The Bastion’s Beginning
A false window of a world, bleeding the spring of a flower’s paradise. The mademoiselle’s music fearing the stranger, and the birth of man ending in shame.
For in this darkness the petty will prevail, the flower will fall and the withered garden will breathe its dream once again, reunited with the world and setting its silhouette in stone.
The rounded table of four was filled only by three. The edge as sharp as the tiger’s tooth and its wood stronger than the tallest tale. Behind the Flower sat a singular small pane of glass, depicting in its tiny glory the grey and cubed world outside.
The Mademoiselle was a dreamer. She would sway to the sound of her own music and smile at the strength of the words. Her companions enjoyed the songs, yet as the darkness crept behind her, a fear of strangers consumed the Mademoiselle, and soon she left.
Sadly, the Toy Soldier was a pessimist. He’d played his part many times in fields of ash and muck, and saw their group’s decreasing numbers as nothing more than fate. But even he couldn’t ignore the call for aid, and soon he left.
Thirdly, the Flower was a lonely hoper. She’d sit for hours staring into nothing, pleased with her own passing thoughts. But as a breeze blew over her shoulder, the rounded table revealed itself to be empty. Yet, to the Flower’s delight, the singular small pane of glass began to flow with the blossom of spring, and soon she left.
Time had passed slower for the fourth member, and in the mystery of his land he discovered calm. But loneliness was a pondering price to pay. Perhaps a guest was all he needed, perhaps a newcomer was all that awaited. Yet as the days dawned blind, and the nights rose bright, there was more than expected, and in the end, a friend is what was demanded.