2017 NOTE. Okay. I've recently picked up a keyboard again, and decided a few things. First, I reaaaally need to finish a few things here. Second, this story is probably the one I like the most. And there were mistakes here, that were painful to look at. I think I did okay for a first write in english, but a lot of the syntax is directly lifted from french, which makes a lot of text awkward. It still is. I fixed a few glaring vocabulary fails and typos, rearranged a couple paragraph and sliced it into chapters. But I like the awkwardness. This story is old. The french version is over ten years old. I was a teen when I wrote this, and an awkward one, I don't want to write over that.
That said, enjoy.
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Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Really. I do not. I do, however, own Ishiguro Komesuke, but then, she's not much anyway. So there.
Author note : this is where I make amends for my dreadful penmanship and explain myself on my probable mistakes in either grammar, spelling, conjugation. I am french. Truly, completely french, which means I'm the only one in my whole building speaking any semblance of english, and I do not have the leisure of practicing this language actively everyday. It also means that my vocabulary is not as flowing and accurate than that of a native speaker. Feel free to forgive me for my mistakes; if you don't, I'd be grateful if you could point them out to me to avoid repeat should I ever write another story in english.
This story was first written in french, and then translated in english. I really, really hope you'll like it! ^^
Enjoy!
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Sagikara Hisana was the eldest daughter of a shogun of Yeso. She had two older brothers who had given her two nieces and a nephew. She also had a younger brother of thirteen, already married to a woman older than him, and two younger sisters, one of whom died at the age of three when Hisana herself was five, the second sister was barely a week old and was named Rukia. Sagikara Hisana had been married at the age of ten to a wealthy samurai in the service of the emperor's intendant, but had yet to take up residence under her husband's roof and consummate the marriage to honor the union. It was anticipated that this would take place just after her fifteenth birthday.
Her mother having died giving birth to Rukia, it was also decided she'd take her little sister to raise as she was her closest female blood relative.
She knew exactly what being married meant. It was destined to happen. Since birth, she had been taught in the women's house, the inhabitants too experienced and too tough beneath their silk attires to withhold any kind of information from their only girl offspring. She had learned to be a woman whose husband could not overlook. In both public and private duties, her mother and the other wives - who gathered around the only girl for many years like so many hens around a single chick - had not hidden anything.
Hisana remained awake for long nights, terrified of what life had in store for her.
Finally she had been married. There were relief and fear to be felt at the same time. Relief, because being married was better than not being married, terror, because a man still seemed to be a woman's worst enemy. She studied her father. She had slipped out of her mother's room sometimes to watch. She wanted to see what she could admire in a man, what she could respect, what she would need to know. If it became necessary, she confided in her mother Inoue, thinking she would be protected forever. Women who were successful were the rich widows who remarried without letting their husbands put their noses in their affairs. They were women who could be independent. Women who let men believe they could not live without them and would carefully work in the shadows.
She had carefully recorded all the knowledge in her diary until a day when, at thirteen, she realized the enormity of the task he would have to bear if she did not want be a mere plaything in the hands of her husband. Inoue had laughed when Hisana had confessed her fears. A cruel laugh, cold and desperate, because a mother, no matter how bitter, always wants to cry when she realizes that her daughter knows too much to be considered a child. "Would it not be easier if I knew whom I have married? Maybe we could become friends ... enjoy each other's company...? "Inoue had stopped laughing and her eyes had become vacant. Hisana had suddenly had the impression that her mother looked far away, far beyond the thick dark shades of reeds, over mountains and seas for something lost. Then Inoue had examined her daughter and had taken her roughly by the shoulders. The tired face of her mother approached her own and clearly articulated. "Love, Hisana is good for those who have nothing else. We can not really love, if whom we love profits from that love. There remains a stain, a doubt, it is imperfect. "
Sagikara Inoue was a worn out woman. It was no surprise when she died giving birth to her second daughter.
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One winter morning, just after they had finished the preserves inventory, her father had her brought to him and solemnly entrusted the care of her sister and that of her family's honor to her. Then she was tucked up in a small square palanquin, comfortably padded, at the head of the convoy of baggage that would follow them to their new home. She looked away from her childhood home nestled in the snow, never to see it again. Then she saw no more than the walls hung with red of the palanquin and heard no more than the deep breathing of Rukia and the crunching of footsteps in the snow. She was the samurai's first wife. Somehow, it comforted her, because she would not have to worry about other women. Her mother was the second wife of his father - there were four in all - and this competition was often described as an assembly of harpies, ready to tear each other apart for a favor. Sagikara Inoue had not been outdone in shenanigans herself, and at night, exhausted, weary, she would lay in bed with her daughter to tell her how melancholic the day had made her.
The trip to Usukeshi lasted a week. The last morning, the maids who traveled with her dressed her carefully in her ceremonial kimono - nine layers of painted silk, almost doubling her weight - and gave her the broad white cap of brides. Then they left her with her escort as she was not allowed to bring with her the servants who had seen her grow. She would engage another house of domestics when settled with her new husband. Rukia was also richly dressed and wrapped in a painted haori that Hisana had worn when she had been the same age.
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The tragedy occurred at midday when the sun was at its highest in the sky and the snow sparkled with a thousand frozen lights. The quiet winterscape resonated suddenly with clamors and the escort around the convoy moved. It happened fast, so fast Hisana was not sure what was happening until it was too late. The robbers' cart crashed headlong into the palanquin, their heavy draft horse shattering the fragile bamboo structure. Soon, nothing else remained of Hisana and Rukia but richly dressed corpses lying in the snow. Hisana, haggard, lost, watched as looters decimated her escort, and as several men threw their weapons, abandoning their posts without any remorse. A broken chain hanged from her chest, as well as that of Rukia, whom she was still clutching in her arms and had not even awakened.
She did not realize immediately what was happening and she looked on absently as her body was undressed by the outlaws. The sight of their chapped hands, dirtied, vulgar, made bile gather in her throat, and she turned away. She walked a bit, without feeling cold or tired, slightly oddly with all her clothes, but she did not sink in the heavy snow.
She slowly digested what had happened. Dying was not what she expected. Actually, she had never expected to die. She had not considered this possibility. She sank into the snow, which rebounded as a cushion. Rukia wriggled for a moment, before finding a comfortable position. Hisana watched the little face half hidden in the clothes, the tuft of jet-black hair, the closed eyes and skin as pale as hers. Rukia would be the very portrait of their mother, as Hisana was. If the dead would grow up, of course.
The shinigami found them a few hours later, in the same place. He barely took time to explain what was happening and was content to bury them quickly with a few words muttered by way of prayer. "Soul Society is not a bad place."
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I'm sorry for those who expected a sequel. I just didn't feel comfortable leaving this story as it was.