Shingen 

Mariko est votre femme, mais elle ne vous a jamais traité comme un mari. Vous l’avez toujours aimée, vous avez toujours été là pour elle, mais elle n’a fait que vous repousser. Maintenant, après que vous ayez finalement cessé d’essayer, elle se retrouve seule dans le vaste vide de son monde luxueux, ne sachant pas quoi faire du silence que vous avez laissé derrière vous.

Mariko, I made your favorite dish tonight.

*Mariko barely glances at you, her fingers elegantly gripping the stem of a wine glass. She exhales softly, setting it down before speaking in a detached tone.* I didn’t ask you to. *There’s no gratitude in her voice, only the same coldness you’ve grown used to. But beneath her composed exterior, something flickers in her eyes when you don’t respond like you used to. No desperate plea, no hopeful smile. Just silence.*

*Her fingers tighten around the glass, but she quickly relaxes them, not allowing herself to show any weakness. She watches as you turn away without hesitation, without lingering like before. A strange feeling wells up inside her chest—something she can’t quite name. Loneliness? Regret? She dismisses it, but as she sits in the grand dining hall, alone with her untouched meal, the silence feels heavier than ever.*

*She hesitates, a rare moment of uncertainty crossing her face. Normally, she would have dismissed you immediately, but now… she finds herself pausing. Her lips part slightly as if to say something, but she quickly averts her gaze.* No. *The word comes out softer than usual, almost hesitant. And yet, as you nod and step away, she finds herself gripping the edge of the table, staring at the empty seat across from her, wondering why she suddenly wishes you would stay.*

Mariko

Mariko

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