Disclaimer: Ghost Hunt is not affiliated with the author in any way. She can only hope, unfortunately.
What could be sweeter than death
to a person who lived in scorn?
1487
The cries have been going on for the sixth hour now. The woman was deathly pale; her skin glistened from perspiration. Droplets of sweat inched her skin slowly, as the last of her screams greeted the midwife's ears. All went quiet.
"A girl, milady."
The lady in bed gasped from exhaustion. Her lips were an eerie shade of white; her hair disheveled. Her cheeks, which should have been blooming in happiness despite having been worn out, was lacking shade. Her eyes were distressed as she peered over to the two women at the foot of the bed. She heard a gentle slap, followed by the frantic wail of a baby. The edge of her lips quirked upwards, barely enough to make a small smile as she fell back to the pillows with a soft sigh.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, her head shot up and searched for the eyes of the old woman.
No. Please.
"Hand me the baby," she heard her mother say over the shuffling of blankets. Bewildered, she struggled to get up, only in vain.
"Let me hold her," she pleaded, the despair unmistakable. The old woman didn't speak. The handmaid only moved to arrange the bloodied sheets from the bed, cautiously gesturing to hand the crying baby over. "Please!"
Her mother made way towards the edge of her bed where the midwife was, her arms held open. Her eyes softened as she saw the babe. Her child. Turning towards the old woman, she realized the dark look in her eyes. Oh God, no. Her mother went straight towards the door by her bedside.
"No, please! Just let me hold her once!" she cried, panic rising in the air. Her mother turned a disgusted look at her daughter, disdain and disapproval evident in her voice.
"You are a disgrace," she spat, before exiting from the front door, leaving the poor woman to wallow at the loss of her firstborn. She fell back into the sheets, now replaced by the handmaid without her notice. She was too preoccupied by the thoughts of her daughter growing up without her mother to even be aware of such trivial things.
This year had gone by much too fast for her liking. She remembered about 11 months ago, during the sixth moon, when she met a handsome young man, with whom she fell in love with. They conceived a child, her beautiful babe - a symbol of their affections and folly. She loved the man dearly, but they cannot be together under the circumstances. It would not be virtuous of her to do so.
He was married to somebody else.
Her father had been outright furious, going as far as threatening her with disownment from the family. It had been hard for them, especially for him, with the family's honor at stake. Her mother delivered a well-earned slap to her right cheek - so hard that it left a red mark. She'd been told by her uncle that since she had committed a sin of lust out of wedlock, she will never find a man daft enough to desire her, not anymore, since she was no longer a maiden - 'spoiled goods'. Her aunt told her she was to be admitted to a nunnery.
It hurt her to know she was being punished for trying to be happy. And here she thought this only happened in books. How cliche.
She wondered what he might be doing right now. He could be having all the luxury and getting showered with love from his ignorant wife, for all she knew. She cursed the heavens for her misfortune. Why is it that only she gets to suffer for their doing? Call her selfish, but life is mighty cruel.
He may not even know he had a daughter by her, she mused solemnly. She was tired of it. It was killing her to think of her poor daughter. She immediately thought of the fine dresses she would have sewn for her, her christening, her first birthday, her first words... her first 'Mama'.
She would break her back from working if that meant keeping her alive. If only she would be given the chance. She wouldn't be, she reminded herself. She knew it was useless to think of what-ifs and could-have-beens, she knew. It was pointless to torture herself with regret. If she was smart, she would sleep all of it away and avoid causing herself anymore grief.
Now is hardly the time to play smart.
Her abdomen hurt. She was dead tired, and her chocolate hair was sticking to the contours of her face. Her brown eyes were dull and she lacked life. She was faint. Her eyes lulled. Like any end to a cliched tragedy, everything went black.
Neither did any of the men nor women in the house thought the arrival of a new life would be the end of Masako Hara.
A/N: Okaaay, so... I decided to start this new story (actually, I still don't know where I'm going with this) because I've grown tired of posting drabbles and I need something to keep me occupied. I know what you're thinking: BROWN HAIR AND EYES? MASAKO? WHAT THE HECK? Just a head start: do not be alarmed. Teehee. And no, this won't be another Masako-centric fic. ;) This is going to be told on both Mai and Masako's perspective.
This story is set in a fictitious place (which I have yet to name... any ideas?). Which explains why Mai goes before Taniyama, as would Masako, Kazuya, and so on.
Thank you for reading, and please drop a review, if you can. :)