what’s your heart made of?

Uzui pressed his lips to her temple and crown.

“Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

limbs akimbo in the sheets. sunrise bleeding on the horizon.

Her eyes were heavy on the window. He traced her face with such a fondness, as if he meant to memorize her every feature to the letter. He’s half hard, still fully sheathed inside her tight warmth.

She heaved a breathy sigh. For as much of a bastard Eiji considered him, Lord Tengen was a generous lover. He was considerate, in his way. If she’d been anyone else, she could see the appeal.

“Is that an order or a suggestion?” She’d hardly been able to recognize her voice as she spoke. It came out deep and used… raspy, even. “You plan on making me if I refuse?”

“It’s whatever you need it to be to see it done.”

“Are you going to…”

He rewards her impertinence with a pinch to her waist.

“Shut your eyes. Shut your mouth. Let me take what I need.”

Deflated from the high she’d just found herself riding, she sinks back into the sheets. Eiji did as she was told, as she’d done her whole life.

she shut her eyes. she shut her mouth. she let him take what he needed.

Face buried in her neck, his fingers lazily danced on her clit. When she began to cry softly, he buried her face in the pillow to silence her. 

“Just go… - fuck - Go to sleep!”

He went from warming his cock on her side to fucking her for the umpteenth time this night. 

The man was relentless. A fiend. 

She took back every kindness she’d ever thought about him.

Her vision began to haze. When he thrust, just so… she saw stars. She stilled beneath him as their juices spill out of her, pooling between them.

She let herself be lulled by the push and the pull, just like that night… His pace was impossible to keep up with, even as the man was nearing his end. 

His labored breath in her ears brought her right back to the roar of the waters. 

It wasn’t long before she found herself on that very beach.

There was nothing for miles, only craggy rocks and shells sharp enough to make her feet bleed.

Step by painful step and this is where it’s led her.

Wrapped in the customary linens, with the zukin preserving her modesty as Sister of faith, she came upon herself in the shallows. She watched the Virgin Eiji fall to her knees.

The waves crashed all around as she raged at the sea. She screamed and screamed until there was nothing left.

Her habit flew off into the wind, just as before.

The waters ran red, too.

But when Sister Eiji turned to face her, she saw herself hauling her own corpse from the bloodied water.

A cold compress lays upon her resting head. Proves her suspicions, at least. Feels nice.  

It’s ages before her mind catches up with her vision—she could’ve sworn an angel was tending to the worst of it… wringing a fresh cloth, presumably for the rest.

When the morning light hits her legs, a horrified gasp hits her ears. 

“What did he do to you…” 

The walls have ears. She knows it’s time to slip away; that razor thin place between herself and her sister. 

“Nothing I haven’t already been paid for.” Words ground with mortar and pestle, it’s a desperate plea on her tongue. “Please don’t linger, sister.”

Slow to start, Emiko’s touch ghosts across the most aching of places. The ones that won’t kill them to think about. 

her neck… her lips. her cheeks. her eyes.

Just before she can tell her sister off, a pained hiss fills the room. Eiji tracks the source under a now bloodied compress, passing a trail of bites over the scars that coil around her leg. Imprinted canines and incisors drag across her skin. 

still tender. still bleeding. 

What did he do to you?

Her question lingers between them… unspoken, unacknowledged. 

The silence looms, composure falling under the dual scrutiny of her marred flesh.

“The customers would never have marked you up like this,” she snaps. 

“Because I had you to keep me safe.”

“I know you’re angry—”

With the roll of her eyes, Eiji snatches the cloth from her forehead and quickly cleans her bruise kissed thighs.

“I’m not angry. I’m tired… I’m sore.”

“You need to eat so you can heal.”

Would that Eiji had want of the marriage, of him… If she were here of her own volition, one might mistake her for pouting.

“Should probably go out there,” she laments. 

“Can I help you dress?”

She pushes herself up off the futon, face falling at the question. “Why would you help me dress?”

Eiji is already across the room before Emiko can think to answer. She opens a cabinet armed to the teeth with yukata and the like… Bringing out a fresh juban, she sets upon dressing herself.

The late spring air hits her wounds, fresh and healed, leaving the slip she went to bed in a mere pile on the floor.

Broken from her daze, Emiko joins her in the fray. Once the yukata was on fully, she wrapped the obiage around Eiji before either sibling could kick up a fuss.

The cotton she wears is mint green. The obi, a blush piece with patterns of liquid smoke, golden brushstrokes with notes of amethyst.

With the belt sufficiently manhandled around her protesting sister, Emiko wipes her brow with a wry smile. She combs the wisping hairs atop her head with her fingers, now curly from more fresh growth Eiji’s permitted herself in years.

“Stay still,” she pants. “I’m nearly finished.” 

Eiji does as she’s told. She worries at her lips, all teeth and tongue. “Sissy—” 

“Hmm.”

“How much did you hear?”

And with no less than five syllables between them, the oppressive silence returns. Emiko can barely stomach looking at her. 

She could only sigh, disgust and remorse pooling in her gut. 

for what she’s done…

…for what she couldn’t do.

She takes her sister by the arm, gently leading her to that very mirror from the night before. The sole voyeur to their utter destruction.

“The sounds he was making…” Emiko smoothes the last of the finger curls with some beeswax she’d pocketed back at the Butterfly Mansion. “He sounded like he was eating you alive.”

No testimony is given to the contrary. They don’t have to say a word between each other.

“We should go before you’re missed.”

A nod from Eiji, who says nothing in return. 

Arm in arm, the twins leave the strange creature comforts of the bedroom for the hall. It’s a long stretch, made all the more so by their mutual reluctance to join the wives for breakfast. Neither sister could have known before leaving the sanctity of the room whether Lord Tengen would be at the head of the table.

too much, too soon.

The bedroom was practically sacred ground with all the noise coming from the others… 

“Suma, she hasn’t even been out yet,” scolds an angry voice. “Show some restraint, why don’t you.”

“I can’t help it,” wails a second. “The newlywed spread is too good to pass up. I’m sure Emiko won’t mind! We’re a part of this marriage, aren’t we? We’ve been here longer anyways, it’s only right we get priority serving!”

“That’s enough… Not to pry in the affairs of a fellow wife, but the poor girl deserves to try whatever food suits her tastes. An option impeded by your avarice, dear heart.” 

The third, Eiji properly recognizes. Collected and cool, level headed even as the sky falls all around her.

It’s a kiss that ends the infighting between them.

Suma, apparently, sighs in surrender. “If one of us ought to practice restraining himself—”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” he cuts her off before she can continue her lascivious train of thought.

So. He is there to join them.

“You kept her up all night,” the first voice notes wryly. “Probably not much in the way of grievances if she’s sleeping right through it. I’d be shocked if she stayed awake for all of that…”

“Quiet,” he demands of them all.

Once they turn the corner, Emiko maintains a featherlight hold on her. She makes quick work of guiding her to the open seat at Lord Tengen’s side before taking her place by the wall. A silent observer. Ornamental. Disregarded and underestimated. Eiji’s fingers twitch in longing. She misses that life desperately, craves it like a drunk to a tokkuri of saké. 

Even after such a short time apart, she still feels naked and far too exposed without a zukin.

Now seated, all eyes bear into her with no one speaking a word. Her cheeks flush under the withering attention.

The level headed bride in purple seems to take pity on her as she is the first to break the silence.

“Emiko, it’s wonderful to meet you properly. My name is Hinatsuru.” With a sweeping hand from her heart to the first and second wife, she smiles softly as introductions are made. 

“These two could wake the dead with all their banter… Suma, Makio. Let’s show our sister wife we can be civil, yes?”

The others grumble their apologies, still eating and half listening.

Eiji bows her head in reverence. “Thank you, Hinatsuru. That’s very kind of you.”

Hinatsuru brightens, taking initiative to fill an empty plate. She turns away from the table, still loading up on fish and rice.

“Sister Eiji, is there anything you can’t tolerate?”

From her place on the wall, Emiko stiffens at the direct address. 

She still isn’t used to it. Not her name. Not her role.

She can’t trust herself with the words just yet. Her eyes flit to the table before they lock on her sister’s, all the while, holding her tongue.

“There’s nothing that makes her sick,” Eiji proper says in reply. “She’s always been the stronger between us. Personally, I can’t handle buckwheat.”

The smallest of the three, with blunt bangs cut straight above her brow, can barely contain herself in the seat parallel to her own. Suma’s cheeks flush from exertion, locked in a silent battle of wills all unto herself; her fists are raised, arms nearly shaking, not unlike a toddler.

“See?” The girl’s voice is shrill as it is smug. She’s already back to seconds on the soba before her, eyes brimming with a shine of righteous indignation. “I told you she’d be fine with it!” 

Before Eiji can think to reply, she’s stunned into silence tracking her sister’s plate; Hinatsuru passes it off to Makio who wordlessly hands the food to her sister. 

Not quite an olive branch. More so how one might tend to a dog. Cursory. Habitual… It lacks the warmth of human interaction, from the goodness of her heart, almost like she’s looking down on her. 

The disdain radiates from her like a child to a chore. There’s a bitter note to it. Hosting not one, but two additional mouths to feed was hardly her call to make, nor was it her place to refute.

 Watching her sister eat appeases her some… but it does little to temper the burn of resentment she holds for the woman.

“You’re not eating,” Lord Tengen comments.

It’s the first he’s spoken to her since the sun rose against them. 

Eiji’s knuckles go white as she wrings her hands. She flexes her hands in a futile reach for composure..

“Well?” he questions, already impatient with her daze. “Starving yourself isn’t going to do you any favors, you know.”

His words do even less to assure her. If anything, her hackles rise like the damn dog they all make her sister out to be.

“No… My eyes are bigger than my stomach, I’m afraid.”

She couldn’t eat if she wanted to. She feels sick. She is sick.

She wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep for a week. The bruises will still be there, yes. Probably darkened and green. But maybe her nerves will finally stop twisting in her gut.

The answer does little to impress Uzui. He watches her, expectant that she’d change her mind with the narrow of his eyes…

She averts his gaze, looking to her sister. A relieved sigh escapes her at the sight of the half consumed fish.

Good, she thinks. At least she’s eating.

Calloused fingers grab at her jaw, forcing her hand. He watches her, thoroughly unamused.

“I don’t like damage inflicted on what’s mine.”

Before she can even cry out in pain, he’s swiping several pickled radishes from the table before popping them in his mouth. He chews them thoughtfully, eyes unyielding as he keeps her in his sights. Just as she believes he’s due to swallow, he pulls their lips flush together—

Her eyes widen in panic. There’s a weak drag of her arm that preludes the palm pushing his chest, still desperately spent from her unwitting consummation.

The food was fed from his mouth into her own. His tongue lapped at the offering, forcing the sour crawl further down her throat to ensure a proper start to the feeding.

She fights against him, the promise of bile burning the back of her throat as she fights off her mounting gag reflex.

He restrains her with his corded muscles. Locks her in place with an arm snug around her middle, fingers of his free hand coaxing the swallow down her throat.

Uzui barely allows her breath to scream. Keeps her like that until there’s nothing left. He only relents to fill his own mouth. 

again and again and again until he could call her fed.

the fish. the tamago. the rice. the ginger.

He forces her mouth open to drink. It’s only when the warm broth hits her lips and she’s half choking on tofu that she realizes it’s soup.

spittle runs down her chin as the miso spills from her mouth. 

When he’s finally done with her, Uzui takes hold of her scalp. Her finger curls are tainted by his touch.

Garnet. Like the seeds of a pomegranate.

His gaze bears down on her. He’s dragging her by the hair, pulling her in his white knuckle grip.

“Apologize,” he demands.

in for a penny, in for a pound and all that.

The words fall from her lips like the vomit that won’t seem to come, all before she can think better of it. “Drop dead.” 

She hears the strike land before registering the pain blossoming across her cheek… and now she’s on the floor, a spread almost comparable to the breakfast laid out for them all.

The other wives are cavalier in his abuse, eating their fill while he pins her to the ground.

Emiko watches the scene in abject horror. Stuck-still, powerless to intervene. She slides down her place on the wall in shame and defeat.

unable to stop herself…

She can’t look away. 

…unable to stop him.

He nearly tears the obi off her, leaving her yukata hanging exposed. Her nipples pebble under the thin barrier of the juban, and he takes merciless notice.

Off the slip goes, joining the belt beside them.

Nails rake a path over her bust. He pinches the hardened peaks, twisting and kneading them until she’s crying out beneath him.

He gives them a slap. Then another. And a third for good measure.

Uzui lets his mouth water at the skin darkening under his touch. He gets in close to suckle on them. Bite them. Slobber all over them like a damn animal.

No preamble. No notice. Just the cursed sight of him smearing his beading precome over her abused chest.

He gives himself a cursory pump or two before laying his heavy cock between her breasts. Fucking into her, he pushes her tits closer, manhandling her to suit his needy pace.

The wives make idle conversation as he fucks her like this. No one acknowledges the debauchery and no one comes to her aid.

It’s unclear to Eiji if vindication over this indignity is worth Emiko’s poor eyes bearing witness. They both know she heard him fucking her for hours last night. She didn’t have to see to know.

Lord Tengen’s forceful grunts echo through the room. She’s seen enough of him in action to know he’s close.

With as much speed as the realization that dawned on her, he’s off her just as quickly. Drags her hair, forces her on her knees. His thumb ghosts along the soft pout of her lips, eyes blown with fury and lust as he works her mouth open for him.

“You’re not to spill a drop, do you understand me?” he warns, a light tap to her cheek before tracing the neckline of her yukata with his knuckle.

Fist buried in her hair, he rolls his hips in a shallow snap to start. She sputters and gags as he takes himself deeper, her hands beating against his clothed thighs in wordless protest.

Uzui only meets her violence with violence—he takes the offending touch and holds her splayed hands at either side of her head, fucking her mouth with reckless abandon until the only sound remaining was the merciless score of her choking on his shaft.

“Nothing more to say,” he panted, voice strained in weary concentration. “Interesting how that works with a cock down your throat, isn’t it.”

Eiji watches him with so much vitriol in her gaze. He catches her, holds her in that moment… and then he loses the plot.

His hips stutter in pace as he comes. He groans over her, pulling her flush against him.

She milks his cock, swallowing all he gives her with a grimace. When he pulls out, she whines under his further scrutiny—one hand with an iron grip on her chin, the other forcing her back open to see if she’d followed his order to the letter.

She’s rewarded with sweet degradation and a pat on her head. “That’s a good whore,” he praises roughly.

It takes all her will not to flinch from his touch.

“Anything you care to say?” His eyes are pointed in challenge as he asks, “Emiko. Two little words and we can put this to bed.”

Her eyes burn. Her jaw aches.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she chokes out.

He pulls her close, punctuating his pleasure with a kiss to her temple. Rising to his feet, Lord Tengen towers over her with his cock barely tucked back into his hakama.

As if nothing had even happened, he returns to the head of the table. His eyes survey the remains of the spread.

“Well done, you three. I see you’ve dug in with no shortage of gusto. You ladies do me proud.” Flashing a smile, he kisses each wife on the cheek.

“Lord Tengen,” squawks a voice from the window.

In flies Nijimaru, the lord and master’s kasugai crow. His eyes flit towards the crow, having taken his perch on the sill of the window. 

“Lower Moon Five has been defeated! Slain on the Mugen Train by Kyojuro Rengoku! Flame Hashira, Lord Rengoku has defeated Lower Moon Five with no human casualties—neither civilian nor Slayer!”

The wives look amongst themselves, seemingly elated by the news.

“Lord Tengen, Report to Master Ubuyashiki’s Headquarters for further mission instructions.”

The twins lock eyes. With all these names and dynamics floating around, they could only ground themselves in quiet concert. As ever, barricaded inside themselves.

“Understood,” Uzui affirms.

They all watch the kasugai fly back out the window.

He looks at his disheveled wife over his shoulder.

“Sister Eiji,” he calls. “Would you be so kind as to take Emiko to the onsen? It seems she’s made a mess of herself.”

Emiko proper bows, silently ushering Eiji from the room. She wraps an arm around her shoulders to help support her weight.

she’s shaking… 

her arms.

they’re shaking.

The twins are all but wordless as they make for the bath.

Neither allow themselves the further indignity of falling apart, not within earshot.

Eiji clutches her yukata closed, holding it like a lifeline until they’re past the door. 

The sisters break from each other. Emiko walks on before realizing she’s alone on the path to the onsen.

She turns. “Sister…”

Free from the burdens of decorum, of maintaining her role, Eiji falls to her knees and beats at the earth beneath her fingertips.

She presses her forehead against the dew kissed ground. Buries the incident like everything else.

the consummation. renouncing her vows. scars, old and new.

Even as she cries, she forces herself to swallow the rage and shame. Bitter as his come. But she chokes it down all the same.

Time was a construct among the sweet dirt and moss.

knees tucked into her aching breasts. arms outstretched over the greenery.

Eiji startles when a warm hand descends over her back, smooth and splayed. The touch is gentle and patient, she’s quick to settle.

‘hush, hush, baby rabbit… up on the hill…’

The words thrum in her blood as her mother sang them.

‘why are your eyes so red?’

She curls in closer, dirtied fingers twisting in her lap.

‘when i was small… mother are the fruit of the red tree’

🪞

Emiko hadn’t wanted to do it. But she couldn’t just leave her like that.

She returns through the door where she came and makes quick work of tracking down someone… anyone.

Following the voices gathered in the lounge, Suma sits on Lord Tengen’s lap while the other two drink tea.

As soon as she enters the room, a cold hush descends upon the marriage, rendering them all speechless before her.

Uzui looks at her with those piercing eyes of his.

sizing her up. gauging her intent.

The others simply pout at the disruption.

“That was fast for a bath,” he quips. “Where’s your sister? She drown herself already?”

She still doesn’t trust her words.

Raising a hand, she points to the long stretch of hall leading to the back door.

Lord Tengen follows her wordless dictation, tracking with his eyes, already bored with her play of charades. 

“Hinatsuru, my dear.” He waves Sister Eiji off with the swipe of his manicured hands. “See what the little voyeur needs. It’s like drawing pus from a damn wound, I swear.”

His ravenette bride rises from her seat and presses a kiss on her husband’s cheek before following after the good Sister.

By the time they reach her in the yard, she’s on her back with her breasts fully exposed to the elements. One palm  weakly raised to the sky to block out the sun while the other remains twisted in the earth.

They carry either side of her into the onsen. Inside, they place Eiji on the stool so as to give her a thorough cleaning before the bath.

“My husband is not a cruel man… but what he did was callous,” she murmurs, all remorse.

She doesn’t dignify her with a response, instead focusing on the task at hand.

“If this is how you prefer it, we don’t have to talk…”

“Prefer it,” she scoffs.

It’s the first words she’s spoken in her new life. She suddenly feels inspired by her sister’s natural indignation.

“So you can speak.”

She ignores her question, filling the bucket with water and soaping the wetted towel.

“You say your husband isn’t cruel… To you , perhaps. Hasn’t my dear sister been through enough?”

They scour her flesh with a sudsy cloth, scrubbing her raw, watching the dirt and debris fall with little difficulty.

her neck. her arms. each individual finger.

A shudder tears through Eiji as they erase all traces of the meadow.

“Mother—”

“That’s enough now.” Emiko lulls her softly, drying her eyes and holding her close, “I’m not leaving you again.”

Hinatsuru kept a steady pace with the regimen. She took her time with her sister wife’s breasts. Her legs. There wasn’t an inch of her she hadn’t cleansed and polished. 

Every so often she’d graze a bruise. Most fresh, the most faded were from that night. 

It was hardly a wonder why their was no love lost between the nun and their family.

When her face was washed properly along with her hair, Emiko does kakeyu, dousing her sister with water when Hinatsuru prompts her into doing so.

The bucket was hot, flowing over her skin. It would never be enough for her, not to wash away the sin…

Being led to the bath, Eiji fights through the pain. There’s so much she could cry for, if she turned to the well, she’d never be able to stop.

Once she’s in the water, the utter lack of recollection dawns on her.

how long…

…how long…

…how long.

“Oh… I’m in the bath,” she realizes.

Eiji forgets herself having lost everything after breakfast, if one could deign to call that fucking travesty breakfast.

Just thinking of his tongue in her mouth shoveling dish after dish… 

She sinks under the water, if only for a moment. Curls her arms around her knees and screams.

🪞

It’s the first time she can feel herself breathe in this place.

Emiko is left totally alone in the receiving room. She rolls her shoulders, eyes falling shut.

When Hinatsuru returns with tea for them both, she straightens, but gives her sincere appreciation.

“Thank you.”

She takes her cup eagerly, beyond grateful for it. Her body even relaxed a touch.

“You know. Lord Tengen bet everyone you’d slap him before the end of the meal.”

“Did he, now…” Emiko asks softly. “Who won the wager?”

Hinatsuru glances over the porcelain rim of her cup.

“A betting woman never tells.”

“So it was you,” she surmises.

A shrug. “Just because I bet on losing dogs doesn’t mean I know why.”

One sip leads to another. Before long, her cup is nearly empty. She can’t ignore the unspoken question any longer.

“I figure things will go better for her if I don’t act on impulse.”

“Look at who you’re living with,” Hinatsuru holds the rim with her slender fingers. “No one else is holding back.”

“Freedom of choice doesn’t equate to freedom from consequence,” she deadpans.

“Such wise words, Sister.”

She shakes her head. “No need for formalities…” 

“Eiji, then.”

Slow to start, the chilly reception was beginning to thaw. 

“Awfully forward, but so be it.”

She’d find a place here, yet.

The pair finish their tea in due course, slowly making their way back to the onsen. On the other side of the door, they’re greeted by the uncanny sight of her other half.

lying in the water. gaze fixed on the ceiling. breath steady with her countless bruises and scars on full display.

“E…Emiko?” The good Sister corrects herself before she can do something stupid like say her actual name.

“I saw myself in the water. The waves were thrashing against the shore…”

“The shore? From when we were children?”

She doesn’t even nod. “Yes.” Just agrees, voice dull.

No one speaks. Neither sister, nor wife.

“I heard our mother singing to me. Could’ve been you for all I know…”

Emiko scoffs. “In your dreams.”

It’s the first Eiji’s smiled… truly smiled. “Right,” she says softly, her voice tinged with remorse.

Rising from the bath and without any prompting, Emiko turns to gather her towel. She’s quick to shroud her sister and preserve her modesty.

“Let’s get you dried off.”

Watching the scene play out in front of her, Hinatsuru turns with a laugh. Natural moments like this. Intimate and deft… they were a precious thing. Especially in a world so perilous as the one they’d inherited.

They leave the onsen one after the next with Suma and Makio still unaccounted for.

It was a different atmosphere having Hina here in place of their husband. She was softer, kinder. 

more patient. more mindful.

There were half a dozen yukata strewn across the floor, waiting for their judgment. Just three obi belts to choose between.

Swatch after swatch with a voice nearly so soft as her touch, Hinatsuru praises Eiji for matters entirely out of her control.

“I quite like the coral,” she offers, still unsure.

Emiko nods in wordless agreement, quick to dress her sister before she could say no.

It was quiet work between them with Hinatsuru’s fingers grazing her scalp. Layer by layer, careful around any lingering trace of injury.

“You really do have the most lovely hair,” she muses thoughtfully. “It’s so soft, I could lose myself like this.”

Eiji’s cheeks heat. She can’t lie… any longer under this deft touch of hers, she’d lose herself just the same.

It’s the sudden slide of the door that spoils their fun. 

“What’s she doing in here?”

Suma and Makio enter the marriage bed without ceremony or warning, casting disdainful glances toward the nun in question.

“This isn’t where you should be,” Makio scolds her. The wife in red had a hand on her hip, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you have any decency? Lord Tengen told us you were up half the night listening to them on the veranda.”

She gives chase with a raised fist. Emiko flees the scene.

The last sight before the door’s shut: Eiji’s eyes locking on her own.

Her whole body tenses with the snap of the door. Emiko’s fingers ghost across her face, twin frowns burning in mind and memory.

She takes her leave for the night and brushes off the rebuff. 

“Nothing to be done for it,” she shrugs.

Emiko returns to the common area for her tea. With no one home to stop her, she pockets an orange from the picked over dining table. Swipes the saké, too.

She takes the orange to the kitchen and runs it under some water. She peels the skin with a knife in one uninterrupted pile of citrus before halving the fruit. She drains it for all it’s worth, setting the juice aside.

It takes her a minute to finagle a lemon, draining the citron in one fell swoop.

Tiny cuts lap at her skin, hands stinging until she can pat her hands down with the damp kitchen cloth.

She gathers up the lemon juice, the orange juice, and her green tea. Along with some honey, they all join the pot. She turns the heat on, preferring her tea hot.

She eyeballs the saké, giving absolutely no fucks.

She stirs the pot until it’s nearly boiling over. Reducing the heat, she relishes in the steam, eyes shut as she breathes it in.

“Hope you made enough for two.” 

Lord Tengen was already inside before she even realized he was back. His silhouette towers over her, even from this far, just standing in the frame of the entrance. 

Should Emiko have been on her guard, she’d have taken note of the state of the door, open as it was. Of the fresh air and mild breeze on the setting sun. Pity that observation was never her strong suit.

she doesn’t turn, nor does she face him.

“I mean, it hardly feels like an inappropriate request… it is my booze you’ve absconded with, right?”

He’s locking her in place, caging her with little mercy from his rippling arms.

her body tenses under his scrutinizing eye and touch.

Time stops between them. One palm rests flush against her chest, he pulls her to him. He draws his massive fingers before her, making for the ladle in the pot.

Uzui tests the toddy. She can’t see his face or else he’d have given the game away.

His hand comes down, firmly on her backside. “Two cups. Sit with me.”

She doesn’t dare refuse him.

drinks are poured, 

garnish laid to perfection.

When she sees him again, it’s past the dining room table. He sits on the floor of the drawing room, still dressed from his assignment.

Placing a cup in front of him, Emiko keeps the other for herself.

He nods in silent thanks before indulging. The beads on his headdress swish gloriously with the motion.

“It’s a damn good drink,” he commends her.

She says nothing to his praise. She just takes her small, measured sips. 

The girls can be heard tittering from the other end of the home. She stiffens at the sound, to which his eyes narrow.

“Tell me true, Sister.” Swirling the drink in his cup, he’s relentless in his teasing. “I bet you want to kill me for defiling your precious Emiko.”

“Lord Uzui… if I took it upon myself to lay to rest every man to spill his seed inside my sister, I’d scarcely have a moment for anything else.”

It’s good. The burn of the saké down her throat. Keeps her grounded. Makes her bold.

He appreciates it all the same, if not more. Slapping his thigh, Tengen lets out a thunderous roar of approval.

“And what would you do? All that time, letting the rest of us live… There must be something you’d rather be doing.”

She downs her drink and his nearly weary eyes lock on the scene before him, incredulous and more than a little turned on.

“Booze and a bed. If you’re telling me to stand down, that she’s safe in your care, I can oblige that… I’ll take up embroidery or something.”

“Do you expect me to trust you around a needle?”

Her gaze narrows, voice nearly so frosty as the cold of her shoulder. “As if I’m meant to trust you at all.”

Lord Uzui swallows the remains of his cup, teeth flashing from the bitterness.

“You’re going to wash me.”

“Oh?”

“Then I’m going to ravage my wives.”

“As you say.”

She almost looks bored by the order. Her voice betrays her true nature. His fingers curl dangerously around her arm… 

He tempers his rage. A breath follows. 

…wordless dare in the air as he ever craves them both.

“You don’t believe me?” He cocks a silver brow, nearly daring her push him one step more. “I’m hurt. I assumed we reached an understanding.”

His touch snakes around her, boxing her in against the table’s sharp edge. He eyes her as though he’s looking for something.

the suspicion and intrigue of men never bodes well.

“You have a smart mouth. What do you say to making better use of it.”

He leans in closer, near stealing her breath. Drags her frozen fist over his hardening cock. A low groan teases his throat as he rocks into her reluctant touch.

“Better hop to, little rabbit. Else I might be tempted to fuck that virgin asshole instead.”

Emiko’s face blanches as the threat washes over her. Weak and shaking, she palms at the corded outline of his massive length. Her eyes glaze over when muscle memory takes over.

Resigned. Devastated. She sinks to the floor on shaky ground while he wastes no time freeing himself.

She laps at the column of his cock, spreading precome over the furious tip weeping in her face.

He throws his head back with a guttural sigh.

“You really picked up a trick or two from that whore sister of yours,” he praises her roughly. “May have to fuck your ass anyways. Show you what you missed last night.”

Her cheeks burn in shame, desperate to ignore the words that cut her so deep.

The price is modest enough considering she sold her sister to this brute. A cock in her mouth for room and board… 

Maybe this was her inevitable penance for selling her own sister, forcing her to wife and bed this beast. 

Hollowing her cheeks, she takes him in her mouth but by bit. He’s thick on her tongue. Heavy. 

She feels his growing impatience as he grunts over her.

“Never send a nun to do a whore’s job,” he laments.

There’s no time to process his words before he’s fisting her habit and forcing himself down her throat.

She beats against his thighs in protest. He ignores her completely, hands locked on either side of her head as he sets a raging pace.

On her knees like this, she can hear herself dying. She can hear him getting off on it. Feels like an age choking on the indignity of her own glucks and spittle. 

There’s no end for her… No end in sight.

Uzui abruptly throws her from him until she’s spilling over the floor. He leaves her clamoring for air as he drags her past the doors. 

She follows after him, no real choice in the matter. Her throat is raw… Her arm, now bruising.

He leads her outside and she shudders under the sun’s sudden assault. Uzui ignores her, ushering her inside the onsen. 

Emiko nearly trips in the dimly lit space, paying no heed to the Hashira already stripping for his bath.

His eyes dance with mirth and derision. “Wash your face. And take care of that look, I don’t want to hear a word. Not when I told you what would happen.”

She wordlessly makes for the bucket. Fills it up and swipes her cupped hands over her face.

still hot. still listless. still breaking.

She manages to steady her breathing. One after the other, slowly returning to herself.

Only when her face is being pushed into the ground does it dawn on her that he never came.

no time to think–

He knocked the wind out of her. The shove came so fast… so strong. She tastes the blood in her mouth, ears nearly bleeding the same with the tinnitus that rages.

When she tries to stand, she’s met with a firm smack on the thigh and a white knuckle grip on her bad leg.

–no room to breathe.

He draws her to her knees and arches her ass in the air. Her eyes widen in panic and it’s all too simple for the Sound Pillar to block and counter the attack when she thrashes in response.

“You’re really making me work for it, Sister.”

Flush against her back, she feels him. Every ridge. Every vein.

“Hold still,” he warns. “Don’t fight me unless you want this to hurt.”

He makes quick work gathering the fabric pooled at her calves, tossing her skirts over her head so cavalier.

Her breaths start coming in short bursts under the oppressive weight of linen slowly suffocating her.

The bastard’s made a cornered meal of her and there’s not a damn thing to be done for it. There’s nothing. No leg to sever and escape the trap. No Eiji to intervene.

He sounded like he was eating you alive.

Tears burn her eyes as her earlier words come for her throat.

She hears his debasement before feeling his cooling pool of drool run down the curvature of her ass. 

“Thinking on that first night we met,” he starts. “Gotta say, you surprised me.”

He spreads her cheeks in appraisal, thumb working his spit in and out of her tight hole.

A less experienced prostitute would relax when Uzui withdrew his fingers. But Emiko was no mere oiran. She knew better. 

He strikes her again…

and again…

and again.

She feels the fresh coat of saliva glide in and out of her, another two to join the first.

“Just look at you now…”

She shuts her eyes, biting her lip just to keep herself under lock and key

If she plays possum, she’s as good as dead. If she’s dead, this is over and done with.

Her heart aches with every strained sigh that bleeds from her lips. The hard floor is hell on her tits, his quickening pace beating her further into the ground.

“…reckon I could fry an egg on that fucking face.”

The rapid thrusts of his hips leave her gasping and shuddering beneath the caul of her skirts. She remains blind to his abuse but can feel every stroke… hear every groan…

It’s all she can do to will her body to brace for the storm and pray he finishes quick enough.

anything to quiet her mind. anything to stay still and small.

She steadies her breath to the best of her abilities. His wandering touch takes a bite of the meat of her ass in a callous bid for purchase, dipping his thick head in and out of her waiting hole.

Uzui doubles down on his efforts where her body sees fit to reject him. It’s several tries before he can so much as thread the needle.

Lurching forward with the force of his thrusts, she takes him… inch by tortuous inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of her. Too much, too soon, until Emiko’s left wailing into the floor.

A perpetual echo sounds inside the hollow onsen with the staccato of his balls beating against her exposed cunt. He props her ass higher, cock pistoning at a vicious rate.

“Where’s your God now?” 

Only when she felt the breath on her face did she realize it was Lord Uzui himself. He offers no respite pulling out, merely walks back to do kakeyu as she trembles in his wake.

She listens to his feet pad across the floor. She can hear the slow of her own heart. Her whimpers, curling in on herself. The fill of his bucket. The splash across his body. The blood in her ears. His groans as he works his fingers over his points of tension.

Emiko’s blood runs cold when the steady flow of water is shut off. The last remaining drops sound off like heavy artillery in the spanse of the bathhouse. Practically holds her breath as he passes without a word.

He dips into the onsen, arms outstretched as he luxuriates in his soak. His eyes fall shut, head falling back. She’s so sure Uzui had no further use for her.

how wrong could one woman be…

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️

On their worst days, Emiko was more her charge than blood. A painful reality for the younger of the two. Years spent in her shadow, ready to strike those that would see her harmed. For flowers so lovely as the twins, it was ugly work in the Red Light District.

No. Her looks were always a matter of contempt rather than ignorance. The bride is abundantly aware of what she looks like.

The palette, however, is new.

A traditional visage for a traditional bride. Something the girls at the brothels were never granted beyond the realm of a marriage born from ashinuke or a buyout.

She couldn’t give into the temptation to touch. She wouldn’t risk damaging the canvas, eyes and lips painted as they were.

There was little need for it before all this. It wasn’t something she ever envied or missed. The closest she came to seeing herself with a full face was her sister. 

Still. Not a trace of either sibling in the looking glass.

Eiji has never looked so beautiful. Nor as frightened.

Even through the beads of sweat lining her temples, she was grateful for the katsura wig concealing her sparse hairs. Remnants of her days in the Sisterhood, her cut had yet to grow past her ears. Her keeper was generous enough to postpone the marriage until after their wounds had healed.

It wouldn’t do for the ruse to end on such a glaring oversight. 

The pins adorning the piece look costly. Too extravagant for one as modest as Sister Eiji. Hazarding a guess, it looked to be worth more than a month’s wages at the brothel.

Cocking her head to the side, her eyes catch on the embroidered flowers that rest upon the uchikake. The sharp angles and thorns give birth to a dangerous suggestion.

“Not enough…”

She gives voice to the intrusive thought before thinking better of it. Seppuku is on the girl’s mind, though she’s not fool enough to follow through. Would that she could and spare herself the devastation of this whole affair.

A delicate touch presses on her shoulder. It’s soft, but there’s an edge… as if the owner doesn’t have the strength for a proper scolding.

“Remember what this is for,” breathes a hushed voice of admonishment. “If I’m to marry him, I’ll never forgive you.”

Standing vigil is her better half. Wrapped in more fabrics than she’s accustomed; her kimono a muted black, with what little she has left of her once prized locs concealed under a zukin. The wimple is an unassuming periwinkle. Nearly so blue as the virgin snow.

While Eiji might dance with the idea, Emiko has every intention of bedding it. Neither sister needs the reminder… 

Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if need be.

The threat lingers unspoken between them. Emiko draws back her hand, holding the wataboshi with a white knuckled grip to match. Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, she collects herself with a sniff. 

They meet each other’s gazes in the mirror, color on their lids nearly matching at this point. While one wore rouge, the other bore far less intent. Her eyes are red rimmed from endless days and nights spent sobbing. The anger and resentment, the fear, the loathing—it’ll end her life before the blade has a chance to. 

Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, Emiko nods in approval.

“You’re ready.” Her voice is broken, still shot from the fight. 

Drying the twin tracks running down her cheeks, she lets her go.

No processional. No one to give her away. No tears in tribute.

She doesn’t even see their betrothed until the purification rites. 

For as taboo as it sounds, she doesn’t consider Lord Uzui to be her husband. All the same, she’ll take her sister’s place as his lady wife. She has no choice, not if she wants to keep her alive and unmolested.

It’s all she can do to keep her sister in her prayers as she draws water into the chouyuza’s ladle, washing their sins clean. Twice, in as many hishaku, before rinsing her mouth with a third.

Uzui works himself over in silent tandem. Much as she’s loath to admit it, his refined montsuki haori and golden hakama make the man striking… gorgeous, even. His starlight hair was worn up when last she saw him. And now it rests, barely grazing his broad shoulders. 

This is the closest she’s been to someone of the opposite sex who wasn’t a client. He hardly made a favorable impression to start. She didn’t know him well enough now to gauge his intent. Whether she’s walking into a den of wolves or a field of rabbits strikes her as a mystery she wouldn’t solve until he was already inside her, she’s sure of it.

Their union is a somber affair before the Shinto priest. Intimate. Tense. Almost severe.

The priest gives the blessings. 

With the marriage announcement, Uzui bows where they stand. She realizes too late that she missed the prayers in favor of the mounting anxieties taking root. Nudging her out of her daze, she follows suit. Muscle memory and a lifetime of obedience takes her hand and guides the path before her. 

The saké teases her lips and she finds herself tempted to drink before long. It’s not until passing off the small and medium cup that they are permitted to imbibe. She focuses on her throat, still burning from the alcohol as they move on to the rings. It keeps her present of mind enough to fulfill the task she’s been charged with.

A ring is slid on her finger. His handling isn’t rough with her but he’s hardly gentle. When she does the same, she notes the calluses on his battle-worn hands—a testament to his years spent honing his skills in combat.

The warmth throws her. She stills beneath his touch… Even worse when he’s cast his garnet gaze on her like that. With that smile on his lips, he almost looks fond. He turns her hand over and gives her wrist a small caress, far more tender than he’d been with the rings.

She has the grace to blush. The watashobi only allows her so much coverage from his prying eyes, so she takes advantage where she can. His vows barely register. When it’s her turn, her voice is a hollow echo of the priest’s dictation.

“I will marry this man,” he says.

“I will marry this man.”

“No matter what may come, I will love him, console him, help him. Until death.” 

“No matter… No matter what may come, I will love him. Console him. Help him… Until death.”

“These things, I swear.”

“These things… I swear.”

The shrine maiden presents twin Sakaki branches to the couple. In turn, they place the branches upon the altar. Together they bow twice and clap in quick succession. 

With the stinging of her palms and roar of her ears, it’s over.

It’s finally over.

In every other respect, this is only the beginning.

There was before Tengen… and after.

In another life, she might have been simple… a simple girl of simple means, grown into a simple woman.

What bliss.

No simple girl would ever endure the hand fate had dealt her. They’d never even know it’s touch, let alone see the blow coming.

Back when Eiji had a purpose, she was a nun.

Her mandate was as simple as things went for her. Find your sister, they told her. Find her, mind her. The task proved easier said than done for an Oiran in the brothels of Yoshiwara.

No. If she was anything like the girls to grow up not knowing any better, she’d have thought it a heavenly night. 

The scene was a deep wash of cerulean and coal; falling snow aglow with what moonlight peered behind the kawara roof. A contoured edge ran crisp over the engawa, shadows and flakes stopping in tandem before she could so much as wet her feet.

It was the tenderest mercy she would be afforded in a place such as this.

The languid stream of smoke bled from her lips, too soon to think over another drag as she set her gaze on the abyssal sky.

Her brows furrowed, eyes pleading the heavens for intervention when she couldn’t will the tragic whimpers and panicked groans from breaching the walls.

The only warmth known to her was the burn between her fingers and the fury in her veins, neither poison more bitter than the last. 

If her lungs didn’t fail her, it was bound to be her heart.

After a terribly violent gasp, Eiji tossed the remains of her cigarillo into the mounting snow, the pressing need for quiet far surpassing any desire for escapism. Flush palms ran over the veil concealing her ears. 

Enmeshed in a deathbed of white, the snuffed out embers found themselves buried under the fresh flakes. 

“Stop it.” A whispered bid—painful as it was fruitless. She broke on the words, knowing they’d never reach the bedroom. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

If that fucker didn’t come soon, she was going to have to finish the job. Tear the stuck pig limb from limb, out of the frying pan and into the fires of Hell. He would bleed for this.

She wouldn’t betray her vows. She only sought to avenge her sister’s rape. Nothing more, nothing less.

You can’t afford to fall apart. You know she can feel you. You have to be strong for her.

And before she could make good on that promise, there was nothing. Not a breath, not a sound.

The silence was deafening and nearly so oppressive as the screams.

The divine stall, dutifully prostrate before the raging tempest. 

Any relief felt was dead on arrival. She knew better than to get comfortable. Her shoulders were still wound tight as a bow primed for the shot. Tense and waiting. 

Rooms away, Eiji could hear the pleas so viscerally… 

“Eiji—” she cried, her voice a death rattle that cut to the marrow. “Sister… Help me.”

                                 a crash in the distance.

                                 a whisper of fabric on the 

                                 wind. 

                                 the final screams to prelude              

                                 disaster.

The shoji was barely ajar before she’d pushed her way inside. She rushed past the hall of incredulous voyeurs, all with the same questions on their minds and lips.

She didn’t even know where they’d put her tonight. She had to follow the commotion like a dog after a vendor in the streets.

Desperate. Near rabid with its goal to fulfill. Out for blood.

If she centered herself, she could be by her side in an instant.

But her mind was racing. She had no time, no focus. All of her being narrowed on the sole objective of leaving this place for good.

Ashinuke beckoned with an outstretched palm whose finger curled so seductively, there was no need to ask twice.

The door flew open with a shout, “Emiko!”

She surveyed the room. Save the cowering fuck in the corner, it was a barren sight.

Dragging him by the collar of his disheveled robe, she hauled his sweating hull from the ground.

“Tell me where they took her,” she demanded. “I’ll gut you, I swear it.”

He shook beneath her. When the night air kissed the tracks on her cheeks, she didn’t have to look hard. There was a gaping hole in the screen of the shoji, ushering the cold inside.

You cried for me… 

She shook the memory, focusing solely on the path ahead of her. Her entire world fixated on what little she could see from outside the door; a mere pinprick of vision in that busted screen. All she was able to manage were the snapping swords of some third party who’d entered the fray.

The pig squealed, fear coursing through him at the prospect of a fight.

“Useless,” she spat.

Blood came when the words failed him. The blade from her sleeve made fast work of disposing his filth without preamble or mercy.

                                       sank into his ear… 

                                       pull out game for

                                       the gods.

                                       …dragged across 

                                       his throat.

He slumped pitifully at her feet, exsanguinating below her turning frame. She was already following after the chaos—dried her tears and righted the cloth just under her eyes.

The body was still warm as she made for the biting cold.

Eiji sullied the courtyard’s pristine canvas. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her. Didn’t make it very far in the dark; someone flew overhead, missing her entirely. 

What should have urged her all the more only brought her to her knees.

She couldn’t afford to falter like this, not when the wager was her sister’s life. 

“No one’s after you,” she muttered to herself. “There’s no time for this… Get up.”

She had to press on. So why couldn’t she move?

Eiji refused to give way to the fear. Surveying the perimeter, there was little to be done and less to be seen.

It had to be now.

Closing her eyes, she leveled her breath. Slow. Deliberate. 

She emptied her lungs with a hiss in her throat and put her all into seeking Emiko out.

With the rolling of her stomach subsided, she picked herself off the street. 

Nails bit crescent moons into the meat of her palms, arms trailing behind her as she took off into the direction she foresaw. 

She felt her. She saw her in mind’s eye. 

Smelled the cracked wood in the air. Burnt, not yet ablaze. 

Blood… so much blood.

Eiji found her before too long, limbs akimbo under the caved-in front of a vacant business.

Her sister wasn’t alone. Shock coursed through her as she took it all in.

Three women crowded the body. One at her head, keeping her still, as the others made quiet work of removing the debris from her broken form.

She didn’t have to turn to know they were less alone than the moments that had passed. “Is she dead?” The man asked, feckless to a fault.

He was an eager one, wasn’t he. If this had been out of character for the man, if he’d been a stranger to them… surely they would have reacted.

The smallest among the women only threw herself at him with tears in her eyes.

“Lord Tengen,” she sobbed. “We couldn’t find the lair. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded towards Emiko, his eyes never straying from her unconscious frame. “And the girl?”

“An Oiran.” The name fell from Eiji’s lips with the ease and vitriol of a curse, “Kyogoku House.”

Every stranger encountered this night turned to her, suddenly occurring to them she was worth acknowledging at all. Turned on her just as quickly.

“Kakushi are meant to be seen… not heard,” he warned with a snap, all bitterness.

An incredulous echo fell from her lips, “Kakushi?”

He pinned her down, swiftly and effectively cutting the indignant echo from the root.

“Now what did I just say.” 

The man towering over wasn’t asking, not remotely. He looked at her nearly expectant, all but daring her for a response.

Thick arms neutralized the struggle, pressing into her to drive the point home. Voice lowered in tandem with his head, the words in her ears enough to fill her gut with coal. 

“If you’re going to interrupt, at least make it worth my while. Might just be tempted to take matters into my own hands and modify the offense.”

“Don’t. Please… stop. You can’t touch her. Please don’t touch her.”

Eyes fell shut as she laid witness to the swan song rasping from her sister’s bruised lips. 

Tears streamed, hot and itching. Time slowed to a crawl. “Emiko. Forget about me,” she bade. “You have to save your strength.”

Gravel dug into her cheek the rougher he forced her down. A hitch in her breath. Eiji kept her gaze fixed ahead, locked on the carnage. 

The women on assist weren’t concerned with lowering their voices. 

“The hell’s a nun doing in the Red Light District?” 

“You can’t say that in front of her, idiot.”

She burned under the heat of their scrutiny. Even more as his touch grazed her prone form, searching for weapons. It seemed he’d been blessed with brains to match his brawn and beauty after all.

“You’ve got red on you,” he noted. “You must have seen something.”

“Not my blood.” The words ran cold on her tongue. Near metallic as the blood staining her veil. “He’s dead now.”

“And the demon spared you after it fed?”

“Sir, there was no demon.”

He turned her over. Crouched over her thighs, urging her to continue.

“Patron. Something took her and he was a shit witness. I eliminated my sister’s rapist. If you have complaints, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”

“Eliminated, huh?” He pressed, incredulous. His eyes returned to the women tending to Emiko’s injuries. “Don’t suppose she’s one of ours?”

His aubergine companion spoke with unbidden ease. “Lord Tengen.” A pressing gentleness, as if shepherding apoplectic cats in their twilight years rather than the man straddling her. “In polite society, there are certainly ways to extract such information.” 

He eyed her beneath his rippling thighs. Considered the account she’d woven for him. “You really don’t know anything?”

“If I knew what you were talking about, I’d tell you.” She met his gaze, beseeching. “Please, just help my sister. Kill me for my crime if you must, but please… She needs to leave this place.”

When the weight on her thighs was suddenly relieved, she had little time to breathe. He loomed over her, making fast work of tossing her over his shoulder.

“Don’t go getting too dramatic on me, Sister. Isn’t blind faith supposed to be your thing?” He gave her backside a condescending slap before taking off.

Too burnt out from the fight to argue, she merely allowed herself to be lulled by his hellish pace.

She hadn’t slept in so long. The push and pull of the jostle took her back to that day.

Fractured memories of the shore. She was no more than a child then. Now a woman grown, the bitter cold kissed her cheeks.

She looked out on the water’s edge. The drag of the waves. The crash as they touched back down.

Walking into the sea, she collapsed. Falling onto her knees, the water soaked her kimono. She abandoned her zukin, letting the habit drift away. When she looked down, there was an isolated pool of blood.

Her eyes widened, hands shaking as she dragged her touch underneath. The source of the bleed was heavy. She pulled desperately, fighting the mounting tide and her own limitations. 

When it breached the surface, she was loathed to lose her grip.

She knew that face. She wore that face. 

Realization dawned on her and she was all the more desperate to retrieve what the watery grave that saw to claim from her. 

Limp in her arms. On death’s door, if she hadn’t crossed the Sanzu River already. When she opened her eyes, they were worse than void—they were dead.

Eiji woke with a start, her own eyes locked on the ceiling of the infirmary with a scream locked in her throat.

The medical wing remained so unclouded, so quiet, there was a small part of her that considered she might be dead already.

Eyes blinking into consciousness, she wondered to herself how everything got so fucked.

“The prodigal daughter wakes,” came a rasping welcome.

“Emiko!”

She nearly tripped over herself trying to reach out to her; the hand beckoning her closer so small under the covers. 

Closing the distance between them, Eiji was treated to a slap to the cheek. She didn’t even register it at first. Her expression thrown, ears roaring. 

“You’ve killed me, bringing me here.” Her voice was as weak as her will to live. “Good as signed my death warrant, you bitch.”

Eiji stared in shock before it hit her as one thousand blows.

She was asleep.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t protect her. Hell, she was barely able to find her on time. She’d failed her and the burning realization that there might be more threatens to consume her.

“What happened while I was out?”

Emiko turned away with a hiss—either from aching injuries or her own malcontent, she’ll never tell. “You heard what Lord Tengen said,” she groused. “Demons and the like. He works to annihilate them…”

Her throat went dry in an instant. “What?”

“Sissy, I’m tired.”

Already having rolled to her side and brought the bedding past her ears, Emiko’s eyes pooled. She let the tears fall away from view but couldn’t hide the way her shoulders shook.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

Thoughts swirled in a vicious cycle. She was as furious as she was suicidal.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

The unspoken reverie was loud enough to hear even separated from the bond their blood allowed.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

It was all Eiji could do to crawl into bed with her, arms wrapped around her trembling body. 

“Are you more angry that I couldn’t save you… or that I did?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Emiko rolled to face her sister, curling tight against her as a babe to its mother. 

“Too late,” she teased gently. Her voice is gentle as the touch that ran up and down her back. “Then tell me. What is it?”

“Just cursing the heavens for damning us with this face and body. And all the bastards who came before Uzui.”

Eiji kept her eyes on the wavering fist curled around the sterile linens they both wore. Trailing her fingers up her back, she brings her palm to her sister’s hair. Pulled her in close, stroking her scalp. She said nothing, merely gave her the means to speak.

“He’s a Hashira. Former Shinobi, by his own account.”

“Shinobi,” she echoed, incredulous. Aren’t they meant to be a dying breed?

“I can’t deliver on the promise I made. I was coerced into accepting his hand, it was the only payment he wanted…” Emiko kept talking over her, vision clouded as if in a daze. “I couldn’t just let him kill you… we needed safe passage.”

A fresh tremor coursed through her. The sight chilled Eiji’s blood.

Bloodshot eyes nearly so vacant as her dream stared back. She didn’t have to hear it to know. 

“Emiko… look at me.” She was desperate with tears of her own threatening to break.

“I can’t go through this again. I refuse. Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if necessary.”

Her head shook, stunned to silence.

“Those women are his wives. Says I should get used to them.”

“I can’t let you go through with this!” She refuted further, “I won’t. Not for my sake.”

Holding her hands flush against her ears, Emiko’s eyes shut. Face twisting in anguish and grief, she pushes away from her. “Sleep first, then dream.”

“I’m not dreaming. I’m pleading… Let me help you.”

“You don’t understand,” Emiko argued. “That night… It left me with scars, scars you haven’t seen. He saw me. He saw all of me.”

Eiji’s face flushed with anger. “He fucked you?”

“No… He only kept me talking while I was bandaged. Said he wants to wait until the wedding night to touch me.”

“Show me,” she insisted. “If he’s seen it, I need to see.”

It’s a beat before either moved, let alone spoke. Eiji pushed herself off the bed to stand on shaky ground. She was wary, but didn’t argue. Her sister looked away in a pastiche of offered modesty.

“You can look,” she prompted, voice faint.

When Eiji returned her gaze, visions of that night returned with a vengeance. 

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Breaking on a sob, she saw her under the roof collapse so vividly as she did that night.

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Her sister’s skin was tattooed, marred with the visible representation of her own failure. Hypertrophic scars cut around her waist. A contracture piece gnarled on her back. Superficial grazes claw across her breasts. 

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

She had to avert her eyes, choking on her own shame. She would never forgive herself. 

Head raised to the heavens, she was anywhere else.

“The Madame will never have me back now,” Emiko noted wryly. “At least there’s one good thing out of this mess, even if it won’t last—”

With the shattering of glass, the words died in her throat. It took seconds for her eyes to catch up, watching her sister follow after the broken vase. Eiji was there, already on the ground. There seemed to be no rhyme, reason, nor method to her madness.

“What are you doing?”

She sifted through the rubbish on hands and knees, seeking out the perfect instrument for her needs. She’d have to start soon while the sight was fresh in her mind… The rest were tossed aside.

“I’m not letting you down again.”

“What does that even mean?” She pleaded, “Eiji, stop… You’re scaring me.”

And still, she refused her. Not until hope was secured.

Lord Uzui ushers his bride inside the bedchamber, quickly sliding the door shut behind him.

no prying eyes, no vying wives.

Eiji makes to sit on the marital bed, still lost to the events of the day. It’s an absolute miracle her knees haven’t given out already.

“Not so fast.” 

The command chills her to the marrow. He’s behind her before she can react, let alone flee. Uzui pins her in place, a belt of his corded arms wrapping around her middle. Despite the warmth, she’s frozen in place as she stiffly shies from his touch. 

His voice in her ears only drags her further. “Let me look at you.”

It’s not permission he’s after. He’s taking what he wants tonight.

Kissing down the column of her neck, he gives her tit a rough pinch. The assault punches a groan out of her throat, “Lord Tengen, please.”

“Look at that. My prized whore acting like a virgin for her husband. How quaint is this.”

“I just don’t want to sully the garments.” She pushes past the fear and finds her voice. “With all your wives, I don’t see you stopping at four… who knows when you’ll need it again.”

The man drops his arms. There’s a soft sound, almost muffled. She looks over her shoulder and he’s laughing behind a manicured fist. Her eyes widen, the whiplash becoming all too much to bear.

He watches her, watching him. He doesn’t react to being caught. Doesn’t scold her or tease. Merely lowers his hand, leaving only a seductive beam in its wake as he leans forward to take the wataboshi hood from her head.

His gaze lingers on her lips. Before he thinks to act on base impulse and desires, he turns to place the hood away for safekeeping. She trails after him and shirks off the uchikake, offers him the robe and fan. Fingertips graze, earning a hum of anticipation from her husband.

“If you’d prefer me not to do the rest, I suggest you undress yourself.”

She bows. “Thank you, Lord Tengen.”

“Your respect and frugality are refreshing.” A sigh escapes him. “With any hope, you’ll rub off on the others… In more ways than one, I imagine. And I can imagine quite a lot.”

Her cheeks flush at the suggestion. 

He gropes her ass as he passes, already stripping as he takes his spectator’s seat at the foot of the bed. Uzui watches her as an expectant beast would his prey. She takes a steadying breath when he bids her to start.

Eiji thinks of the shamisen players in the brothels. She wills the strings to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes are closed as she tugs at the knot of her obi-jime… 

No more than a feather on the stream, the silken cord spills to the floor with unbidden ease. 

Her ivory obi joins the pool of fabric at her feet. She gives herself over to the music, abandoning her nerves.

Deftly unfastening the datejime leaves her kimono hanging loose. She sheds the rest like a second skin, stepping out of her confines in only her slip of a nagajuban.

More than a chrysalis. A rebirth.

The juban is her only defense. She knows it’s guileless to hope, to dream. It’s all she could have wanted just to keep her sister from the bedchamber.

No. She will do what needs to be done.

When the last whisper of cloth leaves her exposed, she’s quick to cover herself. A futile gesture born from her days in the convent.

A hand catches her wrist and she’s far too exhausted to fight him. Neither for her body, nor her modesty.

Fingers curl around her own as he guides her to the bed. Pushing her gently, back flush against the futon, he holds her in check with only his right hand; keeping her arms raised so nothing might obstruct his view.

He appraises every inch of her flesh, taking his left to explore with the pad of his touch.

neck and collarbone. sternum. breasts.

Kneading her aching tit, Uzui nods in approval. “Scratches are gone,” he notes. “Didn’t even leave a scar.”

her ribs. her waist. 

He traces the lesion with reverence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t of more use to you then.”

The words tumble from her lips before she can stop them. “You’re blameless,” she says under her breath. 

“Come again?”

“My… my sister. She feels every bit of shame for that night. There’s nothing left. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

Moments pass without a word. Just when she’s about to take it all back, he’s pressing kisses into the worst of it.

Eiji chokes on a whine, eyes widening in shock. “Ah!”

“I think your sister would disagree with you there,” he whispers tenderly against her belly. “I only met her once but she looked like she wanted to kill me for even breathing the same air as you.”

Her heart stutters in her chest, conflicted between the sensations roiling through her and the threat of being found out. She keeps her mouth shut. Neither pleasure nor information would pass her lips. Not when she’s come so far… 

She would not let her down again.

Once she found the ideal shard of glass, she made fast work of undressing herself.

“What are you going to do?” Emiko asked desperately.

Eiji walked to her sister’s bedside. She caressed her face. “I’m going to protect you.”

She returned to her own bed, drawing the curtains around her.

Before she lost her nerve, she pressed the glass into herself. She kept digging the piece further inside until she was certain it would take.

She ignored the cries and pleas of her sister. She had to do this. She had to make this right.

With a trembling fist curled around the bloodied glass, she took a leveling breath. 

“Once more,” she urged herself.

She dragged the piece along her back, piercing herself to the hilt. Eiji didn’t need a reference to know. She’d never forget for as long as she lived… It would take her a great deal longer to forgive herself.

Falling to her knees, she curled in on herself… With her body shaking from the shock of it, the deed was finally done.

“Never… Never…”

He laps at the trail of pink with his lips, relishing what reactions slip past her schooled features.

“Even still, it’s healed up nicely,” Uzui remarks, dragging her back with him. “Clean margins, not a trace of infection.”

“You certainly know your way around a battered woman.”

“If you recall, my girls are former Kunoichi. Scars are a part of the work culture… You’ll fit in perfectly, my little prize.”

Eiji masks her disgust with a breathy titter. “And here I thought I’d scared you away,” she quips.

“Thought or hoped?”

With those three little words, the room chills around her. She won’t allow herself to falter.

“I am but a traumatized woman.” A dangerous answer to feed a dangerous question. “You don’t think they're mutually exclusive?” 

He bullies her legs open with the mass of his bicep. Abandoning her arms, he locks her in place with a firm hold on her hip. Rakes his nails against the meat of her thigh, all too quick to soothe the path with his tongue, just as before.

“Answer me,” he growls against her.

Before she can think better of it, she pushes against his shoulder. He buries his face in her cunt, undaunted by her silent protests. 

One swipe of his tongue and she’s gone.

“I… I thought!” Her thighs tighten around him, despite herself. “We had—ngg! We had a… a deal—”

A harsh slap to thigh has her opening back up for him. She stifles a cry behind a shaking palm. He carries on batting at her clit in rapid succession, her groan turning helpless when he buries himself past his knuckles. 

Two fingers with a wail on the third, too thick as they scissor inside.

She’s anywhere else.

The cacophony of noises bleeding from her lips has her mind racing in tandem with her pulse.

Unrelenting pleasure. Blinding sin.

He makes quick work slinging her legs over his shoulders. Colors her thighs with his affections, cups her cunt. She jerks further into the assault.

Propping himself on the balls of his feet, he suckles his fingers. Uzui laves up the juices, savoring every morsel of her essence. 

“And you’d never do anything to rescind a deal, would you, sweet Emiko.”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t dare dignify him with a response. If Uzui wants to go fishing, he can drown in her silence for all she cares.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases her all the more. Middle finger lapping her juices, he fucks them deeper every time. His wrist twists without resistance. It’s all she hears. He latches onto her clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and her own wetness.

Bracing for the forced release, she maintains a white knuckle grip on the sheets beneath her.

Thighs shaking. Stomach tensing. But it’s over before she can fall over that razor thin edge.

He pulls out without mercy, without warning. She sobs at the loss, sweat beading along her temples and brow.

Uzui takes his time spreading her lips, appreciating her cunt twitching around nothing apart from a watchful eye and wandering touch to match. He slaps her tit, diving back into the fray. She’d scream if she thought it would help.

She’s never felt anything like it. 

His nose prods her clit while he gives her a tongue lashing she’s never known. He laps up her juices like a condemned man drinking his last.

Hooking his fingers, Eiji sees white. She came under him and he fucked her right through it, fingering her while spreading his idle hand over her middle. His pinky caresses her scar with such care, almost worship.

It takes her far too long to register he’s been grinding into her splayed thigh.

He’s hot on her bare skin, heavy and thick… She doesn’t have to see him to know.

As if he can read her trepidation like a damn book, he takes her hand and drags it encouragingly over his cock. “You can touch,” he offers.

She says nothing, denying him all the more. Pushing against his advances, she means to end this encounter. Any longer, she fears he may see fit to fuck her into the little hours.

He pushes her back no less than three times before relenting. Fed up with her efforts, he scoffs angrily. “Should’ve brought Suma in to sit on your face,” he laments, all petulance.

Tossing her over his shoulder, he settles her before the bureau. 

“Hands against the wood,” he instructs her curtly, nodding where he wants her. Damn bastard’s already slotting a knee between her legs. “Forearms, too.”

When she does so, he roughly forces her back into an arch. Eiji hears the whistle of the strike before the pain registers. Feels the dresser’s chill graze her nipples before the burn on her bottom. She grits her teeth, detaching herself from the scene.

His touch roves across the handprint left behind before drawing back to hit her again.

Appreciating the canvas before him is a short lived reward.

One hand with an iron grip on her chin forces her attentions. He pinches and gropes what he can reach with the other, the taunting lilt of his voice never leaving her.

“Open those eyes.” The order sends tingles down her spine. “Let me see my gorgeous bride.”

Another thrashing leaves her crying out. He tightens around her jaw, tears flowing freely now.

She does as he commands, her deep brown gaze at last meeting his scrutiny.

It’s when she catches sight of herself in the mirror that her resolve nearly crumbles at his fingertips.

where did emiko end…

                                      …where did eiji begin?

He takes her in his arms, flush against her back as he cages her against the dresser. Uzui sucks a bruise just under her ear, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He feeds his cock inside her, ears singing with every scratch of her nail against the wood. 

A rough gasp tears its way through her. Eiji remains frozen to his whims as he callously fills her to the hilt. Barely four thrusts as he meets no resistance.

He can’t help but groan at the sight of her. 

Stuck-still, she’s too shocked to move, to speak or breathe. 

It’s not long before he tires of her cockwarming and his grunts fill the room with a renewed pace. One sharp snap begot the rest and her cunt fell so tight around him.

He sets a punishing staccato, the sounds of them filling the room in a symphony gone wrong. Coaxing the cries from her, Uzui kept pushing and pushing… bottoming out until he was coming apart himself. 

“How can a whore like you be so damn tight,” he murmurs, nearly slurring his abuses. “All that work getting you open? What a waste…”

Beads of sweat make a mess of his forehead, the silver strands of his hair catching on his skin. She flushes beneath him as he nears his release.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he commands. “I want you to see who’s making you come.”

She holds more than her will as she looks at her husband. She holds her contempt. Her rage… Her every motive and intent. That’s why it’s such a shock to them both when she meets him thrust for thrust for thrust. 

even as the wooden borough grates against the floor and wall. even as he works his spit inside her asshole.

“Fucking close—”

He throws his head back with a trembling exhale and stuttering hips. Eiji’s unbidden wails fall on deaf ears as he spills his seed.

His shaking breath echoes off the walls in a strange marriage of ecstasy and quiet discontent. Would that he could, he’d stay buried inside her forever. 

Uzui pulls out with a hiss, beyond loath to leave her pristine warmth. Releasing her, his gaze falls to their combined fluids trailing down her legs. He spreads her cheeks, reveling in the sight of his debauched bride.

Spent. Humiliated. Done. Eiji rests her weary head against the wood, between her trembling hands.

No blood, she relishes inwardly… with Lord Tengen none the wiser, Eiji has fulfilled her duty. If there was a shadow of a doubt, it’s gone now. He wouldn’t find proof of her innocence. It was gone by her own hand the day she gave herself her sister’s scars. 

Kisses press against her spine, all the way down to her tailbone. He massages her bruised and bruising flesh while huffing in the musk of their consummation. She twitches under his watchful eye and it’s all the prompting he needs to dive back in for seconds, albeit gently this time.

The deft tongue that pleasured her is the deft tongue that cleans her. She doesn’t shy from it this time. He feels the stark contrast as she bears down on his face, grunting his approval as he lazily stokes himself.

It’s not just for her benefit. Tengen knows that despite the closed doors, this intimate moment was always going to be shared.

Not his wives. Not even the heavens.

He knows the nun is sitting vigil at this exact moment, waiting outside those very doors to tend to her battered sister.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that was her role back in Yoshiwara. Poor girl’s never known the touch of a man, has never come apart by another’s tender care… judging by her disdain that night, she’d likely only ever heard the shameful encounters of brutes and bastards. 

Who was he to deny her? To deny either of them?

If the Sister wanted a show, he’d give that holy voyeur the most flamboyant fucking of her damned life.

Emiko sits beneath a wash of indigo, the stars shining bright enough to spite her. She wrings her hands, anxiously praying he’d be done with her soon. The sun was barely set when they arrived back from the ceremony… He’s had her in there for hours.

It’s all she can do to pray he’d leave her soon enough.

“Stop it.” The familiar prayer falls from her lips, a hush of a bid. She broke on the words as her sister had done so many nights. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

In the quiet isolation of the veranda, the only voyeur is the moon above. Emiko weeps for her sister. She weeps for herself.