wabi-sabi
rumores
~~~~~~~
the discovery of beauty in imperfection; the acceptance of the cycle of life and death
The room was filled with the echo of her sobs, a haunting melody of despair that seemed to seep into the very walls. The door creaked open, and a man stepped in, his arms laden with a tray bearing a bowl of water and a soft cloth. His eyes widened in astonishment as he took in the sight of her tear-streaked face. He hurriedly placed the tray on a nearby table and rushed to her side.
He squatted down next to her, his hand gently holding her arm as he leaned in close to examine her face. "You are awake?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. As he wiped away her tears with the cloth, she scowled at him, her voice shaky but defiant. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The man's eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words. His face contorted into an expression that was a mix of hatred and anger, yet there was something else there, something softer. "My lady, what do you mean by who am I? Did you fall down from the balcony so badly that you even lost your memories?" He scoffed and sneered, but quickly composed himself, his face settling into a poker face.
"I do not really know who you are, but leave. I don't want anyone here," she said, her voice firm. The man maintained his poker face, nodded, and left the room. After a while, he returned, accompanied by another man dressed in different robes.
The new man approached her, his movements slow and deliberate. He took her hand gently, his fingers pressing lightly against her wrist as he checked her pulse. "My lady, do you know your name?" he asked, his voice soft and soothing. "My name is Aurora," she replied. He nodded, scribbling something down on a piece of parchment.
"And which year were you born?" he continued. "In 20XX," she answered. "Where were you born?" "I was born in (your place where you were)." He nodded again, his expression turning somber. He excused himself and left the room, the first man trailing behind him.
The room fell silent once more, the only sound being the soft rustle of the curtains as they danced in the gentle breeze. The echoes of her cries had faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to weigh on her shoulders.
In the quiet corridor outside the room, the two men stood in tense silence. The older man, his face etched with lines of worry and age, spoke in a voice heavy with sadness. "It seems her highness has lost her memories," he said, his words echoing in the empty hallway.
The younger man scoffed, his disbelief evident in his sharp gaze. "She lost her memories? Is that what you're saying?" he retorted, his voice rising in incredulity. "Do you even know what you're saying? That woman is a menace. The fact she fell from the balcony is a lie. Lady Brownwood was accused unjustly. Everyone knows that, even if they agree with our lady," he spat out, his words a torrent of pent-up frustration and anger.
