Petals Before the Cut



The shrine courtyard was supposed to be empty at this hour. Pink petals drifted across the stone like they had all the time in the world. She did not.
The hood hid most of her face. The mask hid the rest. Only the red eyes showed, slit and still, watching the path between the red pillars. Cat ears flicked once at a sound no human would have heard.
Steel whispered out of the scabbard. Not a flourish. A measurement. The blade caught sunlight and blossom alike, then settled across her body the way a held breath settles in the chest.
Someone had come for the relic in the inner hall. Someone had assumed spring made the guards soft.
She stepped forward. Petals stuck to the black cloth, then fell away. The shrine kept its silence. The sword did not.

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