《The Forever Garden》


 Silent Farewell

    The cherry blossoms fell softly, their pale pink petals drifting through the still air and settling upon the ground in silent surrender. In the heart of the garden stood Tagitsa Origumaru, his tall frame silhouetted against the muted gray sky. His white hair shimmered faintly, stark against the dark scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. His emerald green eyes, vibrant yet unfeeling, scanned the quiet surroundings. The garden was pristine, orderly¡ªevery flower in bloom, every blade of grass untouched by decay. Yet it was as lifeless as the souls who passed through it.


    He knelt by the woman, his long fingers brushing lightly against her fading form. Her body seemed made of mist, shifting and flickering with each breath she struggled to take. Her features were unremarkable: thin brown hair that hung limply past her shoulders, a face lined with weariness, and hollow eyes that reflected a lifetime of regrets. She clung to him feebly, her hands trembling as if they were made of fragile glass.


    ¡°You¡¯re... still here,¡± she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of disbelief. Her tone wasn¡¯t grateful, nor was it accusatory¡ªit simply existed, like her, teetering on the edge of disappearance.


    Tagitsa didn¡¯t respond. His emerald eyes settled on her for a brief moment before shifting away to the ground beneath her knees. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustle of petals brushing against the dirt. His expression remained as it always was: distant, unreadable, and cold. His presence offered no comfort, but it offered stability, and for most, that was enough.


    The woman¡¯s form began to unravel, threads of translucent light peeling away from her like smoke. She gripped his arm tighter, though her fingers passed through his coat as though it were water. ¡°I... I didn¡¯t mean... to leave things this way,¡± she murmured, her voice trembling, fragmented. Her fading figure shivered, and tears¡ªif they could still be called that¡ªstreamed down her face, glinting faintly before vanishing into the air.


    Still, Tagitsa said nothing. Words were unnecessary here. His role wasn¡¯t to console, nor to condemn. He was simply there, the silent witness to every soul¡¯s final moment.


    As her body dissolved further, her gaze softened, and her lips curved faintly into what might have been a smile, though it was fragile and fleeting. ¡°Thank you,¡± she breathed, her voice no louder than the sigh of wind passing through the garden.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    And then she was gone. The last remnants of her existence scattered into the void, leaving nothing behind¡ªnot even the faint warmth her presence had brought. For a moment, Tagitsa knelt there, his gloved hands resting on his knees, his head bowed slightly as if listening to an echo only he could hear.


    The wind stirred, carrying with it the faintest scent of cherry blossoms. Tagitsa rose slowly, brushing a stray petal from his shoulder. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he adjusted the scarf around his neck. Beneath the fabric, he could feel the jagged scars etched into his skin¡ªscars whose origin he couldn¡¯t recall, but whose presence he accepted without question. They were simply a part of him, as much as the garden or the endless procession of souls.


    He turned, his gaze sweeping over the vibrant expanse of the garden. The neatly arranged beds of flowers, bursting with reds, yellows, and whites, stood in stark contrast to the grayness beyond. A small wooden bridge arched gracefully over a koi pond, its still waters reflecting the blossoms that fell from above. The air was tranquil, unchanging¡ªa frozen moment in time, repeated endlessly.


    Purgatory, they called it. But to Tagitsa, it was simply the place where he existed.


    He walked toward the center of the garden, his footsteps soft against the earthen path. Each step was deliberate, measured, like the ticking of a clock. Beneath the weight of his gaze, the garden seemed to hold its breath, waiting. For centuries, this had been his reality¡ªa cycle of arrivals and departures, of fleeting connections and empty farewells. He had long since stopped questioning the purpose of it all. Questions required curiosity, and curiosity required emotion, something he hadn¡¯t felt in lifetimes.


    The air shifted. It was subtle, like a thread being plucked in the fabric of the world. Tagitsa paused, his emerald eyes narrowing slightly as he turned his attention to the empty patch of earth where new arrivals always appeared. Though he couldn¡¯t hear it, he felt the faint ripple of a presence, distant but approaching.


    Another soul would come soon. Another story of regret, unfinished business, or unspoken pain. Another fleeting connection he would guide to its end.


    He adjusted his scarf again, the fabric rough against his fingers. The scars beneath it prickled faintly, but he ignored the sensation. He had grown used to it long ago.


    Standing in the center of the garden, surrounded by the falling blossoms and the vibrant stillness of his carefully tended world, Tagitsa waited. His posture was calm, his expression unchanging. To any observer, he might have seemed carved from stone¡ªa guardian frozen in time.


    The wind carried the faint scent of the garden once more, brushing past him like a whisper. He closed his eyes briefly, though it wasn¡¯t from weariness or contemplation. It was simply habit, a small ritual before the cycle began again.


    The presence grew stronger. He opened his eyes, and the garden welcomed its next visitor.