Work Text:
-Only time is unstoppable-
The blossoms of the sakura whirl down to land on the hitherto undisturbed surface of the lake, creating ripples in their wake. With eyes sharp like daggers, the human known as Seokjin looks down at his own image, expression triumphant.
So, I see you have found Mirror Lake. Well done, human. his reflection speaks.
“It was difficult enough; but worth it for a wish,” Seokjin replies.
Correct: whatever it is you wish for, it shall be granted.
“There is only one thing I want,” Seokjin whispers, his eyes glistening in the moonlight as two identical orbs to his own reflect back at him through the rippling surface.
And that is?
He grins. “To be the fairest of them all.”
A vain wish the reflection mocks him Especially for someone who could already be considered as such.
“Human beauty is short-lived and its ripples hardly ever have enough impact to last in the common memory. I want true, immortal beauty.”
Very well the mirror concedes. Come to me and your wish shall be granted.
With a cold shimmer, the perfectly pure water lays splayed out like a blade before Seokjin, who feels a sliver of hesitance before he at last breaks through the surface into his reflection’s embrace, the ice-cold water cutting off his senses instantly. The flame of consciousness is put out before he even notices.
🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨
The creature that was once Seokjin has been reborn.
They are now a dweller of the moon, skin luminescent white as moonlight, lips red as blood, with raven black hair. They have no memories of their previous life, nor of life on Earth; yet it is this realm they are descending to, for a reason now unbeknownst to them.
This creature of pure innocence plants their feet in a world that instantly colours them: it is a new sensation, slightly uncanny. Here, blank slates are unheard of: they invite perception, and perception invites interpretation. No sooner have they landed, or they become immediately, inevitably subjected to the colouring gaze of those around them.
This is how it starts.
🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨
Layered Plum:
Deep purple.
Deep sappanwood red.
Crimson.
Red plum.
Light red plum.
Pale red plum.
Such are the colours of the twelve-layered kimono imposed upon the Moon-creature Jin: fit for the season, ripe for deflowering.
The Emperor had soon heard of their beauty: a search long and wide had led to the discovery of the much sought-after prize and their addition to the Imperial collection of concubines. In the palace, they became covered in colours, prepared to look prim and proper for the most important eyes of the Empire. The world, they were told, was at their feet: any man would worship them as if they were the Sun-Goddess herself.
Now, from their gilded cage, the sensations of the Earth that reach them are at once multiplex and limited: they can sense what they experience is only a fraction of what the realm has to offer, but why they are here in the first place, they still do not know. The most they can do is listen: so listen, they do.
Have you ever seen a more inviting plum? Do those layers not beg to be shed and reveal their sweet core?
Indeed, the wicked attraction of that maiden is undeniable; but I would be careful about her core. She is cold, that one. I am not sure whether she even has a heart.
Of that, Jin is not sure either.
🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨
Hair ornaments weigh down on Jin’s head: they decide to pick some out and hide them in their sleeve, where a red spider lily has until now been sole occupant. They think these flowers beautiful: yet, when they tried to pluck one in the open, screams of terror and misfortune had sounded, resulting in the current secret arrangement.
No sooner have they folded the sleeve back into position, or a stirring occurs by the door to their room. Hastily, they pick up their fan, watching the Emperor slide into their quarters with a dark gaze and foul breath.
“I have waited with the patience of a Bodhisattva: my feelings cannot be contained any longer.”
A hand reaches out; Jin swats at it with their fan. “Do not touch me.”
A more violent movement: the fan hits the floor with a thud and fingers are wrapped painfully tight around Jin’s shoulder.
“Do not get pretentious with me. Your beauty will fade: when that time comes, you will have no value anymore.”
“By that logic, You yourself already have no value.”
When the ice-cold hair pin disappears in the Emperor’s neck, a ripple forms on a faraway lake, and suddenly, Jin does not feel confused anymore.
With careful precision, they carve the heart out of the Emperor’s body: indeed, it contains no beauty. Pouring the make-up products out of one of their lacquered boxes and replacing it with the heart, Jin rises and leaves the palace, a trail of crimson in their wake.
Deep purple; Deep sappanwood red; Crimson; Red plum; Light red plum; Pale red plum: one by one, they are shed, revealing the moon-white hakama underneath. Jin lifts their chin to the bright moon:
“I have seen enough.”
When the procession of celestial beings brings them home and erases their memories, they are at peace.