𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Short Story

𝐎𝐂: 𝐌.𝐊.

༒

⋅.       ⋆     .

                                                ∘      . ⋅

⁞ 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ˎˊ˗

Dear Reader, before you delve into The Bloom of Becoming, I wish to extend a warning about the themes contained within. The content explores difficult and triggering topics: death, gore, acceptance, and emotional detachment. Reader discretion is strongly advised. My oc Mei is my alter ego, she keeps me sane when I write in her shoes :sparkles:

────────────

⋅.       ⋆     .

                                                ∘      . ⋅

⁞ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆

Mei’s garden had always been a sanctuary. An oasis that grew wild beneath her careful fingertips, each flower blooming defiantly, vibrant petals unashamedly open beneath the gentle caress of moonlight. Tonight, though, a darker bloom had taken root, sprawling out amid her beloved lilies and roses. It was a bloom nurtured by violence, watered with betrayal, and fed by the deep hurt she once believed she was incapable of feeling.

At her feet lay the body of a man she’d trusted…he was the only one she’d allowed to step carefully into her solitary life, a man she’d thought understood her truths and accepted them without judgment. But of course, in the end, his understanding had turned bitter, twisted by fear. He had looked upon her, truly seen the creature she was and recoiled, lashing out to wound her in places no words could reach. “Monster,” he’d called her, “You deserve to be destroyed.” His voice a desperate hiss. And then he’d torn at the heart of her garden, ripping her precious flowers from their stems, crushing their fragile beauty beneath his rage.

Mei’s eyes drifted over him now, imive...His chest lay torn open like a blooming lily, ribs spread wide in elegant arches, delicate and grotesque petals of bone and flesh arranged beautifully by her own hands. Moonlight bathed him gently, silver brushing tenderly against the raw, glistening scarlet of his lifeless heart. The sight brought only quiet acceptance, a bittersweet understanding that love and trust were not safe in the hands of others, not entirely.

“Perhaps,” Mei murmured softly, “I always knew this garden was meant only for me.”

Midnight slipped quietly from the shadows of lily bushes, the black cat weaving silently between the torn blooms. His emerald eyes gleamed gently in the darkness, gazing up at her with quiet approval. Mei knelt, brushing her fingers through his silky fur, feeling warmth and certainty in the gentle vibration of his purr.

She had allowed herself vulnerability once, believing another might share her solitude without shattering it. She had been wrong. She would not repeat the mistake. Her heart, like her garden, would remain carefully guarded, nurtured by her own hands alone. If she was a monster, so be it.

For a monster she bloomed, unafraid and unashamed, beneath moonlight.

Standing slowly, Mei inhaled the lingering fragrance of broken blossoms and blood, her gaze steady on the night sky. The stars offered no judgment, only silent companionship.

In this moment, she knew the truth with clarity; She was safest alone, thriving in the solitude of her own company, rooted firmly in self-acceptance.

Turning her back on the ruined body, she stepped deeper into her garden, fingertips brushing gently against petals that had survived the violence. Her voice came softly again, whispering promises to herself beneath the moon’s serene gaze:

“I will bloom without apology. Never again…waiting for someone else to water my roots.”