A/N: This fic was co written by me (Rissi Sama) and her good buddy Hssu
(Hikitori Sunny Side up)
Fading Dreams: Frozen Beginnings
~ Yumi's POV, the night before Shishio's fight with Kenshin~
"Yumi," my Lord Shishio's strong voice asked of me, calling my attention from his bandages that had fallen into disrepair over the last several hours. I looked up to his face, scared and bandaged, but still beautiful to me.
"Yes, Lord Shishio." I answered him. He, with harshness in his voice, not entirely new to me, commanded,
" After you've finished repairing my bandages you can retire." That was not a request, nor was it a suggestion; it was a command, issued by the man who, in my mind, was to be the next dictator of Japan.
"Yes, Lord Shishio." I curtly said, attempting to disguise the disappointment etched in my voice. His demonic eyes searched my own, and I could tell from his expression my face had given away what I attempted to conceal from his ears.
"Don't lie to me, Yumi. You are not a liar, and I am not a fool." He said softly as he stroked my cheek with his gloved hand. I nodded, disgraced, but also irritated. While I loved Shishio, beyond that any mortal could possibly imagine, I could not bear to be just the one to comfort him, and to repair his ripped bandages. To be truthful, I wanted to make a difference in his life, but that was an unspoken truth Shishio knew to be true. He gently lowered his lips to my ear, and whispered,
" I'm so sorry, Yumi, but you must go regardless, I have an important meeting to attend to." I nodded, bestowed a kiss gently on his cheek, bandaged and burned, and left main hall to sit idly in the room Shishio and I shared.
It had always been like this, and I had grown used to this feeling of self- resentment. A chambermaid, the same one that tended to me when I still was a consort, knew me all too well and said, with a look of concern in her deep brown eyes,
"What ails thee, milady?" I shook my head and said nothing to her. I was far too introspective to speak. I sat at my regal vanity, worthy of a Shogun's wife, and picked a jade comb through my purplish-red hair. Through out my experience as consort, my odd hair color was dyed black, to please the pompous men that entreated upon my services. The chambermaid bowed, and left the room, to her own chambers in the servants' quarters, I presume. I gaze endlessly at my reflection in the intricate mirror. My mind drifted into an unknown spectrum as I absently pondered.
"This face entertained so many." I said aloud. I couldn't help but think, what if I never was a consort, what would I be doing now? That question was the same as asking if the world hadn't changed, and the Shogun had not fallen to the rebellious Meji. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, as my mind drifted into the beginning of my journey towards Lord Shishio.
Kyoto, 1860
Snow blew relentlessly on the ruins of Kyoto, the fires that had destroyed a greater part of the large and condensed city left many citizens homeless. The small fires that remained unquenched helped those homeless citizens warm in the growing snows of winter. However, in the high end of town another form of fire occurred. Houses of prominent samurai were continuously being looted. Innocent's fell prey to hostile blades if they tried to defend their property. All the victims of this looting could do was watch as their possessions were stolen and homes were burnt.
Huddled in a small corner of what once stood as a house a young woman and her small, beautiful daughter clung to life. The looters sneered evilly as they saw the mother encase herself and her child within a thin and ragged blanket.
"Feh!" one of the bandits exclaimed, "how does it feel to be cold wench!" He taunted, as he threateningly approached the young woman and her daughter. He aimed and squarely kicked the mother in the stomach. She doubled over but did not let go of her daughter, who she protected with her very life. The bandit aimed to kick the woman again, but was stopped by his friend, who spoke with compassion,
" Leave them alone, they have enough to worry about with the cold, Kakeda." Kakeda snorted and walked off. The compassionate friend, before he left he stole a glance at the young woman and her daughter, clinging to the very life which bound them to this world. He smiled as he heard the young woman sing a sweet and comforting tune to her daughter, who no longer wept, for she was past crying. The kind song seemed to have soothed the girl, and the man departed.
The flames had been quenched. All that remained of them were their greasy, black ashes, damp with the morning's dew. Their sickly image burned deeply into the souls of the villagers. The wind was but a rustle that drew breath and died. In this way life would begin again.
The small girl lay tucked away in her mother's arms. Long, dirty hair spilled out over soft features, pale and cold. But dawn's icy breath swept over them; she shivered at the sudden chill. Her mother did not move. The girl's eyelids fluttered open revealing sensuous and dark brown eyes. The sun had not risen, but billowing clouds danced across the sky. Certainly they would stifle his warm, smiling face.
Heaving a sigh, she pulled herself into a position that brought her more comfort and warmth, as snuggled back into the warmth of her mother's arms. They were cold like stone nipped by a sudden frost. Startled, the girl pulled suddenly away from her mother's frozen and still form. She glanced fervently at her mothers still form for any signs of life.
"O-Okaasan?" she asked. Her mother did not answer, instead a
tormenting silence made itself known. The girl called again, and heard
no answer. Her world fell away from her, and all things familiar and
good disappeared, she was lost. The snow continued to blow
relentlessly as the lonely young girl fell into unconsciousness, as
she held onto what little life she had. Visions swam before the girl's
eyes, visions of sun and snow, cobbled streets and her home. She saw
her mother's bright, grinning face, and then the horror of her
mother's cold frostbitten face. In her closed palm lay a small china
doll, its painted face already beginning to crack from the cold.
In the growing light of dawn, a thin and lanky man strode proudly down the street. He grinned as he saw the cinders from now destroyed homes litter the pure snow. The man shivered slightly and drew his wool coat around his shoulders, for his fine western clothing did little to keep him warm. His clean cut hair gleamed greasily as his mind wandered to all the money he gained from the looting of these homes. Many prosperous samurai once lived there, and he was sure that those homes held many valuables centuries old. The sight of one disintegrating, but still standing house frame caught his eye. He swiftly turned to further examine the house frame and saw two figures huddled in the small remaining corner. While he was no Good Samaritan, he was the least bit curious at such a bizarre sight. He warily approached the huddled figures. He noticed the position, and felt a wave of pity flow over him, as he saw the mother, obviously dead, still protecting her daughter even in death. The girl's eyes fluttered open as he inquired kindly,
"Girl, why are you out in this dreadful cold?" The girl could only stare into his deep blue eyes. They seemed like rays of sunshine sparkling through the dense gloom that filled the streets. The man heaved a sigh, and in a kind voice asked,
"What is your name?" She was terribly frightened and found it difficult to conjure up words, but his eyes were so kind and reassuring, they convinced her to be brave.
"K-Komogata Yumi," the girl nervously stuttered.
"I am Damasu Kizoku," he said with a smile.
The girl felt within her wounded heart she could trust this stranger. His eyes seemed to be those of a good, righteous man. But despite all of his kindness, Yumi could see no soul in his eyes. This puzzled her; for once her mother told her a person's soul peered out from their eyes as if they were windows. Though no soul peered, the girl pushed aside any doubt in her mind; they would only be a burden, nothing more.
Damasu Kizoku stood before the little girl and her mother, an expression of deep thought carved into his face. Though Yumi was still full of life, the woman was a frozen corpse. Her deed was apparent. He thought lecherously
'Her lips...so blue and frost-bitten...how I should have loved dearly to lay my own upon them and set them with a kiss.... And I suppose, someday, her daughter will bear resemblance to her.... '
"Where is your father?" he asked compassionately.
"He died...long ago.... I don't remember him well...." Tears stung Yumi's eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks. "He left for war and never came back. They say...he was slaughtered in battle." The girl's silent crying turned quickly to sobbing as she buried herself in her mother's arms once more, knowing no warmth would arise, but still living with the vain hope. Finally, she gave up and admitted. "And now mother is...is.... dead"
Though Kizoku's face was somber, his eyes danced brightly in their sockets.
"Yumi...come, come with me. I can help you, and give you shelter." Yumi looked into his face; into his eyes that burned so deeply with compassion. She could trust him. He, only he could help her. With her hand shaking, she held his hand tightly, and allowed herself to be lifted to her feet. They walked together down the cobbled street; Yumi stole a glance back at her mother's frozen corpse. She never saw her mother again.
~ Back in 'present day', 'present location'~
I am awakened from my eventful sleep by a light tap on my shoulder. My heart flutters at the prospect of Shishio wishing to speak to me. However reality sets in as both of my brown eyes open to meet the ever-smiling face of Shishio's young manservant, Soujiro. I mentally berate myself for even daring to hope that Shishio would ever find practical use for me in matters besides his torn bandages that grace his burnt body.
"Yumi-san, Lord Shishio wished for me to tell you of your current duties regarding tomorrows fight with Himura the Battousi." The mere mention of being useful sets a small smile on my green lips. I nod gracefully for Soujiro to continue, and state my duties so I know how best to aid Shishio. Soujiro obliges me in his usually cheerful manner,
"Lord Shishio states that you are to lead Himura the Battousi and his companions through the Labyrinth, where they will fight the best of the Juppongattana. If Himura the Battousi survives, you will have the honor of standing at Lord Shishio's right hand when he meets the Battousi, but no more." This order was not all that I had hoped for, but it does go beyond nursing, so I feel no need to complain to an unfeeling little boy like Soujiro. Soujiro signature, and irritating grin again overtakes his entire face, as he bids me good-bye. I feel hurt that Shishio had nothing to say to me personally, regardless of it being through a buffer like Soujiro, whose skills at recognizing affection is seemingly as daft as a eunuch. The swishing of Soujiro's navy-blue Hakama pants resumes as he walks toward the doors, but he, again, turns around and respectfully walks toward me, he says to my kindly, his eyes almost understanding,
"Gomen Yumi-san, Lord Shishio also wanted me to inform you that while he does desire to retire with you tonight, he fears his business with Himura the Battousi tomorrow will preoccupy him and he will most surely come in late. He insists that you do not stress yourself so much, as to wait for his arrival." I nod, again, berating myself for expecting a full-fledged apology from Shishio, who always acts out of logic, and his law of nature. The swishing of Hakama pants resumes, and Soujiro exits the room.
My chambermaid, Tantamae, who has returned to prepare me for bed, smiles reassuringly as she notes the sad look that has seemed to encompass every inch of my face. And she assists me as I dress for bed.
'Only if Shishio saw me as I wish to be seen,' I mourn in my thoughts.
"Milady," Tantamae soothes," It's going to be all right. He'll come." I cannot help but smile at how well Tantamae knows me, but what she is so certain about I am not. This, as far as I know could be my Shishio's last night on earth, for Himura the Battousi is at heart a fighter, like my Shishio is, and I feel a certain sense of foreboding as I look at the bare and cold battlefield underneath the haunting night sky. The doctors presumptions of only fifteen minutes of fighting also haunts me, Shishio was not comfortable with the doctors proclamation, but, if only for my sake, he agreed to allow me to watch the time. Now that I am finally in my bedclothes I am able to sleep, but I sincerely wish with all my heart to pass the endless hours in silence, not with sleep. Yet, to only obey Shishio's orders, I make an attempt to shut my eyes underneath silken sheets.
End Chapter One.
Fading Dreams: Frozen Beginnings
~ Yumi's POV, the night before Shishio's fight with Kenshin~
"Yumi," my Lord Shishio's strong voice asked of me, calling my attention from his bandages that had fallen into disrepair over the last several hours. I looked up to his face, scared and bandaged, but still beautiful to me.
"Yes, Lord Shishio." I answered him. He, with harshness in his voice, not entirely new to me, commanded,
" After you've finished repairing my bandages you can retire." That was not a request, nor was it a suggestion; it was a command, issued by the man who, in my mind, was to be the next dictator of Japan.
"Yes, Lord Shishio." I curtly said, attempting to disguise the disappointment etched in my voice. His demonic eyes searched my own, and I could tell from his expression my face had given away what I attempted to conceal from his ears.
"Don't lie to me, Yumi. You are not a liar, and I am not a fool." He said softly as he stroked my cheek with his gloved hand. I nodded, disgraced, but also irritated. While I loved Shishio, beyond that any mortal could possibly imagine, I could not bear to be just the one to comfort him, and to repair his ripped bandages. To be truthful, I wanted to make a difference in his life, but that was an unspoken truth Shishio knew to be true. He gently lowered his lips to my ear, and whispered,
" I'm so sorry, Yumi, but you must go regardless, I have an important meeting to attend to." I nodded, bestowed a kiss gently on his cheek, bandaged and burned, and left main hall to sit idly in the room Shishio and I shared.
It had always been like this, and I had grown used to this feeling of self- resentment. A chambermaid, the same one that tended to me when I still was a consort, knew me all too well and said, with a look of concern in her deep brown eyes,
"What ails thee, milady?" I shook my head and said nothing to her. I was far too introspective to speak. I sat at my regal vanity, worthy of a Shogun's wife, and picked a jade comb through my purplish-red hair. Through out my experience as consort, my odd hair color was dyed black, to please the pompous men that entreated upon my services. The chambermaid bowed, and left the room, to her own chambers in the servants' quarters, I presume. I gaze endlessly at my reflection in the intricate mirror. My mind drifted into an unknown spectrum as I absently pondered.
"This face entertained so many." I said aloud. I couldn't help but think, what if I never was a consort, what would I be doing now? That question was the same as asking if the world hadn't changed, and the Shogun had not fallen to the rebellious Meji. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, as my mind drifted into the beginning of my journey towards Lord Shishio.
Kyoto, 1860
Snow blew relentlessly on the ruins of Kyoto, the fires that had destroyed a greater part of the large and condensed city left many citizens homeless. The small fires that remained unquenched helped those homeless citizens warm in the growing snows of winter. However, in the high end of town another form of fire occurred. Houses of prominent samurai were continuously being looted. Innocent's fell prey to hostile blades if they tried to defend their property. All the victims of this looting could do was watch as their possessions were stolen and homes were burnt.
Huddled in a small corner of what once stood as a house a young woman and her small, beautiful daughter clung to life. The looters sneered evilly as they saw the mother encase herself and her child within a thin and ragged blanket.
"Feh!" one of the bandits exclaimed, "how does it feel to be cold wench!" He taunted, as he threateningly approached the young woman and her daughter. He aimed and squarely kicked the mother in the stomach. She doubled over but did not let go of her daughter, who she protected with her very life. The bandit aimed to kick the woman again, but was stopped by his friend, who spoke with compassion,
" Leave them alone, they have enough to worry about with the cold, Kakeda." Kakeda snorted and walked off. The compassionate friend, before he left he stole a glance at the young woman and her daughter, clinging to the very life which bound them to this world. He smiled as he heard the young woman sing a sweet and comforting tune to her daughter, who no longer wept, for she was past crying. The kind song seemed to have soothed the girl, and the man departed.
The flames had been quenched. All that remained of them were their greasy, black ashes, damp with the morning's dew. Their sickly image burned deeply into the souls of the villagers. The wind was but a rustle that drew breath and died. In this way life would begin again.
The small girl lay tucked away in her mother's arms. Long, dirty hair spilled out over soft features, pale and cold. But dawn's icy breath swept over them; she shivered at the sudden chill. Her mother did not move. The girl's eyelids fluttered open revealing sensuous and dark brown eyes. The sun had not risen, but billowing clouds danced across the sky. Certainly they would stifle his warm, smiling face.
Heaving a sigh, she pulled herself into a position that brought her more comfort and warmth, as snuggled back into the warmth of her mother's arms. They were cold like stone nipped by a sudden frost. Startled, the girl pulled suddenly away from her mother's frozen and still form. She glanced fervently at her mothers still form for any signs of life.
"O-Okaasan?" she asked. Her mother did not answer, instead a
tormenting silence made itself known. The girl called again, and heard
no answer. Her world fell away from her, and all things familiar and
good disappeared, she was lost. The snow continued to blow
relentlessly as the lonely young girl fell into unconsciousness, as
she held onto what little life she had. Visions swam before the girl's
eyes, visions of sun and snow, cobbled streets and her home. She saw
her mother's bright, grinning face, and then the horror of her
mother's cold frostbitten face. In her closed palm lay a small china
doll, its painted face already beginning to crack from the cold.
In the growing light of dawn, a thin and lanky man strode proudly down the street. He grinned as he saw the cinders from now destroyed homes litter the pure snow. The man shivered slightly and drew his wool coat around his shoulders, for his fine western clothing did little to keep him warm. His clean cut hair gleamed greasily as his mind wandered to all the money he gained from the looting of these homes. Many prosperous samurai once lived there, and he was sure that those homes held many valuables centuries old. The sight of one disintegrating, but still standing house frame caught his eye. He swiftly turned to further examine the house frame and saw two figures huddled in the small remaining corner. While he was no Good Samaritan, he was the least bit curious at such a bizarre sight. He warily approached the huddled figures. He noticed the position, and felt a wave of pity flow over him, as he saw the mother, obviously dead, still protecting her daughter even in death. The girl's eyes fluttered open as he inquired kindly,
"Girl, why are you out in this dreadful cold?" The girl could only stare into his deep blue eyes. They seemed like rays of sunshine sparkling through the dense gloom that filled the streets. The man heaved a sigh, and in a kind voice asked,
"What is your name?" She was terribly frightened and found it difficult to conjure up words, but his eyes were so kind and reassuring, they convinced her to be brave.
"K-Komogata Yumi," the girl nervously stuttered.
"I am Damasu Kizoku," he said with a smile.
The girl felt within her wounded heart she could trust this stranger. His eyes seemed to be those of a good, righteous man. But despite all of his kindness, Yumi could see no soul in his eyes. This puzzled her; for once her mother told her a person's soul peered out from their eyes as if they were windows. Though no soul peered, the girl pushed aside any doubt in her mind; they would only be a burden, nothing more.
Damasu Kizoku stood before the little girl and her mother, an expression of deep thought carved into his face. Though Yumi was still full of life, the woman was a frozen corpse. Her deed was apparent. He thought lecherously
'Her lips...so blue and frost-bitten...how I should have loved dearly to lay my own upon them and set them with a kiss.... And I suppose, someday, her daughter will bear resemblance to her.... '
"Where is your father?" he asked compassionately.
"He died...long ago.... I don't remember him well...." Tears stung Yumi's eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks. "He left for war and never came back. They say...he was slaughtered in battle." The girl's silent crying turned quickly to sobbing as she buried herself in her mother's arms once more, knowing no warmth would arise, but still living with the vain hope. Finally, she gave up and admitted. "And now mother is...is.... dead"
Though Kizoku's face was somber, his eyes danced brightly in their sockets.
"Yumi...come, come with me. I can help you, and give you shelter." Yumi looked into his face; into his eyes that burned so deeply with compassion. She could trust him. He, only he could help her. With her hand shaking, she held his hand tightly, and allowed herself to be lifted to her feet. They walked together down the cobbled street; Yumi stole a glance back at her mother's frozen corpse. She never saw her mother again.
~ Back in 'present day', 'present location'~
I am awakened from my eventful sleep by a light tap on my shoulder. My heart flutters at the prospect of Shishio wishing to speak to me. However reality sets in as both of my brown eyes open to meet the ever-smiling face of Shishio's young manservant, Soujiro. I mentally berate myself for even daring to hope that Shishio would ever find practical use for me in matters besides his torn bandages that grace his burnt body.
"Yumi-san, Lord Shishio wished for me to tell you of your current duties regarding tomorrows fight with Himura the Battousi." The mere mention of being useful sets a small smile on my green lips. I nod gracefully for Soujiro to continue, and state my duties so I know how best to aid Shishio. Soujiro obliges me in his usually cheerful manner,
"Lord Shishio states that you are to lead Himura the Battousi and his companions through the Labyrinth, where they will fight the best of the Juppongattana. If Himura the Battousi survives, you will have the honor of standing at Lord Shishio's right hand when he meets the Battousi, but no more." This order was not all that I had hoped for, but it does go beyond nursing, so I feel no need to complain to an unfeeling little boy like Soujiro. Soujiro signature, and irritating grin again overtakes his entire face, as he bids me good-bye. I feel hurt that Shishio had nothing to say to me personally, regardless of it being through a buffer like Soujiro, whose skills at recognizing affection is seemingly as daft as a eunuch. The swishing of Soujiro's navy-blue Hakama pants resumes as he walks toward the doors, but he, again, turns around and respectfully walks toward me, he says to my kindly, his eyes almost understanding,
"Gomen Yumi-san, Lord Shishio also wanted me to inform you that while he does desire to retire with you tonight, he fears his business with Himura the Battousi tomorrow will preoccupy him and he will most surely come in late. He insists that you do not stress yourself so much, as to wait for his arrival." I nod, again, berating myself for expecting a full-fledged apology from Shishio, who always acts out of logic, and his law of nature. The swishing of Hakama pants resumes, and Soujiro exits the room.
My chambermaid, Tantamae, who has returned to prepare me for bed, smiles reassuringly as she notes the sad look that has seemed to encompass every inch of my face. And she assists me as I dress for bed.
'Only if Shishio saw me as I wish to be seen,' I mourn in my thoughts.
"Milady," Tantamae soothes," It's going to be all right. He'll come." I cannot help but smile at how well Tantamae knows me, but what she is so certain about I am not. This, as far as I know could be my Shishio's last night on earth, for Himura the Battousi is at heart a fighter, like my Shishio is, and I feel a certain sense of foreboding as I look at the bare and cold battlefield underneath the haunting night sky. The doctors presumptions of only fifteen minutes of fighting also haunts me, Shishio was not comfortable with the doctors proclamation, but, if only for my sake, he agreed to allow me to watch the time. Now that I am finally in my bedclothes I am able to sleep, but I sincerely wish with all my heart to pass the endless hours in silence, not with sleep. Yet, to only obey Shishio's orders, I make an attempt to shut my eyes underneath silken sheets.
End Chapter One.