We sway in the wind, and bask in the sun. We reach up to the sky, and strive for full bloom. We whisper to passersby till the next season comes. We sway in the wind, and let it carry us away, onward on our journey through the seasons, life, and death. Suddenly the red-eyed youkai appeared, parasol in hand. We flowers breathe life into every land of every world. Although naturally, there are some places too inhospitable for us to thrive. We feel as if we’ve seen those red eyes and that parasol spreading outward like a flower countless times in countless worlds during our journey through the seasons, life, and death. Our petals blossom and scatter over and over again, but her image remains. It’s part of our memory, our soul, our very being.

One morning in spring. The glint of red eyes cuts through the morning chill of spring like garden shears. That youkai has come to pay us a visit. The sunlight is not yet strong, but she holds her parasol above her head. It must be one of her favorite accessories. At this time of year, the Fairy Herald of Spring will be flying around happily, but we flowers are not yet ready to splay our petals as the red-eyed youkai splays her parasol. If only she’d wait just a little while longer. If she did, we’d be able to bloom for her and all the others. It won’t be long now. “Show me how beautiful you can be,” she says to us. Even as buds, flowers are beautiful. She walks by, stroking each one of us as she goes with a smile on her face sweeter than any spring breeze.

One afternoon in summer. Rays of sunshine beam down on a summer afternoon. We fight among ourselves to bloom as brightly as the sun. Once again, the red-eyed youkai appears in the flower field, and she has her parasol with her. But we suppose, given the weather, it would be stranger not to have one. Why is it, though, that her parasol―no, that she blooms larger, brighter, and with more vigor than any of us. At least, that’s the way it feels. Her eyes glint coldly with the chill of death as they always do, but after seeing her through so many seasons, lives, and deaths, we’ve come to realize something. When she looks down at us, her eyes seem somehow faint… yet kind, and caring with a great warmth within them.

Another afternoon in summer. The sun shines down brightly as we bloom. The girl stands among us, and says, “Thank you for blooming once again this year,” looking around with a smile. A memory from one of our many lives springs forth, and we’re reminded this girl has the ability to manipulate flowers. But in a different world, she’s some sort of researcher with ample knowledge and unwavering beliefs. In another, she has the same presence as she does here, yet her thoughts and goals differ. She’s very much like us flowers. It follows, then, that her ability in other worlds may not be the same as it is here… And yet, here in this world, she refrains from using her ability, choosing instead to watch over us as we bloom unassisted. If we were people, perhaps we’d call this feeling “happiness.”

One evening in winter. Surely that red-eyed girl knows what type of season winter is. In winter, the leaves tinged red by the autumn goddess fall and are laid to rest. In the cycle of the seasons, winter is both the first and the last. In many worlds, winter is a season of absolutes, in which we fall, giving ourselves for the flowers to come. In human terms, we suppose it’s like reincarnation. We wilt and die so a new season and new lives may begin. The only flower left is her beloved parasol. In the early snows of winter, the red-eyed girl gazes upon us. But for some reason, her parasol remains closed. The snowflakes that land on her cheek melt and trickle down to us like teardrops. Perhaps we’ll see her again… in the next season or in another world. We hope so.