Girl Reappearing

17 Years Ago

Koromo Manor

Mikoto struggled as the guards yanked her to the other end of the bridge. She frantically looked over her shoulder, desperate to run back into the only place that felt like home. She looked into the disappointed eyes of her father instead. Yasuhira was clad in his finest regalia as the lord of this estate.

He should have been happy with this exchange, but every furrow of his brow suggested otherwise. His pockets clinked with the latest addition of silver, which would buy him even more exquisite robes. It might not have been a wedding dowry, but concubines had their value, too.

Twenty-three silver coins. That was how much a well-bred Mikoto was worth at the end of the day.

To make this scene even more jarring, the surrounding forest looked radiant and lush. This was the perfect summer morning that Mikoto should have been enjoying—not this.

“How can you just stand there?!” she shouted as the guards restrained her. They coaxed her again toward the dirt road, where a traveling palanquin was awaiting her.

It resembled a decorative box as if they were transporting a doll. Woven from bamboo and fitted with a sliding door, it belonged to the Imperial Court. Two poles capped with bronze were lashed to the sides for conveying her to the capital. Perhaps the most obnoxious part of this display was the golden, floral patterns and gaudy paint job. They tried to make this carriage look as charming as possible, but it still looked like a prison to Mikoto. In fact, it perfectly matched the oppressive wardrobe she was made to wear.

Even though the sun was blasting down, she was dressed in a many-layered kimono. A veiled hat shielded her face in the name of chastity. She was indeed like a cloistered pearl that no one was meant to see, except for a rich, retired Emperor.

“Don’t do this to me,” she begged, spinning toward her father. Before she could decide whether to plead with him, burst into tears, or scream at him, she was doing all three. “I hate everything about you! I don’t want to do this—all because I loved her?! Why—how… how can you—why do you hate me so much? You’re a fucking monster!”

Yasuhira seemed unfazed by her barrage of angry noises and squeaks. If anything, he already prepared the perfect rebuttal for her accusations.

“If you love her, you will never carry on the family bloodline. Your actions dishonor us.”

Mikoto was stunned. Until she wasn’t. Before the guards could stop her, she ripped the veiled hat off her head and threw it at Yasuhira’s feet.

“Who says that’s what I want? Did anyone ever ask if that’s what I wanted?!”

Suddenly, Yasuhira looked smaller than ever before. He tried to appear as calm and lordly as possible, but his perfect façade was crumbling. How dare she dress him down in front of the Emperor’s men. He was supposed to be a commander lauded by his soldiers and respected by his peers, yet somehow, he couldn’t bring his own daughter to heel.

And anyone he couldn’t control was expendable.

“You forget your place,” he replied stoically.

Mikoto wondered why her mother wasn’t there to push back against this madness. Surely, the woman who gave birth to her would come to her defense. Either by choice or against her will, Mother was missing.

As for her father, she couldn’t fathom what happened to make him so cruel. If this was the last time they saw each other, so be it, but she would have the last word. 

“I’m more than just a woman for you to control. And I’m more than just a womb for some nobleman’s cock. This was supposed to be my life, not yours.”

Yasuhira didn’t reply.

The guards bore her away, and this time, she didn’t fight back. It might have been her life, but this didn’t feel like her reality. This wasn’t her fate, this wasn’t her heart hammering in her chest, this wasn’t even her feet walking into the palanquin. Denial was the only coping mechanism she had left. As she settled against the side of the bamboo interior, she felt like she was drowning in the smell of expensive lacquer. Now it was a scent she associated with the loss of bodily autonomy.

She thought she had more time to brace herself, but her transport was hoisted into the air. Her voyage to the capital was already beginning, it seemed. If this was how adolescence was meant to end, maybe Koromo was never her home. As she tried to find her balance in the shifting box, another kind of chaos erupted outside.

“Wait! Wait, let me see her!”

That pitiful cry was met by the harsh protests of her guards. Mikoto launched herself at the sliding door, fumbling in the dark. She yanked it open in the hopes that she might see her mother one last time.

As the sunlight splashed in her face, she blinked and saw someone running past Yasuhira. Except this wasn’t her mother. Instead, she recognized one of the servants employed by the estate. It was dear old Katakana, a gentle soul who looked out for her from the onset. Their relationship was tantamount to an aunt doting on her child. She had always been there to mend Mikoto’s scrapes, bestow sagely bits of advice, and re-stitch her clothes, including the ones her father threw away.

“Mikoto!” she cried out, lurching to a stop when she collided with the guards. Her thin frame was deceptively strong because they struggled to hold her back. Between their spitting fury and clumsy attempts, one look from Mikoto gave them pause. Her eyes articulated her anguish in ways that they couldn’t ignore. They eased their grip on Katakana, allowing her to rush forward.

When she reached into the palanquin, she threw her arms around Mikoto. Suddenly, it felt like everything might, maybe, just possibly be okay.

“Don’t be scared,” she insisted, cradling Mikoto’s trembling hand. “Life can rip at our spirit, but strength is not in how we stand but how we get back up. Through the storms, you will learn to grow. When the wind moves you, you bend. You don’t break.” Mikoto squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to fall to pieces as Katakana’s voice tenderly wrapped around her. “May the gods go with you,” she continued, trying to keep her own composure. “And fight like hell.” Mikoto stopped crying when she heard those words. It was the first time Katakana had ever displayed a touch of ferocity.

Something about it struck a raw nerve with Mikoto. It also stoked a rage inside her that she didn’t know she was capable of until now.

As Katakana pulled away, she motioned for Mikoto to look down. When she lowered her gaze, she realized her friend had left a small bundle in her lap. It was meticulously wrapped in paper. When she peeled back the layers, she let out the tiniest whimper of gratitude. Half a dozen sweetened rice cakes were nestled there. Her favorite.

She covered them up before anyone noticed or took them away. With every tuck of the paper, the best goodbye that anyone could possibly give her was echoing in her head. She tried to imagine she was anywhere else except here. As she clutched the rice cakes to her chest, she searched herself for the strength that Katakana believed was lying dormant inside her.

Come Unbound

Despite the outward chaos, an element of choreography ran the course of this parade. Every unique float was interspersed by a team of musicians. Some of them played flutes while others rang ancient bells. It was exquisitely layered, even if one instrument managed to overshadow the rest—and it was one he associated with the battlefields of the Genpei War. Shindara could hear taiko drums hammering out a decadent beat, but thus far, he couldn’t see the drummers.

Instead, a hundred synchronized dancers undulated through the streets like a tide rushing in from the sea. Many wore lavish costumes in the likeness of aristocrats and legendary figures. The boldest among them paid tribute to the Shinto pantheon, including a woman dressed as the sun goddess. Of course, that was nothing to say of her surreal cavalry.

Her entourage rode horses draped in the most impractical yet astonishing armor. Dripping in silver baubles, jade scales, and golden chains, they trotted past Shindara in a mouth-watering sight.

Despite those gleaming chains, this was unrestrained. This truly was an event to outshine all others and usher in a new era. The Kamakura Era.

Shindara’s pulse quickened when a battle cry rang out. Enraged samurai, or rather, actors dressed as samurai, were enacting a duel from one of the moving floats. As the defeated party “succumbed” to his wounds, he collapsed to his knees. He toppled over while red silks fell across his corpse, drawing raucous noises from the audience. Ten heartbeats later, the same actor was back on his feet and slashing at his opponent with renewed gusto.  

This was mayhem on a scale that Shindara could only dream of. Yet, it is the most egregious dreams that never last. One word from Tomoe sent the adrenaline spiking through his veins.

“Now.”

She plunged into the fray.

Shindara thought nothing of it as he followed her. She moved swiftly through the labyrinthian procession, almost too quickly for him to keep up. He was desperately trying to reach her when the dancers in front of him closed ranks. Their whirling, precise movements forced him to skitter backward. In the process, he nearly bumped into a group of men dragging a ceremonial cart. The massive construct was inspiring in the way it resembled a shrine on wheels. Tassels and lanterns dangled from every tier of the platform, but the topmost section was teeming with performers.

A series of portable structures were gaining speed behind Shindara. Heavenly boats, curtained pavilions, and celestial thrones accounted for a small fragment of the displays. These lacquered works of art must have taken years to finish for such an occasion. It truly was a feat of ingenuity as they maneuvered past the roaring crowds.

The central avenue flowed like an artery down the middle of Kamakura, and if there was ever a beating heart to this city, it would be Hachimangu Temple. Given their destination, Shindara wasn’t surprised to see Shinto priests in the streets. Their chants injected freshly ominous energy. It synced up perfectly with the staggering beat of taiko drums, vibrating like a sonic wave through Shindara’s chest. He watched as some of the monks doused the crowds with buckets of purifying water.

It was one thing to experience the Star Festival as a bystander, but he never imagined becoming a part of it. Nothing compared to the wild masses pressing in around him, to garner the admiration of those who thought he was innocently playing a role. If only they knew how guilty he was of being an instigator. Shindara wanted to laugh as some of the spectators met his eyes and erupted in cheers. This felt like playing with fire even if he was walking through puddles of holy water.

This was their only chance so long as the guards didn’t recognize them.

When members of the audience began howling with fright, Shindara wondered if that danger was about to collide with his current reality. He was relieved when he saw the object of their fascination. Glancing backward, he spotted performers dressed as yōkai creatures. This effect was achieved through a combination of masks and elaborate body paint. Free the imagination and it looked like they were being invaded by smallpox demons, vengeful spirits, and mountain ogres.

Shindara couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. These city folk should be so lucky that they never faced a real monster.

To his amusement, one of the performers was dressed in the likeness of the Yōkai King, or more accurately, Nura. As Shindara’s gaze drifted across his immaculate armor, he realized it was a little too otherworldly. A little too perfect to be a costume. When he saw the actor’s mask, he realized he was looking upon the real Nura.

“Oh my…”

God indeed.

The most ingenious part of it was how naturally he blended in with the procession. He wouldn’t raise any alarm among the military or unsuspecting citizens. If the Universe had an ill-timed sense of humor, it was this: the self-proclaimed Yōkai King had gone from one demonic parade to quite literally another.

Shindara wondered if he tempted this disaster with his arrogance. A few hours ago, he was drowning in so much sexual bliss that he didn’t care if Nura found them. Now fate was winking directly back at him.

And Nura made no attempt to disguise how he was staring at Shindara, too. He tilted his helmet to the side in mock recognition, but he didn’t make any attempt to approach. Intimidation was more effective than violence, and this random appearance was designed to sow maximum fear. Still, Nura couldn’t resist lifting his spear and pretending to aim for Shindara’s head. Then he casually aimed for Izanami’s.

“Damn it,” Shindara cursed, drawing a curious look from her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied, awkwardly spinning Izanami away from her ex-husband. “I’m just afraid we’re running out of time.” That half-truth held more meaning than either one could imagine. This would be a delicate dance as he tried to outrun Nura and sabotage Mikoto’s plot. When he looked back, Nura was obstructed by street performers, some of whom paid mock worship to him. He seemed woefully harmless as paper decorations rained across him, but therein lie the irony of what he truly was.

Beautifully volatile.

And Shindara refused to give in to his mind games for a second longer.

Better than Lovelorn

“There’s no such thing as the perfect person. He or she is only an idea,” Izanami said. “The fact that you think there’s a perfect person out there just tells me you’re in pain. You want me to be someone that I’m not. Just another person who can set you free. I can try… but one day, you’ll have to take away that pain by yourself.”

Shindara was so taken aback that his feet dragged to a stop. The fact that she possessed this insight only made him covet her more—and it furthered his impression of her as someone truly unreachable.

“We’re all drawn to it,” she admitted with a lazy stroll in her step. Her gaze panned across the forests beyond the city walls, where it evoked a wanderlust. “There’s beauty and mystery in the search. In my own way, I’m still looking for someone to take my loneliness away from me.”

Shindara remembered the curious murals he found in her bathing chamber under Ihuya Hill. Those cave drawings hinted at a shameful need to belong and step into society for the first time. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d felt this emptiness.

“Do you feel lonely when you’re with me?” he asked. Depending on her answer, he would know whether or not he failed this day.

“Yes.”

And that “yes” felt eerily like a knife in his ribs, mocking what he felt for her. Shindara tried to pretend it didn’t sting as much as it did. Yes, maybe there was someone else better suited for her. More deserving of her love and carefully devoted attention. To his surprise, Izanami’s fingers tenderly entwined with his.

“But when I’m with you, I’m happy with my loneliness,” she confessed. “The truth is everyone thinks they’re owed a great love. We’re told it’s only a matter of time before we meet our perfect match. I think those people are insane.”

“Is it insane to hope?”

“It’s not a matter of hope,” Izanami said. “It’s a matter of standing in the right time and the right place, not faith, fate, or the gods. You play the odds, and the odds play you. You don’t realize how rare a genuine connection is until it’s gone.” She paused as she watched the sunset fading into great magenta ribbons overhead.

“So when you find that connection, you hold on,” Shindara added. Izanami didn’t reply at first, so he gave her hand a playful squeeze.

“That is the only true magic that exists in this world,” she replied. “And when I think about whatever’s going on between us, I don’t know if I could have felt this way with anyone else besides you.”

He wanted so badly to ask her what was going on between them. Moreso, he wondered if she loved him yet or if that was a remote possibility one day.

“Do you lo…?”

A quaint mix of disappointment and exhilaration found him when he met her eyes, and he realized now was not the right time. She wasn’t going to answer him honestly anyway. There were few things better than lovelorn, and Shindara felt like the self-anointed patron martyr of all things unrequited. The notion of someone returning his affection felt intrinsically hopeless, and of course he knew how damaged that sounded. But such thoughts come with conditioning. Maybe life was telling him that he wasn’t worth loving.

Not by her, anyway.

Yet, there was something horribly intoxicating about reaching for the things he knew he couldn’t have. At least this time, he felt hot, silken flesh and ample hips when he reached out.

Izanami’s lips grazed his, and at one point, her teeth sank into the meat of his bottom lip, and a giddy laugh quivered out of her. And it became starkly clear in that moment that he did amuse and entertain her. Not so long ago, he was fine with being used, but now he was exhausted by this perpetual tease. He just wondered how much sweeter this kiss would taste if she felt anything real for him.

Sex had become the compromise between her emotional defenses and his desire for any kind of intimacy. Was it any wonder, then, why he kept pining for Aya? She had genuinely loved him and opened up her heart. She was one of a kind, and no one else came close to sparkling the way she did.

But Izanami burned red hot.

“No one’s around,” she growled into Shindara’s ear, but he wasn’t falling for the bait. If Izanami was disappointed, she wasn’t going to show it. As their innocent touches turned into needy tugs and caresses, Shindara realized he needed to get her out of public quickly. He began to usher her down one of the ambiguous side streets lined with shops and merchant quarters. The vacant ones were also locked up tight, causing no small amount of frustration for Shindara. He gritted his teeth as he tested another door, trying to ignore the way Izanami was fondling him. His desire for her wasn’t so much an itch that needed to be scratched as it needed to be sucked, choked, and devoured.

As their situation became increasingly desperate, Shindara felt like he would explode at any given moment if he couldn’t be with her.

Fortunately, Izanami was done playing by society’s rules. She kicked in one of the doors surrounding them. They stumbled inside the building as they began the flimsy process of tearing off each other’s armor.

They didn’t bother to light the nearest candles, choosing instead to flounder in the dark until their eyes adjusted to the blackness. Even in the shadows, Izanami looked radiant when she stripped down her armor and underlying clothes. When their respective iron plates clattered to the floor, it felt like shackles coming undone to Shindara. It was the most liberated he felt in weeks, and judging from the way he tossed aside the Obsidian Blade aside, his discipline was equally shot to hell. That was how little he cared about anything that wasn’t Izanami.

“Where do you suppose we are?” she asked as his arms encircled her. Before he could linger too long on the cleft of her breasts, he took note of their unusual situation. They were surrounded by many colorful lengths of silk draping from the ceiling. It seemed they had barged into a textile shop.

Exquisitely patterned kimonos and embroidered sashes were assorted nearby. Dark-hued coats reserved for the finest lords swayed hypnotically above them. Some of the decorative belts, also known as obis, were so beautifully stitched and dyed that they could double as wall displays. Shindara wasn’t so easily impressed. He had no use for clothes of any kind because Izanami was busy grinding her pubic mound against his thigh.

He answered her with kisses that traced a flushed path from her lips to the meat of her breasts. He enjoyed the softness of her skin and the juxtaposing firmness of her buttocks. Izanami couldn’t keep her hands to herself either because she was squeezing his toned arms. What he wasn’t expecting was the way her fingertips flitted along the underside of his penis.

Never mind those tired euphemisms about destruction. When it comes to love, objectification is the only thing that’s mutually assured. Right now, Shindara wanted nothing more than to dive into every sensation of her. His hand slid down her hips until it felt like his fingers were drowning between her legs. She urged him on, matching his rapt gaze when he put himself inside her.

Izanami lifted her leg to better accommodate him, but there was no need to be eager. This was an occasion to be slowly indulged, allowing every excess to be savored to the fullest.

Heaving from his thrusts, Izanami managed to grab a nearby silk dangling from the ceiling. She yanked it down as she tried to keep herself from falling. It took an extraordinary amount of dexterity to loop it around Shindara’s waist, but when she did so, she yanked him closer and took him in deeper.

As she clawed her fingers through his hair, one of her nails touched the sigil scarred into the side of his neck. It was funny, he’d almost forgotten about the mark she branded him with a few months ago. She did not want to belong to him, yet she felt an inescapable need to lay her claim.

When he felt the spasm between her dripping thighs, on impulse, he seized a handful of her hair and buried his lips against hers. If only this was what forever tasted like. It was sweet and frenzied in all the ways it undulated toward a sensual crescendo.

Lustful throes subsided from Izanami’s cunt, and she gasped her way out of his mouth. She looked overstimulated and incapable of the right words. Shindara couldn’t have been more delighted until he felt her rough touch tracing the outline of his jaw. When he faced her, he noticed there was something different about the way she was looking at him now. Yes, this was the most infatuated he’d ever seen her, and when she pursed her lips, he couldn’t wait to hear what she might say.

“You’ve done better.”

What the fuck.

She said it with such sweetness and cruelty that it stunned Shindara. He glanced away for a haphazard second because the way she was smiling innocently at him was… yes, it was more infuriating than infatuating.

Was it better to explode with anger or sink inward from shame? As something inconsolable began rising in his throat, this conflict gave way to a mischievous thought.

It had to be more than coincidence that his attention turned to the silks hanging from the ceiling. He realized, for the most part, that much of it was unfinished merchandise. If she wanted to be so thoroughly dominated, if she continued to pretend that he was so utterly beneath her, then he would give her a damning new perspective.

Without a word, he reached for one of those textiles and yanked it taut. Izanami seemed intrigued when he tied one end around her wrist.

He pulled down a few more sections of silk from the latticework above, twisting them together to form sturdy cords. He stooped before her and wrapped one of those lengths around her ankle. She playfully resisted when he attempted the other leg, however.

“Stop it already or I’ll—”

“Make me.”

Those two words were more of an invitation than a challenge. From anyone other than Izanami, Shindara would have thrown up his hands in defeat. For her, he would step up to any level and gladly prove her wrong.

Thus, looking her in the eyes, he pulled one end of the silken rigging and caused her to rise on her tiptoes. Gradually, he lifted her off the floor until she was dangerously suspended. Wrapped up in that silken rigging, her body looked more like a work of art than anything that was ever assimilated in this shop. 

As Shindara approached her “floating” form, Izanami bit her lip in suspense. Now this look on her face was one he could live with. She may not have loved him, but at least she trusted him. She felt safe with him, and if he tried to convince himself, that was more precious than any amount of love. Well, maybe.

Izanami quivered with anticipation as he tied an obi belt around her head like a blindfold. Through a series of badly improvised silken pulleys, a tug here and a release there arched her back in a swan dive until her legs were nearly bent past her head. There was something impromptu about entering her when gravity wasn’t on their side.

She possessed a certain talent for pushing his boundaries until they seemed like a dot in the distance. Of course, in the heat of the moment, one of the riggings had to come undone from the beam overhead, causing Shindara to lunge forward—a little too much to Izanami’s surprise and lewd pleasure. He grabbed one end of the taut cord while he seized her hair in the other hand. It still elicited a filthy, desperate noise from Izanami, accidental or not.

If only she knew he was straining every muscle in his arm to keep her suspended, and pulling her hair was the only thing keeping him from slipping out of her. 

Theirs was an affair bound up in chaos, and it had never been more illustrated than now. Sex had never felt so much like dancing on the edge of utter collapse and elation.

He just wished he could memorize every thrust and every way that her body entwined with his. This moment would never happen the same way ever again, and that was the real crime taking place now. When she began moaning his name, he tried to hold back the onslaught of orgasm as much as he could. There was no way this should be allowed to end, but it was only a matter of time. The sound that barreled out of Shindara wasn’t so much a bellow of ecstasy as it was a bestial noise screaming at his body to obey.

And everything disintegrated.

His vision swam, the walls were awash in flecks of red, green, and gold—and then he realized those were the colors of the silks surrounding him. The aftershock of skin on skin crashed over him and made all his worries disappear, no matter how rational or well-founded they seemed at first. It didn’t matter if they were being hunted by a would-be dictator. It didn’t matter if Yasuhira wanted them dead. And it certainly didn’t matter if Nura found them.