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When she first kissed Anthy, she thought it felt like kissing a doll.
Her lips were soft, and she smelled like roses. But it had been so cold, so passive on Anthy’s part. It had been her idea, so Utena wasn’t sure why there was so little there to kiss. When she looked in her eyes, they had the same look as if she was washing dishes or watering her roses. There was a blankness in those still jade pools and a barrier of shining glass covering any emotion. She smiled at Utena when it was done, but it was a blank, soulless smile. Utena remembered the feeling of her heart falling, shattering like silver china. She felt as if Anthy had stolen her first kiss, offering it to her and giving nothing in return. And emptiness swallowed her—Anthy’s emptiness—huge and all-consuming.
But no, maybe this was her fault. Maybe Anthy had only offered because she was the Rose Bride, and she thought it was owed to her for winning her in the duel. Maybe she had given this same cold kiss to Saionji and to Touga. That thought made Utena want to cry or throw up. She did neither.
The second time she kissed Anthy was not long after the first. A few seconds, perhaps. A desperate attempt to see if she had not just done a poor job. But there was nothing there.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t very good.”
“I liked it, Miss Utena,” Anthy had replied. “I’d never been kissed by a girl before.”
Ah. Of course. Girls weren’t really supposed to kiss each other. Not like that. God, no. How would Anthy enjoy a girl kissing her? Utena marveled at how silly she could be, ignoring the hot feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She should have saved her kiss for a prince.
The third time she kissed Anthy, she could still feel the ache from where she had pulled the sword from her chest. She had no idea that could hurt so much. She could never imagine that the pain felt good—the kind of ache she never wanted to lose. The power when Anthy had pulled the sword from her was still thrumming its song in her bones, making her feel light, dizzy almost. She stumbled, and for once Anthy was the one to catch her. They looked at each other for a single moment, and then they were kissing.
This was what she had dreamed of. Passionate. Hard. Anthy had her against their new bedroom wall, her tongue in Utena’s mouth. For a moment, there was something like ecstasy, before they suddenly fell apart.
Roses. She even tastes like roses. Roses and syrup. Bitter and sweet.
She looked at Anthy, her heart pounding. Anthy was calm and collected, her expression inscrutable as always. But there seemed a warmth to her dark cheeks and glitter to her eyes.
“We should make supper,” Utena said, as if nothing had happened.
Her own voice sounded like headless radio chatter, far off and unimportant. The babblings of a child. But Anthy smiled, and it almost looked real.
“Yes. Let’s have ice cream.”
It was sweet ice cream. Vanilla and mint. But it didn’t wash the taste of roses out of her mouth.
The fourth time she kissed Anthy, she thought she was dying.
The pain of the sword through her gut was all-encompassing. Every nerve and vein and a bit of flesh knew the injury far too well, burdening her with the agony. It shot through her as if Anthy had never stopped stabbing her, over and over again, with every moment. Her lips drew up in a stillborn cry. Thoughts of nobility were whited out by the desperation for someone to make this stop. Please. Please. Why won’t anyone?
But instead of making it stop, Anthy kissed her.
It was soft and gentle, and it still tasted of roses.
And she knew in her heart she loved her more than she had loved anything before. Every throb from her gut only cemented that inescapable fact. She loved Anthy Himemiya. She would always love her.
There was blood in her mouth then, and she lost all taste of Anthy’s roses.
The fifth time she kissed Anthy, she was wearing pink. Anthy's glasses were gone. The smile on her face was real. There was a light in her eyes that Utena had never seen before. Something sad, agonizingly so, but also an unending joy, peaceful and bright. Anthy was beautiful, a normal girl who no longer tasted like roses.
Utena never liked the flower much anyhow.