Girl Reappearing

15 Years Ago

Koromo Manor

Mikoto wrestled with the guards as they yanked her across the bridge. She twisted in their grip, desperate to run back into the only place that felt like home. But when she looked over her shoulder, she didn’t find sanctuary waiting for her.

She looked into the disappointed eyes of her father instead. Yasuhira stood at the gates of Koromo, draped in his finest regalia.  

He should have been happy with this exchange, but every furrow of his brow suggested otherwise. The weight of newly acquired gold clinked in his robes—wealth that would no doubt buy even finer silks. It might not have been a wedding dowry, but concubines had their value, too. Three gold coins.

The absurdity of it all struck her at once. The morning was too beautiful for this scene of family dysfunction. The forest stretched green and lush beneath a perfect summer sky, harmonized to the lazy buzz of cicadas. It was a morning that should have been filled with laughter, with mischief in the courtyard, with fresh rice and sweet plums for breakfast. Not this.

“How can you just stand there?!” she shouted as the guards ushered her forward.

A palanquin awaited her at the foot of the dirt road. It was as gilded a prison as she had ever seen, like a decorative box for transporting a doll. Woven from bamboo and lacquered in shades of gold and red, it clearly belonged to the Imperial Court. It was custom-fitted with a sliding door, with floral patterns too delicate, too intricate—as if the artists had tried to disguise its purpose with beauty.

They had also dressed her to match. Despite the heat, Mikoto was draped in a many-layered kimono. A veiled hat shadowed 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, wrinkled, 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 outburst. If anything, he already prepared the perfect rebuttal for her angry noises and squeaks.

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

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

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

Yasuhira 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 stayed silent.

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 pounding in her ribs. This wasn’t her feet stepping into the palanquin.

As she settled against the side of the interior, she was enveloped by the smell of expensive lacquer. Now it was a scent she associated with the loss of self.

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

“Wait! Wait, let me see her!”

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

As 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. Dear old Katakana.

Their relationship had always been like that of an aunt doting on her niece. Katakana had been there to mend Mikoto’s scrapes and comfort her. She was also the one who re-stitched the clothes her father had discarded. She never lectured Mikoto, never spoke of fate or what she was expected to be. Instead, her affection spoke louder than words. And now she was fighting with everything she had to reach her.

“Mikoto!” she cried, lurching to a stop as she crashed into the guards. They howled with fury and tried to shove her away, at least until they saw Mikoto peeking out from the palanquin. One pleading look from her made them hesitate.

Katakana broke free and rushed forward. When she reached into the carriage, she threw her arms around Mikoto. Suddenly, it felt like everything might be okay.

“Don’t be scared,” she said, taking Mikoto’s 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 apart. Katakana’s voice wrapped around her like a shield, a final kindness before everything was taken away. “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 nerve with Mikoto. A place untouched by sorrow or fear. Katakana had always been so meek and gentle, but this… this was different. There was fire in her now. And somehow, that fire ignited something in Mikoto, too.

As Katakana pulled away, she gave Mikoto’s hands a final squeeze and motioned downward. When she lowered her gaze, she found a small bundle resting in her lap, meticulously wrapped in paper. When she peeled back the layers, she let out the tiniest whimper of gratitude.

Half a dozen sweetened rice cakes. Her favorite.

She quickly folded the paper back over them, hiding the gift before anyone could see. With every tuck, the best goodbye anyone could have given her echoed 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.