Chapter 1: Mirage of the West Wind
Mirage of the wind;
West wind's promise of cool breeze--
Brings flowers of frost.
I have never known in full why I have loved him, but there he was, in the midst of snowflakes falling through the quiet of the dark towards the frozen ground. Winter kept me warm, the lengthening darkness of the night blanketing over the sky, alighting the whole winter sky. I have loved him ever since the coming of the cold wave, watching him in the night through the mist in the darkness. I have seen warmth in his voice through the winter haze, and I recognize that warmth, for it is the warmth of the winter haze that brings forth the light of summer.
The quiet of the winter keeps with the harmony with my past life, which I have kept buried every passing spring. Mirages and other heaps of broken images have taken hold of me before, thoughts of hopes of grandeur, came with each passing showers of April which pierce the earth to the root. Nothing like that ever happens; such hopes exist only in our minds, mere heaps of broken images.
So I bury my past, and in the unbroken life of silence. I wait in this steady sea of darkness, not reaching for anything, merely observing the flow. The world itself is a cycle, everything flowing about in universe, and continuing to exist in many forms throughout the eternity of time. Eternal, eternal, darkness.
I am a part of this world, and there is nothing to wish for in this world other than the natural order. I go forward in this cycle, and live my life in the natural order of things, without the rash expectations I had in my earlier years, without the longings of April.
My memories lay buried in the Earth, but through the years, they have still not been swept away by the showers that pour through summer. Summer surprises me every time, for though it brings not the rebirth, it does bring the balmy breeze that rests in harmony with the sea. Through the hazy nights of the passing of spring, though the mirages torture to no end, there are still the stars to await in the end of the cold.
"Ebony" called a voice.
"Draco?" I thought aloud.
"Ebony, why are you here?"
"I am here for myself," I replied.
And then I disappeared back into the darkness, the darkness of winter. It is coming soon though, the season of mirages, and the cruelest month of the year.