CELESTIAL FLOWERS ( s. gojo )

END.

EPILOGUE.
- w i n t e r. 

"where children learn of the world of rot and ruin."

GOJO SATORU IS NINETEEN. Invictus. Divine. (There is something holy about this boy, but there is also tragedy.) A young god whose fate has been weaved with threads made of pulsating gold. The stars in their thrones above the earth would pale in comparison to his celestial radiance. Destined for all those shimmering things: thrones and scepters studded with brilliant gems. Destined for power, popularity, and preeminence. (For pain.)

Gojo Satoru is nineteen. Unlike the boys his age who are hunched over textbooks and computer screens, playing video games, and studying for upcoming examinations, results on a piece of paper that get to dictate their precious futures, Gojo stands atop a pile of corpses and broken dreams. Curses and wishes all too easy to break with the infinity swirling at the edge of his fingertips

Gojo Satoru is nineeteen. He sees anything and everything with those Six Eyes of his. He sees blood and death and an endless cycle of pointless sacrifice. Bodies of Jujutsu sorcerers piling up on the altar, dedicated to duty, to responsibility, to family. To a sense of camaraderie that easily spits out those who do not fit their mold of unquestioning loyalty.

Gojo Satoru is nineeten. And he sees so much living proof of that harsh, corrupt system that the elders valued so much. (It makes him sick to his stomach, if this wasn't how they ran things, then Riko wouldn't, then Haibara wouldn't, then Suguru, his one and only best friend, wouldn't— dead and gone and he despises it so much, so many wishes vanishing like air bubbles, popping with a single prick of a needle, lovely things gone just like that.) He wouldn't be seeing two girls standing opposite each other with so much hatred and heartache in their eyes.

Gojo Satoru is nineteen. And he witnesses the unraveling. The hurtful words, that reek of acid spat at those they held most dear. (Make no mistake, he has always wanted for Kazuko to stop equating her value to those of a tool, to break away from all the unfair responsibilities that caged her hopes and dreams, but this isn't, no, this isn't what he wants to see.) He sees the discord sprawled all over her face and he has to do something. (What use was all that strength and power?)

Gojo Satoru is nineteen. And he reaches out a hand towards the girl teetering into destruction.

 ■ ■ ■

"Kazu," his voice is stern, concerned. Trickles of fear make their way to his system.

How can I make her listen? How can I make her take my hand? Take my hand, don't leave, don't abandon the things you love, the people you love, the people who love you.

Don't abandon me.

The words die at his throat.

Instead, he says, "Don't do anything stupid."

She tilts her head to the side. Locks of blue-black hair cling to her cheeks. Her usually tight twin braids are loose, strands sticking out and others tamed by rainwater.

A small smile is playing on her lips.

"Stupid?"

The smile widens, revealing her teeth, droplets of blood staining the pearly whites. "All my life I've been the opposite of that. And it was a miserable existence.

"Maybe it's time to do stupid things."

"Do you remember, Gojo-san?" Her eyes no longer look hollow like the first time he saw them. There's something in there now, a sheen of something that he cannot figure out for the life of him. Her voice is cold like the wind lashing at their figures, the raindrops sliding down the layer of infinity encased over his body. "When we first met, you told me how I had horrible chains cast around me."

Kazuko pauses and looks down at the crumpled body of the descendant of a god below her. The girl she loved so much more than Gojo, than herself. Brilliant, beautiful Erisu in such a pathetic state. All her doing. The sun struck down by the same mortal who revered it.

"Now, I am free."

 ■ ■ ■

KOYAMA KAZUKO IS NINETEEN. And she's breaking. For better or worse, she doesn't know. The only thing that matters right now is freedom, a space to breathe oxygen in and expel carbon dioxide without worrying if the elders would scrunch their noses in disapproval. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. A life void of chains, of expectations and worry and duty and responsibility and purpose.

Koyama Kazuko is nineteen. Standing on a crossroad filled with tumbleweeds and daisies, dust, and wooden signages. Flickers of uncertainty over the crossroad unfurling in front of her. Which path to take? Which choice to make? Turn away, apologize and pretend all this never happened. Go back to serving and dedicating. Discarding all those selfish wishes that flood her mind. Or to leave and live. Go to places she's never been to. Make choices she's always wanted to. (Run away from all the pain that's piled atop her trembling shoulders.)

Koyama Kazuko is nineteen. And she chooses the latter. She chooses freedom and living. (Running away.) She chooses the sea, mountains, and forests. The places she's always daydreamed of traveling to with a polaroid camera, a summer dress, and a straw hat. Traipsing across ticklish grass and look up to see shooting stars streaking the velvet black night sky. Turn away from all the blood, sacrifice, and curses.

Koyama Kazuko is nineteen. And before she believed that people like her, tools meant to serve those above them, could not— should not—want. Because wanting is pain. A hand forever reached out through the spaces between the bars of a prison that only permits sunlight. But now, Kazuko wants. She thinks I don't want this cage anymore, I don't want the chains anymore. I want a blue sky as far as the eye can see, no walls or roofs, or bindings that chain me to the ground.

Koyama Kazuko is nineteen. She doesn't take the hand reached out towards her, the one that makes her think of warmth and assurance and affection. Sugary smiles and a rose flower blossoming inside her chest. Butterfly wings fluttering in the flesh walls of her stomach. She crushes the flower with her heel, and snaps the butterfly wings in half. She doesn't want it. These are chains disguised as sweetness, poison in the tastiest wine. I don't want anything to do with you people anymore.

Koyama Kazuko is nineteen and she is gone.

END.