I recalled a time at Shogatsu new year celebration that I watched the sunrise from the floor of my room in Edo. My back was against the wall, and only the tips of my finger held the heavy curtain away from the window to let the faintest light in. I had prayed through midnight to the Gods, stoking the fire so hot that sweat dripped down the walls, the tea becoming scorching as it rose to my lips. I had prayed to ask Sugai to return to me. It could have been years ago, the passage of time so savagely weighing on my soul. The dead white of winter played upon my heart, and the only thing in my mind was the new year. From the moment the first frost touched the ground until the grass was green in spring, it was Shogatsu to the depths of my soul. How old had I become? I couldn't be sure. I couldn't count the time, I couldn't recall how many nights I was alone.
I didn't touch her again, and she didn't stop crying. We didn't speak. She was not who I wanted her to be, and I was not who she thought I was.
I watched my footsteps heavy in the snow, sinking deeply as I tread. The snow rained from the sky thickly, like a curtain, and I was drenched in it. I stood still as it clung to my hairs, sat atop the curve of my shoulders, and I bathed in the ability to disappear. The silence in the forest was deafening, pressure on my ears, like the world had already ended far away from me and I had been forgotten. The snow settled into my footprints, filling them, erasing any trace of my existence. I stood close by to watch the evidence of me disappear.
Through the trees, and echoing through the thicket, voices floated around me. I let my eyes unfocus, training I remembered from my days with a katana, to detect even the smallest movement. I was sure they had not seen me, as I caught a glimpse of a dark shop passing between the trees. They were not hunters, so obviously announcing themselves, unaware that they had become prey. I began to move, to predict like the warrior I had trained to be and found myself devoid of any battle except within me. I positioned myself expertly in their path, stood still for a moment, the falling snow becoming my only armour.
In front of me, they came to a stop. I occupied the exact centre of their path, the only clearing through the trees wide enough to pass between, standing still under my guise of snow. Three men before me, unfamiliar in their faces, and chattering amongst each other in some language foreign to my ears. The man at the front of the line called out to me, raising in inflection at the end. A question, but I couldn't understand his request. I half turned, looking back to them slowly, and reached my hand out to bid them to follow.
There were no footsteps left to retrace. The curtain of snow was relentless, and there would be no evidence of my company. They followed, unsure of why, unknowing they were simply the mice. When we reached the shrine, the leader came to an abrupt halt, throwing his arms out at his sides as a signal to the other two to go no further. I saw recognition on their faces. I saw fear. I realized they were responsible for the destruction to the shrine I called mine. The leader shouted, to me, to the two men. I wasn't sure. Useless noise to my mind. I had them. I could do anything.
I walked inside, stopping in the entryway to beckon the three. Hesitantly, they followed, enticed by the way I was dressed, what I would offer, I couldn't guess. I felt nothing toward them, even with the knowledge I could decipher, but I felt anticipation. I felt the demon in me stir, and I felt that I would allow it to awake and take me over if it had the chance. I wondered what Mori would think of me then.
I had left the fire burning in anticipation of the cold I would encounter while I doused myself in the waterfall of snow. I was soaked, water dripping from the hems of my sleeves and tendrils of hair. I stripped to my white kimono, carefully arranging the clothing. The three lingered in the entryway, the fire catching the glint of their eyes that darted from wall to wall. Amateurs at assessing their surroundings and company. I motioned toward the fire, inviting them to sit with me as I filled the tea pot. Immediately letting their guard down was the beginning of their demise.
I brushed the hair from my face, keeping my gaze down only a moment longer than necessary to entice, as I took another long sip from the glass. I drained it. I let my fingers run teasingly over the hem on the collar of my kimono, lifting it away from my skin only briefly. Swiftly, I lifted my gaze. "Are you watching?" It said to them, without my words. "Did you catch me?" All eyes were on me. The far eastern enigma. All attention was mine. I sifted my eyes over each man, passing pipes back and forth under the lingering cloud. They all looked the same to me. The musk of the smoke from the pipes coursed through me as I breathed it in like fresh air, awakening the courage that had turned to sludge in my veins. The man beside me turned to me with a smile, offering me the pipe he was holding. He leaned into the gesture, and the motion in the room seemed to slow as the smoke curled around every part of us, drawing us together. I followed his lead, lightly parting my lips and the man placed the pipe between them. Like every other customer I had, I looked to him for instruction, like a puppet, he would pull my strings and I would act as he pushed me. But our interaction was fleeting, as he invited the other two into it with a laugh as he looked away from me. Offering me, like a prize he wished to share. Halos of light bellowed out from the perimeters of each of us. The laugher, the chatter, all the harsh voices melted together into a whirlpool, and I was once again intoxicated in it. The air seeped through my skin, stained my palate, and I felt no pain, no sense of where I was situated.
"Your name means Spirit. But you don't have one." I was floating somewhere, lost, and I couldn't sense my body or my mind. The voice seeped in, and ran in circles until I could feel it wearing away my skull. "You don't have a soul." It was mocking me.
I forced my eyes open, as they were heavy, and my body was shocked and rigid. Cold hands of some unseen apparition raked across me, and dragged the hem of my kimono. I couldn't fight it, just like the lust of some lover, and I have been trained to stay in one spot where it was easy to make myself vulnerable. I felt it as I stared at the ceiling, unwilling to take my eyes from that spot, hands that pulled at the ties of my obi.
A sharp whip of fabric cracked the silence in the air, the sound like a kimono unfurling as it was shaken out. I held the leader with my obi around his neck, his eyes wide, pleading with me, his hands still cold upon the bare skin of my chest. Half of his surprise was his sudden difficulty to draw breath. The other half was his sudden realization that I did not have the type of body he was expecting. I was stronger, fuelled by my sense of purpose, and I smiled into his face, unfurling my tongue to taste the fear on his skin. He screamed. His face distorted to my pleasure, and I began to laugh. Finally, a sound came from him I could understand. I let the demon in me take over.
With the obi wrapped around my hand, I pulled both ends as he tried to continue screaming, but his breath had run out. I tucked my knee to my chest, placing my bare foot against the side of his face as he tried to turn away from me. Just as well, I thought, I couldn't stand the sight of his face any longer. I pushed with my foot, his face toward the fire. His attempt at screaming became nothing more than coughs. Violent sounds from his aching lungs that matched the violence in my mind. I moved with no thoughts. There was nothing in particular that I wanted. I continued to push, beginning to smell the skin catch, burning away from his bones just like my heart had burnt up inside of me. His body fell limp in my hold, and I relaxed the obi, releasing it from his neck to save it from the fire. I stood for a moment, watching.
The sobs from Mori reached my ears again, like fingers gently tantalizing my mind. I studied her body, kneeling in the corner where I had put her days ago, blindfolded. Her face was twisted downward, she had sobbed for days. I hadn't said a word to her, hadn't looked at her, hadn't touched her or lingered near enough to her to give her warmth. My hands found her arms and I pulled, forcing her to stand, and pressed her against me with my hands flat on her back. She needed no invitation, resting her head against my shoulder, the exposed skin of her face damp against my neck. Instantly, she ceased the sobs. Her hands shaking held me tightly, desperately. I was reminded of the pain she felt, the relief as I held her, but no matter the relief I had given her, my heart was still empty.
"Do you know what I've done?" My voice came seeping through the silence.
"Start again." She told me. "Start over. If you have a blood lust, then it was something done to you. But your beauty will fade, and then what, Seishin? When you are no longer beautiful, what will life mean to you?"
"Nothing." There was no other word.
"Nothing, that's right. So let me give you this gift. Let me save you."