Calligraphy

The truth? Sakura enjoyed sneaking off in the early mornings, before the city itself woke, when the air had yet to be tainted with the scent of perfumed teas and breakfast. Sometimes, she would meet with a high-ranking Watch, the pair hidden away from any frequented paths. It was here that she would produce a set of well-crafted throwing knives from a pouch and begin to practice her aim on old, worn dummies.

The polite answer? “I enjoy calligraphy,” she will proudly say, smiling. No one would appreciate the idea of a Queen dodging and dealing attacks, staining her coat with sweat. It wasn’t lady like, nor was it truly proper. That’s what her father had said. Her mother, too, though she had been the one to purchase Sakura her first set of knives – along with a set of fine parchment paper, ink, and brushes. “If you want to learn this,” she had said, nodding to the box of small knives, “then you have to learn an art, too.”

Surprisingly, she had enjoyed learning both. When she wasn’t flinging weapons into a mannequin, she could be found in a room that overlooked the palace gardens and ponds. The room was barren save for a few shelves that held her tools and a mat to rest on. There, she would lay down, wings spread out around her, though careful enough to not knock over any inkpots. Carefully, Sakura would draw with the brush, gliding the jet-black liquid over the paper, and soon, she would be lost in her own world.