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It’s been years since the incident happened, but he still remembers it as if it had happened yesterday. He can feel the refreshing, chilly wind ruffle his thick, burgundy mane as the familiar scent fills and overwhelms his very senses. He closes his eyes, tired. But the exhaustion he feels is old, never to be forgotten: not a physical one, but spiritual.
The beautiful landscape used to be his safe space… their safe place. Now, what came of it? While it does continue holding its beauty, it also causes his heart to hurt, his paws clenching into the dust in pure frustration. The Fuschia Waterfall is unperturbed, as if time itself stopped and mother nature forgot to change it. It keeps the same scents, the same flowers, the same rosy colored hues of the sun, melting into the mirrored, crystal clear water. The weather seems to be warmer here, the skies clear and the sun gentler.
This incident is something he will never let go of. There goes a saying that future kings never forget their first love. No matter how pretty, royal or talented their wives can be, no matter the healthy kids they give birth too, no matter the happiness the pride gives him, a king will never truly move on from his first love, always bound to have his mind wander off, alone, into the depths of his soul, searching for what is there no more. Some elders will laugh about this and call it “sappy”, that lionesses are just weaknesses for kings, others will approve of it and have a minute of silence to themselves as they fall back, melancholically, into their bittersweet memories. Sweet Rose already knows the true answer, which he would give anyone that would ask him sincerely: he could never forget her.
Memories flood back into his unfiltered mind… that day. That day when they first met. As dawn broke over the horizon, casting a soft pink hue across the sky, the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the day's awakening. Deep within the heart of an ancient forest, a hidden waterfall laid veiled by a curtain of mist, its cascading waters shimmering in the gentle light of the rising sun. The air was alive with the symphony of nature's chorus—the melodious songs of birds greeting the new day, the rustle of leaves as a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, and the soothing rush of water tumbling over rocks. Dew-kissed ferns and moss-covered stones glistened in the early morning light, their verdant hues vibrant against the backdrop of earthy browns and rich greens. As the day unfolded and the sun climbed higher in the sky, the hidden waterfall landscape remained a timeless testament to the majesty of creation—a fleeting glimpse of paradise hidden away from the hustle and bustle of the world beyond. And for those fortunate enough to stumble upon its secluded beauty, it would forever remain etched in their memories as a place of peace, wonder, and boundless beauty.
Back then, he was still an adolescent, a bit over one year. He stumbled upon this paradise as he chased down a river hog, playing around mindlessly just to have an excuse to not turn back and join his pride. That’s when he saw her. She was laying on top of a huge rock, deep into the water, pawing carefully at the moss, her long and sharp claws scratching the hard surface in an attempt of marking her territory. Her soft fur was shining a wonderful shade of pink, putting even the most grandiose cherry blossoms to true shame. As soon as Sweet Rose’s gaze fell on her, he quickly stopped his chasing, the prey long forgotten. Something else was on his mind right then: how can he even get to talk to such a beauty like her. Meanwhile, the youthful lioness heard the distressed sounds of the hog and she finally cast a glance at him. Their eyes met and it was as if time itself stopped for a few seconds. A young lioness, all alone by herself could mean danger, so he did not expect the beauty to jump into the water and swim up to him with such skill. She giggled as she did so, because Sweet Rose did not even feel the cold splash hit his fur: he was whipped since day one. The beauty smiled and welcomed him, pushing her small head against his chin, her tail up playfully, inviting him to swim along with her.
“It is said that in this part of the territory, you can come across pink roses? Did you know that? They are as vibrant as the sunrise, their shade matching the fuchsia flowers you can discover during spring. Would you like to join me into finding some?”
That was the very beginning of a beautiful tale. The two would spend most of their sunrises together, watching the night break apart, as pure light envelops the sky, beautiful hues of pink and orange signaling a new beginning. And he was never alone. Not when she was there, by his side, tail curled up around his, soft eyes glittering just like the waters.
But their happiness was short-lived. Sweet Rose always held some kind of uncertainty towards his pride. It is not that he did not hold any affection towards them, but they were harder to get along with. His mother and siblings were always extremely dependent on him, as he was the oldest one out of the litter. Moreover, he was a big brother who had a lot of responsibility in the pride. His mother and sisters would always cry to him about different, bigger near-by prides, about older cousins stealing their toys or broodmothers feeding them less. Once they grew up, their behaviour only worsened. Soon enough, he was forced into taking a spot he never truly wanted: to become the second in command into the pride, right under the King.
His pride was never too numerous. Most lionesses were older, just as the King, and the number of cubs would just have bad luck: many died of illnesses or because the broodmothers just were too tired to keep up with the little ones. Despite that, their territory was surrounded by danger, other bigger prides being just around the borders, always waiting for the right moment to steal prey or initiate fights – fights that were Sweet Rose’s job to finish, no matter how much he hated unwanted altercations. Deep down, he knew his family could do things without his help. He knew he was getting involved for unimportant matters or just petty disputes. But Sweet Rose held a bit of hope that they just wanted a better living for themselves, and that their pettiness does not come from ill intent, but from frustration.
That was until that damned day. The day his youngest sister came home crying, battered in bruises and a few cuts. It looked like she was beaten up, scared out of her mind. She yelled and begged for someone to avenge her, to protect her dignity, as she was never a true fighter herself. All his siblings, hell– almost the whole pride came and turned to him, demanding him to finally do something. And he did. It was never in his blood to fight lions, especially to pick fights himself. He never enjoyed the feeling of pain, nor the flesh tearing apart under his claws. He never liked having to fight lionesses. But he had to earn a name for his pride, to show respect for his youngest sibling. What he never knew was that the truth was twisted.
That day, he had torn apart an older lion, slightly older than him. He should have recognised the same, garnet eyes before. But he did not. Not until it was too late, and his lover, searching for her sister’s whereabouts, found her barely crawling into the dirt. She cried out in pain, picking the victim on her back and trying to drag her home. He could never forget her whimpers, nor her beautiful, glossy eyes, as the blood of her own sister tainted that cherry fur. Nor could he forget the look of pure hatred and confusion in her eyes when she looked at him. He never got a second chance. It was way too late. There was no undoing.
He knew he had to continue living on, to take the next spot as a King. But he could no longer bring himself to fight for his family – a family that held no respect to him. Even back then, when he came broken hearted beyond just anger, lashing out at his mother and siblings, they barely spared him a glance. His sister stole from the other pride’s territory, dragging away their stashed food for the upcoming dry season. She was caught into the act by another lioness, the only sister of his lover, and the fight turned bloody. As a result, the lioness died that night, and he fought for nothing: there was no name to protect, other than the name of a thief. Of a thief who refused to be held accountable, a thief who was protected by the entire pride as “the other bigger prides were never truly good in the first place”.
Years later, he is still haunted by the memory, yearning for a change. His heart swells in pain, yearning for another chance of seeing his sweet, cherry beauty once again. He shall never forget her, nor forgive himself…
Written by - Velvet (#465211)
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