
“But isn’t it true that an artist is not an artist without a vision? Without a motive, the splatters of paint are nothing more than shapeless colors that refuse to blend and awkward shapes that look horrid and unnatural. If this is the case, then wouldn’t the artist lose their job?”
Jinri beams down from her perch, and in a sudden burst of excitement, drops down to face Victoria directly. “That’s right, that’s right! But the art isn’t real, so neither is the composition. Everything is just in the artist’s head because she can’t put it down on paper until she wakes up. Now that the artist is trapped in her nightmare, she’s forced to relive day after day after day of creation without understanding the true depth of what it is that she does. No matter how hard she tries, the world of an artist cannot maintain stability. After all, a constant environment has no hope for expression at all.”
Victoria’s eyes widen with a sudden understanding while Jinri’s face instantly darkens as she realizes that perhaps she’s said too much. She steps away from the Magistrate’s daughter, eyes averted and assuming a persona of extreme aloofness.
The older woman quietly picks at the strands of her long, wavy locks, not wanting to accept the reality of the situation that has been thrust upon her. “But that doesn’t ‘make sense. That doesn’t sound plausible. It can’t be real.”
“You may choose to believe whatever you wish to believe. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”
A sigh echoes throughout the empty desert as Victoria quietly asks, “Then please just answer me this: why do we sleep? Why are some people subject to a loss of the perception of time and waste away living but not really living? How is that possible? Why is that possible?”
“Because we aren’t loved and so we can’t love. We fall victim to the world of sleep because a fabricated lie is better than the cruel truth.”
Victoria closes her eyes at the words in an attempt to compose herself but allows a single tear to slip through her defenses.
When she opens her eyes again, the tree and Jinri have disappeared.
It begins to pour heavy sobs from the sky and Victoria realizes that she’s beginning to lose hope - if it all hasn’t disappeared already.
xvi.
When Victoria wakes up, it is in a blank white room with no shadows and no light. It is a void of pure emptiness and the more rational side of her registers the feeling of sadness, but she’s decided to throw all rationality out the window because it seems to never really do her any good.
She slips through what she imagines to be a closed door and desperately tries to stumble across someone - anyone - just for some sort of reassurance that she isn’t actually alone.
It feels like hours and hours have gone by, so she eventually gives up after finding no one.
There’s an emptiness with its root at the pit of her stomach, churning her very body into an uncomfortable mess of wanton cries and desperate possibilities of escape, but she knows that no matter how hard she tries to fight the feeling, it’ll be impossible to make it disappear.
So she closes her eyes and sits within the empty space around her, fighting the urge to cry out and plea for assistance.
After what feels like centuries, she opens them once more.
A cherry blossom tree made of dainty porcelain branches has appeared in front of her, only a single crystal blossom left.
Her heart skips a beat.
Victoria quietly walks towards the tree and strokes the petals of the delicate flower with the utmost care.
Another tear falls.
Then another. And another.
She snatches the precious crystal from its position atop the porcelain and smashes it on the ground.
fin.