Two years ago, the love of my life left my life.

I had failed to follow her.

I rapped on the wooden door firmly, but not too strongly. It was strange; for all the years I had been brought up as a lady, I had never once been taught the proper way to knock a door. Was I supposed to knock at a certain rhythm, to signal who I was? Was I supposed to knock again, if the door was not answered, or would that be too impolite?

My wonderings were cut off when a small woman peeked out from behind the door. Her eyes soon fixed upon mine. I spoke softly, breaking eye contact with a slight bow.

"I'm sorry madam, but may I seek shelter from the rain?"

She looked away, no doubt not wanting to bear a stranger. Perhaps she also sensed something strange about me. She would not have been wrong.

I gave her no time to develop those thoughts, and smoothly motioned my hand to a pouch hanging at my waist. I disliked reducing her hospitality to mere money, but I doubted she would have let me in otherwise.

"I need only stay a night."

The promise of money worked. The woman opened her home to me, and I entered. I pretended not to notice the little shrine in the corner of the hut, as I sat at a small table. A girl sat some distance away, staring at me with her wide eyes. When I looked at her, she quickly turned away.

The woman offered me a cup of hot water, and we sat in silence as the raindrops fell nosily outside.

"How is your husband?" I asked politely.

The woman gestured her head to the little shrine in the corner of the room. I nodded slightly. I had already known, having asked the villagers.

"He must have been a good man."

The woman smiled, but said nothing more.

"Thank you for your hospitality," I said, reaching for my purse.

"It is not necessary," she said, gesturing for me to stop. "You have been a great guest."

"I insist. It would not do for me to impose on you." I held out my hand, so that it would be impolite for her to not take my money. She would not give in easily however, and we continued the tedious exchange for a while longer. When she finally accepted my money, she startled at the sum.

"I cannot possibly…"

"It is an apology," I insisted, indicating to the shrine, "on behalf of her."

Her features narrowed. She clenched the money tightly, then threw it at the ground.

"She killed my husband!" she shouted. I saw her daughter flinch in the background.

"I know."

And I walked away.

Why did I stay at that house? I did not learn anything about Natsuki, nor did I expect to.

Was I hoping that I could justify her actions? Was I hoping to justify my actions?

If so, I had failed.

It had also been raining the day I first heard of her. I had been reading, but the back and forth of servants outside my room caught my attention. They told me that a girl had just collapsed outside the house, and that my father had ordered her brought in to the servants' quarters.

I was surprised; my father was not the sort to care about street children, whatever their plight. I hid my surprise, but the servant seemed to understand. The girl had been standing in the rain for the three days, she told me. For those three days, the girl had never moved.

I was intrigued, but returned to reading. I was the heir to the Fujino family, not the market gossip. I would have to learn more about the girl later.

"The second son of the Fukuoka family is interested in you," said my father with an easy-going smile. He never ceased to delight in the endless stream of suitors that sought my hand.

"He happens to be in town this week, so I have arranged a meeting for the boy."

"I look forward to meeting him," I said coyly. My father laughed. He knew what the meeting would come to.

It was a tradition in our family. Those who wished to marry into the family had to prove themselves worthy of inheriting the house and the dojo. The test was almost always a duel.

I had never lost.

In between listening to my father talk about running the city, commenting, and eating dinner I did not have the opportunity to ask about the collapsed girl. Curiosity bit at me as I retreated to my room.

I entertained the thought of visiting the servants' quarters. The fuss having died down, it seemed appropriate to visit the girl and give a few words of concern. Street child or not, she was still a guest of the house.

Having made up my mind, I walked to the quarters. I found a girl my age lying unconscious on a futon, her body covered by a think blanket. Her face was pale and thin, but beautiful. Otsune was sitting beside the girl, replacing the damp cloth on her head.

"How is the girl?"

"She has a fierce fever, and she has not fed for several days, but she is strong. She will be fine."

I nodded, my eyes lingering on the girl's fine features. "What is father's plan for her?"

"The girl is to stay as a servant for a year. After that, if the master deems her worthy, he will accept her to the dojo."

"Was that her request?"

Otsune nodded. "She did not say why, however."

"I see. Take care of her then." My eyes flickered to Otsune, then back to the girl. They lingered for a moment longer before I turned to leave.

The younger Fukuoka, his father, as well as my father and several of his associates were idly chatting in the dining room when I entered. Two servants followed behind me, one carrying a tray of artfully crafted tea bowls, the other carrying a pot of freshly brewed tea.

I carefully laid down the tea bowls in front of each guest, giving them time to admire and praise the craft. To show my father's hospitality, I laid the tea bowl before him last. Next, I poured the tea, again giving the guests time to appreciate the art.

I noticed the younger Fukuoka constantly glancing my way. It was a sign of poor self-control, my father would have said, but if he noticed, he made no mention of it.

"The stories I have heard are true; your daughter is the most beautiful girl in Kyoto!"

My father motioned otherwise. "She is a most ordinary girl, I assure you."

"Kyoto? She may be the most beautiful girl in Nippon!"

I smiled slightly. It was not my place to say anything, or respond with anything more.

"What do you think, Hiroshi?" goaded one of my father's associates.

The boy did his best to look unaffected. "I think she is beautiful."

"Would you be willing to fight for her?" asked the same associate. The mischievous smile on his face betrayed his intentions. The other guests listened with interest.

"I would."

"Then, would you be willing to fight against her?"

"I would."

He looked confident as he said this. He must have known of our family tradition. Everyone looked to me. Only my father seemed undisturbed as he sipped his tea.

"I am happy to accept your challenge," I said softly, with a slight bow.

The men continued their lunch after I left the room. In that time, the servants freed me from my formal kimono, and dressed me in a shorter kimono more suited for fighting. Once dressed, I walked to the dojo, as the fresh smell of rain massaged my senses.

There, I found the girl from the street polishing the floor. It was the first time I had seen her awake and well. I dismissed the servants who had accompanied me, then asked the girl to sit with me at the edge of the veranda. She stared at me for a moment, before sitting beside me at a respectable distance.

"How are you feeling?"

The girl paused to consider her words. "I feel much better, thanks to your father."

"I see."

A short silence fell as I considered how to broach the topic I was most curious about.

"I heard you stood in the rain for three days," I said, chuckling slightly.

The girl turned away. "It did not feel as long."

"Not many people would have been able to do that. Not any of our trainees. Not even me."

She looked back at me, and as quickly shifted her gaze to avoid my mine.

"What I am really interested in is why you were so determined."

Her back stiffened. I watched her as she squirmed, torn between telling some unpleasant truth, and potentially upsetting her host.

"I'm sorry, I cannot say."

"I see," I said disappointedly. She squirmed some more. "You may return to your work."

My father and his guests sat at the side of the dojo in respectful silence, while the boy and I exchanged bows. We then drew blunted swords and edged towards each other. As we neared, the boy lunged. I easily stepped aside and stabbed his right shoulder joint.

He hurriedly fell back, but I followed through, slashing at him continuously as he weakly parried. When he had fallen into the pattern of parrying, I switched to a low slash at his leg. If it had been a real battle, he would have lost, having been injured in both his dominant shoulder and leg.

I withdrew, as the boy gaped in shock. My father started clapping, and his associates clapped along, including the elder Fukuoka. The boy slumped to his father's side, his eyes fixed upon the ground. He ceased sending letters that day on.

"Even after you won, you did not lower your sword," mumbled the girl as she folded my futon.

I looked at her with a slight smile. "Did I?"

The girl was taken aback and stared at me for a moment.

"It must have been my imagination," she said unconvincingly.

I woke up in the middle of the night chilled to the bone. I turned over, trying to ignore the cold. It was a futile effort. I soon tossed aside my blanket and felt around for a candle and match. The candle lit, I made my way to the garden, and sat on a bench by the pond.

It was still cold, colder than in the house, but it was more tolerable when I was not trying to sleep. I listened silently to the buzz of insects and the croaks of frogs. There was another sound, a familiar sound, but one I could not place. I tuned in to that strange, repetitive sound, trying to pick out its source.

It was from the dojo.

I had an immediate suspicion about what was going on.

The door to the dojo was closed, but the swish of a sword gave her away. From the sound alone, I could tell her she put too much force into her strokes. I hovered by the door, considering my approach. Should I chastise the girl, for breaking my father's rules? Should I secretly condone her actions by not making a mention of them?

I was tempted to confuse her, to enter and correct her stance and stroke as though that were the most natural thing to do.

I turned from the door and sat on the veranda. As she trained, I stared off into the night.

How long had it been since I trained with such determination?

I sat with her for a while before returning to my room. I would let her continue at least one night longer.

The girl stood unnaturally stiff for a moment, before breaking into squirms. If she suspected I knew of her night time practice, she was not hiding her suspicion very well.

"I would like your company while I walk," I said. She relaxed, then stiffened up again. I stifled a smile at her attempts to hide her emotions.

"That's..."

"Ara, am I being rejected?"

"No," she said quickly. She then mumbled something under her breath.

I paused before speaking again, as I pieced together her words.

"You always walk alone," she had said.

I pretended not to have heard.

"I have found a suitable man for you," said my father, as the servants laid the table. "He is from the Saito family. I will be meeting his father next week, and I would like you to follow. I will not force you, of course, but it is time to be serious about finding a suitor."

My mother nodded.

"I look forward to meeting him," I said with a slight smile. My father nodded in approval.

"You will like him. He is skilled in the arts as well as swordsmanship…"

I stared at the waning flame of the candle, as I mulled over my father's words. The thought of marriage, of leaving the familiar confines of my house discomforted me, but I was no longer a child.

There was a familiar rapping on the door. It was too loud, too rude to be of any other servant but her. I called her in, and she entered, holding a new candle.

"Even after I won, I did not lower my sword; that was what you said the other day."

The girl stopped in her tracks, unsure of my intentions, but nodded.

"In real battles, there is no line between victory and defeat. Mistake - or treachery - can easily change the roles of victor and defeated."

I paused.

"At least, that was what my father told me."

I picked up the book on the table and returned to reading. After a moment of stunned silence, she continued changing the candles. I glanced at the girl as she leaned over the table and replaced the candle stub. When she suddenly glanced back at me, I realised how long I had been looking at her.

I smiled slightly, then turned back to my book, as though nothing strange had happened.

Beneath my unfazed facade, my heart leapt in my chest.

She was asleep, alone in a large room. I was standing beside her, staring at her sleeping body. She was beautiful, from her silky blue hair to her fine features, to her lean, muscled body.

I slid off my kimono and knelt beside her, holding her face in my hand.

I loved her. I lusted for her. I would have her.

Take her.

I startled from my sleep. It was back. It had been a long time since I heard it last, but it was back.

Take her, it said, as horror spread through my body. I scrambled from the futon and sat at the table. I stood up almost immediately after from nervous energy.

She is by the pond.

I am stronger now, I said to the demon. I could resist. I would resist, I told myself, as my spirit faltered.

It grinned.

I found myself walking to the pond. It was only to prove the demon wrong. Natsuki was not there, she had no reason to be there; yet, there she was. The demon was right.

It was always right.

Take her.

I reached out to her, ready to grab her, when she turned around. We startled each other, and we both stepped back.

"Shizuru-sama?" she said in confusion. She started to step towards me.

"I am fine," I said, my hand held in front of me. I hoped the darkness hid my tortured expression. "I only need some space."

Natsuki nodded. I avoided her eyes as I backed away from her.

That pained me the most.

You will succumb to your desires.

I will not, I insisted.

It laughed.