I miss something.

I miss… I miss—those days. The days I spent watching the rain as the warmth of hot tobacco filled my lungs, easing the pain I once held so dearly. Those were the days I still had some life left in me.

Back then, I had a dream.

But now, I sit here under this cold, lifeless tree. My body in perfect health. But I feel bound and shackled. My mind teetering on the edge of insanity.

I was granted the gift of melancholy, forever to be shrouded in blackness, my eyes baring scars of my decisions. Yet, even blinded, I remember her face, her scarlet eyes full of hope as she clutched her pride and hope close to her chest. And I remember the question that would consume my life...

How many seconds in eternity?

I first heard that question long ago, in a time that feels more like a dream than a memory.

Well, to answer such a question, one needs to live long enough to see such a thing come to pass.

I fear I may… and I fear the answer.

Still, before I succumb to that inevitability, let me tell you a story-

A story—a memory of a dream I once lived.

In a small town, known for its cherry blossom trees, my dream begins.

On that particular day, I wore white. Why? I can’t say. Perhaps I wanted to show off, or perhaps I simply liked wearing white. Who knows? I don’t.

My sword rested at my hip, its weight a comfort against my thigh as I strode confidently toward the Cherry Blossom Inn. Alice’s bar.

The scent of red wine greeted me as I pushed through the door, my proud chest rising and falling with each breath. Inside, it was quiet, unusually so.

Alice stood behind the counter, her practiced smile lighting up her face despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin.

“Welcome, Marika,” she said, waving.

I returned her smile, but my attention was elsewhere. Looking past her, I saw a Woman huddled in the shadowed corner. She sat in a chair, as Alice bent down to help her. The Woman was pregnant, her swollen belly heaving as she fought against some unseen agony. Alice went back to tending her, her hands steady and reassuring.

I realized belatedly; this was why there was a closed sign on the door. But thirsty as I was, I hadn’t cared. Alice hadn’t protested either. She never did.

I poured myself a drink, the liquid amber catching the dim light as it swirled in my cup. Raising it to my lips, I stole another glance at the pregnant woman.

Her crimson eyes locked onto mine for the briefest moment, yet it felt as though she saw straight through me. Her gaze was sharp—ancient, knowing—and it sent a chill down my spine. I shivered and quickly looked away, focusing instead on the wine in my cup.

Alice’s voice broke the tension, low and soothing as she murmured to the woman. I watched her guide the stranger toward the back room, where an old bed waited in the shadows.

I didn’t follow.

Instead, I lingered in the stillness, the soft patter of rain on the roof filling the silence as I absently swirled the wine in my cup.

For a moment I considered lending a hand to Alice., But I guess, life had its plans for me.

And then I heard it—the sound I had been waiting for.

A sword being unsheathed. And footsteps, heavy and deliberate, broke through the downpour. My grip tightened around the hilt of my sword.

He was here.

The man I thirsted to kill.

A pink blossom leaf danced its way swaying to the cold wind, as the door burst open revealing his shadow.

I couldn't help but smile, I came here looking for entertainment.

But I found my pain. The blood my sword seeks.

I drew my sword in a swift motion.

I guess, I was still a novice compared to the man before me. But I was ready for the clash, and maybe, just maybe I might survive.

"Did you come for the wine or the bloodshed? I’m serving both tonight.” I raised the cup of red wine with a smile of anticipated reverence.

He just smirked, his hand steady and his eyes attentive, his sword pointed at my neck.

"Marika, you didn’t kill him, did you?" he asked, his voice low and unsettlingly even. A chill gripped me, more piercing than any winter air.

I looked at him, and I saw death.

Yet, all I said in the face of this so-called death, was this, "I am sorry."

Our swords met, me blocking and him slashing, I parried as he tried to cut through me. His hands were steady, while mine trembled against the force of his attacks.

Sweat began to gather. I stayed swift-footed, deflecting and feinting, yet he persisted. We were evenly matched in control.

Feet skipped along, our hands steady, I smiled, he scoffed, I winced, he attacked. The weight of his ferocious blows bore down on me, his sword drawing my blood.

My eyes darted around, searching for an advantage as he began to corner me.

His blade kissed my side, the sting sharp and hot. Pain surged, but I couldn't falter—his next strike would finish me.

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The smell of blood and the aching pain clouded my senses, I suddenly tipped, losing my control, and my sword.

His sword tore through fabric, leaving me bare, save for the soft lace of my undergarments, my skin prickling against the storm’s relentless chill. My breasts rose and fell with each labored breath, the cold air making me shiver. Yet, even stripped of armor and pretense, I stood tall—feminine, unyielding, a blade in hand and fire in my eyes.

But as his sinuous blade pressed against my throat, I realized—this was no ordinary fight. This was destiny sharpening its edge.

The rain showered through the heavens, hitting the roof like a gentle music that hummed nature’s call, the wind howling in the east.

Like something brewing… like something was about to begin.

“Ahhhh…”

The wail pierced the storm, raw and haunting, just as his blade came down. My body moved too late—his strike was faster, sharper than I could counter.

Pain like fire erupted from my shoulder as his sword severed through flesh and bone with unerring precision. My arm fell to the floor with a sickening thud, the world around me spinning in a haze of crimson and agony, devoid of color and substance.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. No sound of rain, no clatter of steel—just the pounding of my heartbeat, loud and relentless, as if it were trying to drown out the reality of my loss.

I stared at the stump where my arm had been, blood pouring in thick, hot streams, painting the floor in violent streaks of red. My sword slipped from my remaining hand, the weight of it too much to bear.

He stood before me, his blade steady, his gaze unreadable. The blossoms continued to drift through the air, their delicate beauty stark against the brutality of the moment.

“Ahhh…”

And then the scream came again from the back room, raw and guttural, echoing my own unspoken anguish.

The wail cut through the chaos like a blade through silence—a scream, raw and primal, shaking the very walls of the Cherry Blossom Inn.

A mother’s cry.

It froze us both. His sword hovered inches from my neck, its cold edge already biting into my skin.

I looked at my right arm that lay severed, blood pouring in hot streams down my side, the pain so sharp it stole my breath. For a moment, I was numb, the world around me dimmed into a haze of rain and petals.

Beautiful pink petals…

Like the whispers of the wind…

So calm, so peaceful…

Can’t I just sleep?...

I am so tired…

Just let me…

Close my eyes.

The sakura petals kissed my cheeks, the soft touch bringing back my senses.

The blossoms danced on the wind, swirling in the open doorway, their soft pink drifting against the backdrop of the storm.

“Ahhhh….”

The scream echoed again, the sound resonating with the ache in my chest, the despair clawing at the edges of my resolve.

He hesitated, only for a moment, his eyes flicking toward the back room. That was all I needed.

With a guttural cry, I surged forward, slamming into him with what strength I had left. Pain exploded from the stump where my arm had been, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. My shoulder collided with his chest, forcing him back as my trembling fingers found the hilt of my fallen sword.

The blade felt foreign in my grip, its weight unbearable, but I held it anyway. My vision was darkening, the edges of my consciousness fraying like an old tapestry. The rain grew louder, as if the heavens themselves roared in fury.

The rain sang its relentless song, mingling with the metallic scent of my blood and the faint sweetness of sakura.

Silence gripped the room, thick and suffocating. My knees buckled, but I didn’t fall. I couldn’t. My teeth clenched, my mind forcing my battered body to stand.

I stood there, gasping, sword raised in defiance. He regained his footing, his smirk gone, replaced by a cold, terrifying glare. We both knew how this would end. Yet neither of us moved.

In the distance, the wailing grew softer, replaced by the faintest sound—a newborn’s first breath.

And then the storm came alive.

As I heard the new born cries, I lunged in parrying his attack, as he went for the kill. He missed the kill, yet he struck a blow.

His sword drew an arc through my left eye granting it the gift of darkness.

That did not stop me, as the new born cried, I made my final move. My feet enabling me to move, as I my sword pierced his neck in a single stroke.

His eyes closing forever, as I gifted his life to the age-old death.

My master fell to my blade. My dear… …father murdered at my feet.

The room was heavy with silence, the air thick with the scent of blood and the lingering storm outside. I stood over the fallen body of my master, my breath ragged, my body battered and broken. My one remaining eye, dark and determined, glinted as I fought to stay upright. My shoulders were slumped, but I was alive. I had won—yet, there was no joy in it. Only the bitter taste of victory and loss.

The door to the back room creaked open. Alice emerged, her footsteps hurried and sharp, her face pale with shock. Her eyes darted between me and the dead man, her mouth open as if searching for words that wouldn't come. Her gaze lingered on me—on my torn and bloody form, my missing arm, and my left blind eye.

A gasp escaped Alice’s lips as she saw the severed arm on the floor, the blood still pooling beneath it, and the raw, unyielding expression on my face. She blinked, her mind struggling to process the reality before her.

But before Alice could speak, Mother appeared from the shadows. Her clothes were ragged, but her presence was commanding. The newborn was nestled against her chest, wrapped in a swaddle of faded cloth, the baby’s tiny, innocent face peeking out. Her crimson eyes sparkled in the dim light as she looked at me, just as sharp and knowing as they had been earlier. She stepped forward her movement graceful despite the recent strain she had endured.

She looked at me, her piercing gaze cutting through the air. “What do you desire, child?” Her voice was soft, but its weight made the room tremble, like the wind just before a storm.

I knew I couldn't lie to her. She saw through me, knew me.

I hesitated, just for a moment. “Immortality,” I said, my voice unwavering with desire.

“Let it be,” she murmured, her palm gently pressing against my chest. A strange, bright glow began to fill me.

I felt warmth. I felt desire. I felt passion. I felt life itself.

And then, I felt the world tremble beneath my feet.

My right hand that I lost in the earlier fight, grew back. My wounds began to heal. I felt healthy—truly, fully healthy—but…

I looked at the little baby girl clutched in the mother’s hands. She had her mother’s eyes.

Her gaze met mine, and in that moment, a burning sensation pierced my remaining eye, dragging me into a world of complete darkness. With that, I lost my two eyes.

I fell.

In the silence, I heard the little one giggle inside my head. Blind and broken, I stood there, tears slipping through the scars of my face, my two eyes now shrouded in darkness.

Her voice echoed within me, soft and innocent, “How many seconds in eternity?”

The mother withdrew her hand, her voice now soft like spring rain. “I have granted you eternal life. You will stay young forever. But blindness… that is the price for your wish.” She looked at the baby girl, her eyes wavering just for a moment, a tinge of vulnerability grounding her, as she looked at my blind eyes, “My little Bloom, took care of that, good.”

Few things happened, after that, I believe. Maybe a story for another day.

I walked out of the inn, bruised and battered. My eyes baring two slashes, my sight and my soul, lost.

The blood I was drenched in provided cover for my naked body. My breasts heaved as I walked out of the inn, my steps weak and painful.

I stood before the inn, looking up at the sky, imagining a full moon dancing among the stars, as I felt the sakura leaves kissing my body as they swayed to the cold, winter winds.

So, here I am, under this lifeless tree, broken, singing this song.

The song… The story… The dream… I may have lived once.

Marika played her flute gently, as the winds carried her song.

No longer a warrior, The Blind Immortal now sits under the giant lifeless sakura tree, a madwoman singing her age-old tale of death.

If only one were to look more closely, not at the beautiful scarred little girl… the broken immortal, but at the tree, one would see the cut, the slash of a sword that cut it in half, taking the life away, left to wither away…

It snowed that night long ago, as it began to snow now. Yet, against that cold wind, in defiance, Marika played her song imagining the warmth from the embers of her once red sun.

The soft petals of cherry blossoms carried her hopes away.

Marika softly whispers to the long night…

I…

…may never bloom.