Four Phases
Chapter 1: Spring
Disclaimer: Do I look like a multi-talented professional manga artist who created a runaway hit series to you?
My return. For my reviewers. Inspired by Zhang Yimou style storytelling: the Hakkai-Kanan arc told in a collection of vignettes. Sorry if it's short.
***
Soap. Water. I scrub with an ironclad gentleness peculiar to only myself: woman.
The young woman is pale. Not with the white of driven snow but the effortless kind of sun-drenched fairness. It responds so well to the pampering of luxury. I have never seen such fine skin on a human.
I sniffed critically. The jasmine soap had been a bad idea--too strong and heady for her delicacy. I wanted something light yet exotic (the master was always fussy about presentation). Apple blossom shampoo. Just the thing for her dirty hair.
I start to comb out the tangles in her hair. The men were always so rough. I lave on the herb gel--absently, almost tenderly. The green paste's grainy texture would do the trick of removing the grime.
A red weal runs along her white shoulder. Long, not deep but enough to draw blood. This would require some willow extract.
She gasps when I apply the stinging balm. The woody scent would calm her, I hoped. She had that look that all girls have when they are brought to my care. Their skittishness and beauty hide all but the veiled fear that waits to spring out from beneath their sedated haze.
The bath ritual is over. Almost too quickly for her. The certainty of panic suddenly blooms on her face.
And what a face. She was the morning sun caught in a curtain of rain shower. A breath of light in the ironclad world of the Hyakugan Maou's servitude. A sun in spring. She is the most beautiful one yet. So beautiful that we have no right to keep her here.
But like so many before, I lead her down the dank corridors. Like so many before her, clothed in that white dress, splotched with blood the morning after.
I leave her standing outside the door--
--like so many others before me.
Chapter 1: Spring
Disclaimer: Do I look like a multi-talented professional manga artist who created a runaway hit series to you?
My return. For my reviewers. Inspired by Zhang Yimou style storytelling: the Hakkai-Kanan arc told in a collection of vignettes. Sorry if it's short.
***
Soap. Water. I scrub with an ironclad gentleness peculiar to only myself: woman.
The young woman is pale. Not with the white of driven snow but the effortless kind of sun-drenched fairness. It responds so well to the pampering of luxury. I have never seen such fine skin on a human.
I sniffed critically. The jasmine soap had been a bad idea--too strong and heady for her delicacy. I wanted something light yet exotic (the master was always fussy about presentation). Apple blossom shampoo. Just the thing for her dirty hair.
I start to comb out the tangles in her hair. The men were always so rough. I lave on the herb gel--absently, almost tenderly. The green paste's grainy texture would do the trick of removing the grime.
A red weal runs along her white shoulder. Long, not deep but enough to draw blood. This would require some willow extract.
She gasps when I apply the stinging balm. The woody scent would calm her, I hoped. She had that look that all girls have when they are brought to my care. Their skittishness and beauty hide all but the veiled fear that waits to spring out from beneath their sedated haze.
The bath ritual is over. Almost too quickly for her. The certainty of panic suddenly blooms on her face.
And what a face. She was the morning sun caught in a curtain of rain shower. A breath of light in the ironclad world of the Hyakugan Maou's servitude. A sun in spring. She is the most beautiful one yet. So beautiful that we have no right to keep her here.
But like so many before, I lead her down the dank corridors. Like so many before her, clothed in that white dress, splotched with blood the morning after.
I leave her standing outside the door--
--like so many others before me.
