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moonsheenThe key to writing Byakuya is to read a lot of haiku beforehand. Again spoilers for Bleach 179.
The first blossoms of the first morning of their first spring were lying at Hisana’s feet. How it had broken was a mystery to her. Still, the ends of the sprig were snapped, green insides stripped to be seen in jagged splendour by the whole world—it made Hisana feel embarrassed for it and it made her feel very sad. She bent over, picked it up, touched the bruised petals, and left the garden. She cradled it carefully, as one might hold an injured child.
When he returned that evening, the young Lord Byakuya asked for his wife. He was told by exactly three servants that the Lady Hisana had spent all day poring over maps in the southern reading rooms and was now sleeping. He said nothing to this, simply stalked past them all and, coming up into his study he found the sprig on his desk, swaddled in one of the silk scarves he had given her last winter.
“Ah.” Hisana began, resting on her belly in their room, her face pillowed on her bent wrists and eyes averted as she heard him enter. “I pray that you--”
“That will not be necessary.”
Her cheeks warmed. She turned to look at him, where he had settled next to the futon. “…my lord?”
“You may ask for water next time.”
“My lord.”
And he handed her the scarf.
The first blossoms of the first morning of their first spring were lying at Hisana’s feet. How it had broken was a mystery to her. Still, the ends of the sprig were snapped, green insides stripped to be seen in jagged splendour by the whole world—it made Hisana feel embarrassed for it and it made her feel very sad. She bent over, picked it up, touched the bruised petals, and left the garden. She cradled it carefully, as one might hold an injured child.
When he returned that evening, the young Lord Byakuya asked for his wife. He was told by exactly three servants that the Lady Hisana had spent all day poring over maps in the southern reading rooms and was now sleeping. He said nothing to this, simply stalked past them all and, coming up into his study he found the sprig on his desk, swaddled in one of the silk scarves he had given her last winter.
“Ah.” Hisana began, resting on her belly in their room, her face pillowed on her bent wrists and eyes averted as she heard him enter. “I pray that you--”
“That will not be necessary.”
Her cheeks warmed. She turned to look at him, where he had settled next to the futon. “…my lord?”
“You may ask for water next time.”
“My lord.”
And he handed her the scarf.