"Camellias?"
camellias — they came in many shapes, forms, and beautifully vivid colors. it was a flower that held more meaning to her than she would ever show, more meaning to her than anyone would ever be aware of. it had been — and still was — her favorite flower, her namesake being a close second.
camellias were strong, surviving through the blazes of the summer’s heat, and the chilling frost of winter’s icy bite, looking beautiful all the while — just like herself.
they had been all around her home village, and they were plentiful in otogakure, too.
though years ago, the image of the camellia was hideously warped and contorted. she had been but a girl of no more than thirteen, no less than ten. it was then she met orochimaru, a man to whom she owed her utmost loyalty. it was with her small, pale, innocent hands that she had slain the woman who had tended to her as she was injured.
pure white camellias, soft petals akin to the snow all around, were splashed with a bright red hue. the splatters and droplets of blood soaked into the flowers, spreading until they were stained with her sin. leaves were smeared with the sanguine fluid, the snow around the bushes having become just as crimson as the camellias.
guren’s pallid fingers were smeared and dripping with blood, too. if there was no snow to mask it, surely a pool of it would have formed around the body lying on the ground, but it soaked right through the fluff.
she had worn gloves since then, concealing the hands that had killed an innocent woman all for the sake of gaining acceptance from the man whom she adored the most. even as she aged and her garb changed, she could see the camellia on her dress be flooded with the bloodiest shade of red.
for the longest time, she had come to hate camellias, and she had only herself to blame. the memory stained the banks of her mind, just as the blood had stained the flowers, and just as the sin had been stained into her hands.
❛ —-beautiful, aren’t they? ❜
