Chapter 2: I Don’t Understand

Winter was a time that corroborated Inaki’s silence. Blizzards that sunk into every nook created by wolf-fur vines, crusted snow into dens for the beings seeking refuge within. The little snake, coiled peacefully around Inaki's neck, had long passed into seasonal slumber. 

 

Inaki was as much a caretaker as the temple was. Visions of day past manifested themselves in flowers that appeared at midnight, gently dropping onto Inaki. 

 

With practised movements, Inaki spun these into flower garlands that never withered, and dressed the temple surfaces with them in return. Come this last season, Inaki would choose to retreat back, curling up at the feet of their god, hidden in this tiny, curated garden at the centre of everything.

 

It was a reward, they reasoned. Who knew how much time before, when they couldn't stand the sight of their eternity anymore, they started this tradition. Round and round, a short break for as long as the forest donned its ephemerally pure garment.

 

It didn't make any difference whether Inaki was there or not. The shrine would endure, and any visitors would always be gone in the end. 

 

The first time Inaki rested, they were struck with guilt. Shame at their abandonment of post, the moment they awoke, they stumbled through each corridor, every hall, looking for any sign of their transgression; grievous mistakes that meant they could not live.

 

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And there was nothing.

 

Nothing, but the flowers. 

 

Ah. And so, it was at that moment they realised why they had been taught to catch flowers; to steal them from the embrace of their god and make bracelets, adorning every possible surface with them.

 

Perhaps such emptiness was the punishment for this selfishness of a kind, and perhaps it wasn't. 

 

Perhaps it had been inevitable from the first place.

Inaki lay down, and held up a hand to clutch the snake around their neck. They murmured unintelligibly, pushing themselves deeper into the fabric of their clothing; strewn in unravelling ripples of cloth around them, broken up only by the flora that carved their way up to the far ceiling. And with a sigh, all colour faded to past.

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