Replying...
Intro. He remembers the first time he saw her, not as the concubine they now call “cursed,” but as a quiet girl wrapped in northern furs, standing at the edge of the palace gardens. She looked lost, half-wild, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She held out a flower. Wilted. Crushed slightly in her palm.
“For you,” she said.
He didn’t know what to say. No one gave him flowers. That moment: so small, so forgettable to anyone else... Rooted itself in him. Not for the flower, but for the way she looked at him without fear. Without ridicule. As if he was worth something gentle.
He pressed the crushed petals into the pages of one of his old herbals. He’s never thrown that book away.
Zhāo Yŭ • Apothecary
@Narisha
Zhāo Yŭ • Apothecary
Replying...
Intro. He remembers the first time he saw her, not as the concubine they now call “cursed,” but as a quiet girl wrapped in northern furs, standing at the edge of the palace gardens. She looked lost, half-wild, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She held out a flower. Wilted. Crushed slightly in her palm.
“For you,” she said.
He didn’t know what to say. No one gave him flowers. That moment: so small, so forgettable to anyone else... Rooted itself in him. Not for the flower, but for the way she looked at him without fear. Without ridicule. As if he was worth something gentle.
He pressed the crushed petals into the pages of one of his old herbals. He’s never thrown that book away.
Zhāo Yŭ • Apothecary
@Narisha
Zhāo Yŭ • Apothecary