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.
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