It just so happened
that on that day
she woke early in the morn
before the sun shone bright,
being roused by dreams
which thought not of the past
troubled her just the same.

Yet troubled or no
Edelgard set to it,
her morning rituals.
First she took to her hair,
a careful, slow process
of brushing and combing
till the locks were neat
and ready to be pulled back
with light purple ribbons.
Next came the undressing,
which was followed by dressing
in her particular order
of undergarments, then stockings,
followed by shorts, then shirts
and the cravat and her cape,
red and a sign of authority,
before the boots were slipped on
and a dagger slipped into her belt,
just for safety's sake
here at Garreg Mach Monastery.
Then, finally, before she left
to step out into the world
she went over it all
looking into a mirror
making certain with fervor
that each detail was right,
not a hair out of place.

These morning rituals,
they helped a great deal,
an anchoring force
that brought her down
from those dream heights
which troubled her so,
and being so dressed
with her mask set in place
Edelgard stepped on out
into the dawn's early light,
soft and simple at it was,
seeming almost a dream
in its own right.

She left the halls
of the dormitories
stepping down stairs,
then past the greenhouse
and the fish pond too
to the market gate,
out which she slipped
paying little mind
to the call of a guard
weary in the early hours
save a reflexive, "Good morning."

A walk would do her well
after such dreams as had,
so she thought again
as she slipped right past
the monastery's high walls
and into the wooded hills
of Garreg Mach's land.
These walks always helped,
being an anchoring force,
so why not that day as well?

But it just so happened
that on that day
she was not alone
in those peaceful hills
though she had presumed
from habit and experience
that she would be.
For though she was alone
for a time as she was
greeted only by bird song
and ever brightening light
it was only for a time,
and not nearly enough time
for her head to clear
of the dreaded dream fluff.

She stepped past a tree
to a wooded grove,
silent and sound
save for the bird song
but there stood another,
just as silent there
as the trees themselves.

The professor stood there
unknowing of her presence,
of Edelgard standing there
stopping to stare silent
just as the professor stared
down at the tall lilies
poking up from the earth
each in full bloom.

Time seemed almost to stop
and her breath was caught
deep in her throat then
as her heart leapt
so taken by the sight
right from her dream heights
of the professor standing,
illuminated as she was
by the soft morning light.

Her hair hung, it did,
less messy than before,
spilling over her shoulders,
that perfect deep blue
cascading over the dark greys
of that so familiar coat,
as waters upon stone
in a softly rushing river.
Yet that hair, so beautiful,
though it was less messy now
than it had been before
Edelgard had offered her advice
on how best to keep it,
there was still skill lacking
in its keeping, she saw,
and so the need arose
right in that grove there
to run a comb through it
with slow, arduous care
placed into every stroke,
and fine attention to detail
as the locks slipped through
her fingers as she worked,
dipped right into the stream.

Oh! The dreams, those dreams!
The ones which troubled her so
were back at the front
of her troubled mind right then
and though she'd think better
were she more sound of mind
she called out to her
quite by impulse alone
in this seeming dream
to her professor standing there,
voicing a pleading question.

Then as the professor turned
she could be certain at last
that she was surely awake
for she could not push back
the coming tide of dreams past
which had roused her early
on that very day here,
for it had been that face
that troubled her so
in her sleeping hours.

She smiled then, the professor,
though at the time before
she looked with surprise,
flat though it was
until it was registered at last
who it was that called her
and as it did,
a smile crept to her face,
small though it was.

The smile was infectious,
all pervading it seemed,
leaving no room to hide,
and brought one to Edelgard.
A bright, warm smile -- grateful --
which peaked right past
her mask so carefully laid
in the early morning hours.
Then there was the voice
that answered her back
with a kindly, "Edelgard!"
and a "Good morning," shortly after.

People called her voice flat,
as blank as her face, the professor's.
They said it was unreadable,
seeming just a white page,
but there were small tones,
slight pitches and subtle signs
which Edelgard had come to know
and to which she clung tight
with a girlish delight.
The professor was happy,
happy to see her there
in that wooded grove
quite alone and apart
in the early morning.

Those words emboldened her
and she set aside the dreams
and left behind her mask
just for a moment's time
to ask the professor then
what she had come to do
right here in this wood.

"Look at the flowers,"
so she said, turning back,
to gaze down upon them.

"The flowers?" she asked
spirit bolder still
at being free again
of her teacher's gaze,
bold enough to step
forward and on towards
the elder woman there.

"Yes," the teacher said
as she studied them hard
those lilies so light
with a gaze as intense
as she gave all other things.
A gaze that seemed to pierce
right through all masks.
A foolish thought, that,
so Edelgard told herself
for her mask was her life
and the professor continued,
"I never thought about them,
not before now, not really."

"Truly?" she questioned
baffled once again
by her enigmatic mentor
who seemed to care for nothing
till at last she did,
with distant, detached delight.

"They were just plants to me."
That answer was cold, bitter,
and it froze Edelgard
right into place there
and she remember then
the unfeeling, unflinching gaze
which had followed her
in the earlier days
when she was new teacher made
For the days seemed too far,
yet far too near her
and her heart sank deep
fearing for the return
of that coldness, the void,
of her professor from before
she praised her works ever
and consoled her even more.

"But they aren't just plants,"
her teacher explained more
in her even tone,
calming and soothing
even then in the grove,
"There's something more."

And she turned to look
right back at her,
at Edelgard there
a smile on her face
as she said the words,
"They're rather pretty."

They were stupid, silly.
hardly elegant
and not at all poetry.
But the words cut through
and spurred her on again
getting her to step forward
for the need to stand,
to stand beside her then,
the professor there.

Oh! ...but she tripped!
Over a rock or a stone
or her own foolish thoughts
and went tumbling down
into the grasses
giving her time to think
on her dreams again
which troubled her so,
for this was foolish, really.
The professor spoke of flowers,
and nothing more.

But the professor gasped
and ran to her side
to grab at her hand
seemingly without thought,
which killed the thoughts,
worries and all,
in Edelgard's mind then
as she was helped up
right back to her feet.

Yet standing again
the hand lingered on hers,
a firm pressure, warm,
though the gloves she wore
kept back the feel of skin
leaving only the knowledge of it,
and the knowledge burned
deep into Edelgard's mind
as her face burned too
while she thanked her
and chastised herself.

Which, of course, oh...
the professor, she argued with that.
Saying how it was fine,
that there was no need
for Edelgard then and there
to tear herself down so
over so simple a thing
and so far from battlefields,
and there was not a hint,
not a single drop,
of criticism at all.
For her teacher was attentive,
having learned her preferences
be they for tea
or for comfort.

Yet her face was flushed
and her hair in disarray
and her heart pounded,
so Edelgard argued with it,
that it was hardly becoming
of a future emperor,
an heir apparent, a princess,
to fall over her own feet,
only for the professor
to argue right back
that it was seeming
for one still growing,
to which she contested
still and ever on
seeking to hide again
from her dream thoughts
and the professor's hand
which still lingered there
right on her own.

But it just so happened
that on that day
when she had woken early
roused by dreams that troubled her,
that the professor showed her
how she'd learned of metaphor
as she turned to the flowers then
to say they had been but bulbs
until quite recently as then,
and how now they bloomed
into something most graceful
with a beauty unlike any other.