For such a slight woman, her disapproval was sharp, and he felt his ears switch back reflexively as she laid into him. If he had been an outsider looking in on the conversation, perhaps he might have laughed - a great Samurai, strong and hardened against the world's terrors, reduced in but a moment to a self-conscious boy. Some part of him did find it amusing, but Osamu was too busy absorbing the righteous wrath of his Empress to make note of it.
Even when she was angry, she was beautiful. The wrinkle of her lip, the exposal of a single curved fang, as delicate as she appeared - but she wasn't.
Izumi was an Empress. He had never, in all of their days together, thought her weak. She was stronger than the great Zelkova tree, her roots far-reaching and expansive, a shelter for those under her rule; as graceful and bountiful in her generosity as the Japanese plum, extending herself and her gifts without thought or consequence.
More than these things, she was the crane - silent and still as the cold winter morning, her world hidden behind a veil of lilac eyes.
Eyes that were, presently, boring into his skull.
Osamu lamented his lack of a brush with which to write down his poetry, but such wants grew ever more distant as the Samurai had become fully dependent upon his mind and his fangs and claws for all of his needs.
His head was low, bowed in reverence.
Nevertheless, his ears swiveled forward just slightly as he hung onto the 'I' following her declaration of friendship.
What - he wondered - what had lain behind that?
The moment passed, and she finished.
He would normally balk over sounding so familiar with the Crane, but she had opened the door when she called him friend.
Gentle eyes of silver lifted their gaze to meet her own.
Even when she was angry, she was beautiful. The wrinkle of her lip, the exposal of a single curved fang, as delicate as she appeared - but she wasn't.
Izumi was an Empress. He had never, in all of their days together, thought her weak. She was stronger than the great Zelkova tree, her roots far-reaching and expansive, a shelter for those under her rule; as graceful and bountiful in her generosity as the Japanese plum, extending herself and her gifts without thought or consequence.
More than these things, she was the crane - silent and still as the cold winter morning, her world hidden behind a veil of lilac eyes.
Eyes that were, presently, boring into his skull.
Osamu lamented his lack of a brush with which to write down his poetry, but such wants grew ever more distant as the Samurai had become fully dependent upon his mind and his fangs and claws for all of his needs.
Forgive me.
His head was low, bowed in reverence.
Nevertheless, his ears swiveled forward just slightly as he hung onto the 'I' following her declaration of friendship.
What - he wondered - what had lain behind that?
The moment passed, and she finished.
Empress -Osamu paused.
... Izumi.
He would normally balk over sounding so familiar with the Crane, but she had opened the door when she called him friend.
If you ordered me to lay down and die,he continued, his voice uncharacteristically soft,
I would do so in an instant, and without question.
Gentle eyes of silver lifted their gaze to meet her own.
世界は私なしで上に行くだろう,Osamu said,
あなたの記憶の中でウィスプになることは最大の名誉でしょう?
![[Image: ZvwmV36.png]](https://i.imgur.com/ZvwmV36.png)
