She breathes. The sign of her maturity turns the casing of the large fruit holding her black, from a pristine white. It cracks, and she falls out onto the hallow, submerged grounds underneath. It is not the chill of the water that wakes her--rather, it is its slow current, which sends the strangest tremors through her body.

The dead simultaneously pity the soulless husk, and revere it as the beautiful product of their sacrifices.

Her eyes flutter open, and she orients herself. The wrangled roots of a barren tree surround her, and the water is astoundingly clear. It is shallow, as well. She notices the many masks scattered about. Roused by curiosity, she steadily rises to her feet. She pulls her white locks of hair back, away from her vision, and wipes the water off of her arm and her side.

Her head turns, and she sweeps over her surroundings with a passing glance, from left to right. It's not longer than a minute before her attention settles on the tree behind her. She turns, to face it, and surveys it. Its limbs are strong and there are no leaves that can be seen. There are corpses strewn among its many branches.

They do not perturb her. When her gaze turns back down, she notices that she's missed something. Clothes draped over a root, orderly and clean, with the sheen of silk and soft yellows and whites that are alluringly warm. Also, there are accessories.

They look to be made of bone, or metal. She tell for sure, which. Eased on by a sense of duty, she steps over to the articles and goes about dressing herself. The fabrics are all still warm.

"Forgive me."

There is a voice coming from behind her, and there is an air of familiarity about it. She is neither surprised, nor startled. She finishes setting her armlets on, and flexes her forearms, to test their fit. They are tight, and snug. "Forgive... you?"

Having made herself modest, she turns to face the woman behind her. Raven-black hair, and sharp, feline features greet her. Blake Belladonna holds her mask in her left hand. That's right--her name is Blake.

"What for?" she inquires.

Blake's gaze remains steady, though there is a sort of distance to it--a myriad of restrained emotions that all but muddle any telling trait there would otherwise be in her expression.

"Your life will burden you, and it will be fleeting. But..."
"But?"

She pauses, and turns her chin up, her attention having drifted skywards. Naturally the newborn's also follows suit. Beyond the hole in the cave's ceiling that protects the hidden grove, there is a bleak, grey sky, entirely clouded.

"... I hope you will enjoy it. I hope that your existence will mean that the world can finally move on."

...

"I don't think... that you should apologize. Do you mind, though?"
"Ah?"

Their gazes set back on eachother.

"I have a question."
"Go ahead."
"When I leave, where should I go?"
"Hm... find someone who needs help. After that, everything should come naturally."

That fledgling curiosity has only overtaken her expression, all the more. "What about you? Do you need help?" It's an entirely genuine inquiry.

At first, surprise overwrites Blake's features. It doesn't last long. To be asked such a question instills a warmth into her, at the viscus of her chest. Naturally, her lips twist into a faint smile.

"... No. Not anymore, I don't think. Thank-you, though. Asvattha Kala."

Asvattha smiles, as well. It's a wonderful sensation. It strikes her that there really shouldn't be anything to apologize for, if being allowed to live just a little while means she can experience things like this.

They both nod to each-other, turn away, and depart. The grove becomes silent and still after they vacate, with only the ripples of their footsteps over the water left behind; and, of course, the black husk of the only fruit that the tree will ever bare.