Salutations. Uh, so, I've been reading Snavej's Hint of a Threat lately and I really like her portrayal of Masako. I am myself a survivor of sexual assault and domestic violence, so I identify with her struggles and I confess to reading waaayyy into her psychological problems. She's a really messed up character this time around, and I like it.

So, this barely scratches the surface of what I see when I read her. But it's 4:30 in the morning, I have to get to work, and I couldn't help myself. What follows is a poorly written, unedited pile of shitty introspection that jumps all over the place. But please enjoy yourself. Oh, yeah spoiler alert. This takes place in chapter twenty-two in Hint of a Threat (which you should read, if you're not).

Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own the characters, the concept, or anything really. They all belong to their respective creators and I'm not claiming to have all the answers, because I'd need to be King with unilateral control with military force behind me to make such a ridiculous and arbitrary statement (props to whoever caught my reference by the way, I'd marry you if I wasn't already committed probably.)

Furthermore, I want to reiterate that I discuss incest, rape, sexual intercourse (briefly and barely, I didn't want to give it an M rating) so if these topics bother or upset you, as they probably should, you shouldn't read further. Thank you.

It wasn't that she truly thought that love and sex were the same, she wasn't foolish enough to assume such a connection not after the life she had lived. Only an arrogant sod would believe that after the abuse and psychological trauma of her upbringing she'd still believe in such fairytale nonsense.

Sex was a means to an end, and when she was the one in control it could even be pleasurable...men were unappealing lumps of bones and blood and flesh whose purpose was to solely dole out the information she needed; almost always gladly, she was not an unattractive woman.

Masako understood sex very well, it was her weapon. Others may have guns, or knives, or other unpleasant things but Masako had the whispers between sheets, secrets told between moments of ecstasy for him; and boredom for her. They were always too quick, she was not an unattractive woman.

It was one of those secrets that led her to dragging a certain black haired someone between her sheets, after all. Perhaps she should be grateful? But there was nothing to be grateful for, sex was a means to an end. Something her father understood quite well, he knew the appeal of shapely flesh…

She still felt unclean.

But love, Masako was sure, did not truly exist in this world. How could something as abstract as romantic intimacy feasibly survive when it was suffocated and buried in a world of physicality and sweat and drunk syndicate leaders? Love was something that only schoolgirls with no true understanding of reality could fantasize about.

She couldn't even understand the appeal; even filial love was a ridiculous notion. Parents don't love you, and sometimes when they did...they really shouldn't. A child can only be broken so many ways, contorted into so many shapes to fit their fancy. Those shapes should not be sensual.

Love, Masako was sure, did not exist. But she liked to pretend that it might, if only for her own false sanity. Perhaps love did not need to involve men or family, perhaps it didn't require such intense emotions. Perhaps love wasn't something to throw yourself in the sea for, after all wouldn't that be symbolically representative of the abuse she'd drowned in for years and the abuse she'd doled out ever since?

Masako supposed love was meant to be kindness, it didn't need to have any such implications. These thoughts went through Masako Hara's head like a whirlwind, after the cruelty she'd shown this young girl, Mai Taniyama was her name, she still was kind.

Masako Hara was sure love didn't truly exist in this world, how could it? A world as dirty as this one could never leave such a pure thing untainted, and of course she was right. Because love wasn't supposed to sympathize with murderers and rapists and manipulators and cheaters. It abhorred such things, it condemned and denied them. So...it stood to reason that, love...

Love didn't exist.

~W. Krishnamurthi.