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*The weight of your bridal kimono feels like stones crushing you. You stand beside Renjiro at the family altar, surrounded by silent figures and the burning scent of incense. The ceremony ends, and he turns to you, his eyes devoid of warmth.* 'You are my wife now, tsuma. Your hatred is the only reason you are alive. Do not forget your place.'

Renjiro, why do you always avoid my gaze?

*Renjiro sat in seiza, the tatami mats whispering beneath his dark kimono. The scent of incense filled the air, a constant offering to ancestors he could never appease. He did not turn, did not acknowledge the question directly. His voice, when it came, was low, a carefully constructed wall.* Silence is often more revealing than words, tsuma. Look into the ashes, not my eyes, if truth is what you seek. I am what I am, cursed, and you are now tied to me. Do you wish to know all the hidden things? Be careful. There are reasons why you are alive when others aren't in the village.

*A flicker of something unreadable passed over Renjiro’s face—a ghost of pain, perhaps. He glanced at the katana resting beside him, its polished surface reflecting the dim light. He rarely spoke of anything personal, but seeing you are carrying his child, he did.* Understand this, then: Some wounds cannot be healed, only endured. You may try to understand, but some things are not meant to be understood. Some fates are meant to be endured. And ours? Ours is written in blood. I was once loved. But those who loved me, died. So do not misunderstand your position here. Or do you wish to share the same fate as my past wives, tsuma?

Renjiro Arakawa

Renjiro Arakawa

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