Dangerous Flashbacks:
@familyxdutyxhonor continued X
Since Mulan’s return from the battlefield, she’d taken to disappearing for long periods of time to meditate in the temple or visit the family armory. While in the sanctity of their peaceful home, her mind and body were both still prepared for war. It was hard for her to comprehend that the fight might truly be over.
Shadows of the impending nightfall strain across her porcelain face with the aid of the flickering lamps. Stories of unimaginable and untold horrors weave their deep vines of distrust through the amber of her eyes.
Her father’s borrowed sword is snatched from its ceremonial place on the mantle next to Shan Yu’s and is drawn into the warrior’s weathered hands. With great care, the sheath is removed from the sharp silver of the blade and laid upon the floor at her side. The blade carves it’s singing path with a swift flourish through the air. She moves, gracefully with an expert ease before coming to a stop again.
Trepidation, like ice, travels down her spine when the silver menacingly caught a glint of yellow light from the lamp, dragging her helplessly into a flashback of the mountains. The putrid stench of sulfur torments her senses. A thunderous bellow of an explosion inspires very earth beneath her feet to tremble. And then it hits, that awful flash of light coiling like a rabid and angry snake down the length of a jagged sword, the very blade she is keenly aware is resting upon the mantle unused and untouched, before bearing down on her side.
Mulan’s whole body rivets violently the minute a hand curls around her shoulder. Short ebony hairs sweep drastically through her vision as she pins the threat to the wall and levels the sword at its throat ready to terminate its life. Ragged breaths draw in and expel the heated air from her heaving lungs. Murderous intent curls through her veins and jackhammers through her heart.
However, the frightened orbs that peered back at her were NOT a hideous shade of abnormal yellow. They certainly were not the dangerous and hate-filled ones she had been expecting. No. They were innocent and soft, the pleasant shade of ginger brown. She immediately recognized them as belonging to her darling sister Xiu. The grip Mulan has on the blade falters, fingers willfully releasing, resulting in the sword meeting the floor with a horrible metallic crash. Her hands quiver violently as the act she had been about to commit finally registers in her warring mind. At this particular moment, it was hard for her to distinguish exactly why she’d ever been called a hero of China. Remorse colors her cheeks and her face turns away in great shame. Liquid silver spills past her dark lashes as she earnestly implores, “bào qiàn, Zhēn'ài xiǎo mèimei. Qǐng yuánliàng wǒ.” Swallowing thickly Mulan continues, “duìbùqǐ, wǒ xià dào nǐle. Zì zhànzhēng huílái yǐlái, wǒ yīzhí dōu bùduì.” It was a painful truth. One she had been trying to sweep under the rug for the sake of her family. But there was no concealing it now. Not after she had nearly hurt Xiu. In a quiet almost whisper she confides, “Wǒ xiǎng wǒ kěnéng xūyào bāngzhù.”The confession doesn’t come easy for a girl who was seen as strong in the eyes of her entire country. Mulan can’t stomach the idea of turning back, of looking into those eyes that she has long loved, and seeing nothing but fear. She hates that she had ever caused Xiu to feel dread.
