You're somewhere around the middle of your third year of living when you come into sudden lucidity. You've been reborn again. Not a surprising revelation considering your history but it's always a small shock when it happens.
It takes a while for you process all your memories, You have a lot of them. The first of them were perhaps the most obvious, Ancient Greece was always given away by the disgusting feeling of sin of man and monsters. You did not think about the gods, your past with the majority of them were on less than speaking terms. Rome came next, a considerably more peaceful time despite having more fighting than Greece. It was where you learned to create instead of destroy. Where you learned to sing and dance. To paint and draw. It is where you learned arithmetic and participated in grand architectural breakthroughs. Then after that, you went back to your roots. You led armies to victory for centuries. One life after another. You were called a god. And as such, you were struck down by the gods.
Your thoughts halt. It always came back to the gods, every time they would be there. Taunting you. Laughing at you. Cursing you for adapting. But that was then and this is now.
Memories… There it is. You find your previous life in your memories. At the forefront of the timeline. You died young it seems. Not as young as many other times but relative to the average lifespan on the time period. 2016 was it? Or perhaps it was at the cusp of 2017. Either way. To die at the age of 19 revolutions old. It was a short life without much meaning.
You spent most of your time learning, reading books. But soon you grew bored of it. History was something you were there to witness firsthand. And although it was amusing to see how the textbooks interpreted it, it was ultimately nothing more than a passing interest. Fiction however, that was what truly got your attention. Worlds beyond your imagination inside a single book. The thrill of battle came back to you. Emotions you've long lost the ability to feel rushed back.
You embodied the books and let them take over you. Their emotions were your emotions. Their grief was yours. They let you feel.
It was an amazing experience. To feel again.
You may have lost one of the few pleasures left in this world but you also gained one in return.
Modern machinery took much of the thrill out of battle. The clash of sword on sword in a fight for survival could never be replaced by guns and bullets. There was no honor left. Gone were the days when you could invade the neighboring country and lock swords with an enemy. Learning more about them in a simple exchange of blades than one could with words. Battle was one of the very few pleasures you had left in your endless existence. The thrill of a life and death fight, the rush of blood to your head and throughout your body. The feeling of victory as you claim the enemy's head as your own. It was an addicting presence. And for it to suddenly be gone without a warning? It was insanity.
Although, you thought. You were already insane.
Living throughout most of written history does that to you. Being cursed by gods and humans alike does that to you. Getting that one step ahead of those who shamed you no matter what it takes does that to you. But you prevailed. The gods are dead and the people who hated you are long forgotten to history. Only you survived.
A grin grew upon your face.
You survived. You trampled upon those who scorned you. Your last life may have been dull. But it still held its merits. You expect that this one will as well.
For now however, you'll spend your time learning about the world. As you always do this early on.
Your name is Youko. Like last time, you were born a female.
Like every time, you were born with black hair that sucked in any light and cold dark eyes.
Black hair that signified your appearance since your first birth.
Black hair that got you killed. That caused you to be called a witch, a demon. A numerous amount of profanities and slurs.
Black hair that you've grown to love.
Your mother is combing through that black hair. Humming a song you do not know. To a tune that is unfamiliar.
You listen to her quietly. Relishing the feel of someone's hands going brushing over your scalp and the gentle tug of the brush.
She asks you a question.
"Youko." She begins. "Would you rather have your hair in a braid or leave it straight?"
You realize that this is a rather ludicrous question to ask a three year old. But you answer anyways.
"A braid please." You say. Your voice quiet and soft.
Your mother hums in acknowledgment. Her hands quickly going back to work on your hair while also being delicate and gentle. It takes no less than a couple minutes to get it into a simple braid.
She smiles. Facing your head towards the mirror once more.
"There!" She exclaims. A warm expression upon her face. "How do you like it Youko?"
You stare at the mirror. Reflection gazing back.
It was a simple braid. One that anyone with some experience could make. Yet, you couldn't help think that it made you look like some sort of nobility when combined with your attire. Your mother had an eye for fashion it seemed. Appropriate for a seamstress.
You nod. Affirming your satisfaction with the hairstyle your mother fashioned for you.
"Great! Then let's go."
Nodding once again. You stand and follow your mother out the door. A slight breeze catches your clothes but you pay it no heed.
The village you walk through is small. Perhaps a maximum of a few hundred people judging solely by the size of it. Certainly not more than five hundred.
On the road, people greet your mother with smiles. She smiles back, reciting each person's name as if clockwork.
You garner some smiles and greetings. But you return them with a small nod before returning your gaze back to the road. Your mother pays no attention to that behavior.
When you finally reach the heart of the village, as quickly as that was, you find it bustling with more people than you imagined possible.
The streets were filled to the brim with various stalls and shops, people mingled to and from with bags in hand and items on back. People's appearances differed greatly. Height and age, gender and race, hair and eyes. It seemed as if not a single person looked like another.
It isn't until your mother speaks up that you realize you've stopped.
"Are you surprised?" She asks.
You glance up at her. Her face holds a smile.
"About what?" You respond.
"About the people."
You blink. "Why would I be surprised about that?"
She gives a chuckle. "No reason. Just a hunch."
You stare up at your mother perplexed. She was an odd woman. Her smiles reached her eyes and brought an undeniable warmth to the room. Her maternal nature and instincts were rather spot on. Yet you couldn't help but wonder what mother would question her daughter about their surprise based on a hunch.
"So." She continued. "Do you remember what we're here for?"
You nod. That was simple. "Food and supplies for your work."
"Good!" She extended her hand towards you. "Grab on, wouldn't want you to get lost."
You stare at the outstretched hand before reaching out and intertwining yours with hers. You note the surprising roughness to her palms and file it away for later.
The two of you weave through the crowd of people, never giving much more than a fleeting touch to another person.
It's up close that you realize the language on the stalls was one that you couldn't actually understand. Listening in, the oral part was obviously a form of Japanese more modern than the one you learned in your previous lives but the written form seemed to escape you.
It would be tedious to learn the new written language but you realize you have no choice. You've done it many a times before so at this point you expect nothing less.
The stalls and the bustling amount of people were a clue however, to what your village was however. In hindsight it was rather obvious. Your village was likely part of a capital trade route. Possibly somewhere around the middle of two larger cities. People would stop and rest here, while some merchants would set up temporary shop.
Your mother jerks you out of your observations when she saddles up to a stall whose name you cannot read but holds items that point toward food. Specifically food items that don't look to be grown in nearby areas.
You ignore the exchange that takes place, favoring to look and observe the various people that mingled about.
A man across the road had dark skin and bulging muscles. His blonde hair contrasted with the sea of brown and black but was somewhat washed out by the more unusual colours of red and blue. His stall looked to be selling antique swords, though it seemed he was having difficulty finding any customers.
You spot an old woman several stalls down making a purchase of what seems to be spices. Her eyes seemed to be perpetually shut and she leaned heavily on her cane. You suspect she has less than a year to live.
A certain pattern of movement catches your eye. A completely nondescript man with average height, brown hair and brown eyes walked up to the stall next to you. His straightened back and the way he held his movement on the balls of his feet seemed so achingly familiar to you. You watch him closely, the way he never let his hand stray too far from the left side of his belt, to the way he constantly moved his head while talking. Scouting out the area using his peripheral.
This man was a killer. An assassin. And he was out on a mission.
Somebody was most likely going to die.
"Youko!"
Your eyes snap back towards your mother, who is looking at you with a warm smile. Her gaze shifts to the man you were just looking at and you see her expression harden for just a moment. Then, as if it never happened, it's back to the warm smile she always has.
"That doesn't concern us, Youko. Let's move onto our next stop okay? I just have to pick up a delivery and then we'll be on our way home!" She says while grabbing your hand.
When you look back towards the man. He was gone.
Your mother leads you through the maze of people with ease, eventually coming up to a small building with dark accents.
The bell rings when you enter the shop. Your mother strides toward the counter without hesitation.
You tune out your mother's exclamations and instead turn your focus to the shop itself.
The shop held many various trinkets and items. Most noticeably however was the large collection of fabrics.
You raise your eyebrow as you come across a throwing dagger on a table. Across from it was a target that seemed to be well used. The knife itself seemed to be in poor condition, with the blade dull and the hand worn. It seemed that it would be unable to cut a piece of wool, much less impale itself into wood. It was however, well balanced. A well balanced blade, when thrown correctly, could pierce at the very least the soft bark that targets were ever so often made of.
You twirl the knife around in your hand slightly and wonder why a fabrics shop would have something like this. A clothier would normally never have a use for target practice, and from the way the knife was left out in the open it was obvious that customers were free to use it.
Glancing towards the shop counter, you find that your mother was talking animatedly to the shopkeeper. The exact topic escaped you but they seemed to be preoccupied enough that they wouldn't notice if you took a shot at throwing.
You twirled the knife once more through your fingers. Letting yourself familiarize the way it handles before relaxing your stance and holding the knife between your index and thumb. You step forward with your left foot, feet perpendicular to each other and throw the knife using your right arm.
The loud thunk in the wood echoes louder than you thought it would. The complete silence that follows was a good indicator that you weren't as stealthy as you thought you were. You chance a look towards the counter to find that both your mother and the shopkeeper had turned their heads ever so slightly to view the target out of their peripheral.
When they speak up again, they make no effort to disguise what they just saw or keep their voices from being heard.
"So that one's yours then?" The shopkeepers asks.
"Indeed she is. She takes after me so much it, it makes me so proud!" Your mother replies. Her signature smile in place.
You walk over to the target to inspect the damage. You hit a bullseye, but only just. The knife was protruding from middle in an upward slant. A sloppy throw by your standards. Clumsy as you are in your youthful body.
"Last time you came in, you said her name was Youko. Does she take your last name as well?"
Out of the corner of your vision you see your mother nod.
"Youko Tsukimori… What a beautiful name." The shopkeeper says.
The corners of your mother's mouth curl upward. "Yes, yes she is. I have no doubt in my mind that one day she'll do great things."
You turn back towards the target and pluck the knife from the wood. It creaks ever so slightly but comes out easily.
Walking back towards the table, you turn to the target once more. You relaxed your body and let your left foot step first.
"Youko."
You stop.
"It's time to go."
You nod.
The bell rings when you leave through the doorway.
Your mother hums as she cooks. To a song you do not know, and to a tune that is familiar.
You look back down to your book. It contained various sentences with pictures attached to them. A simple book. But an essential one.
You pick through the book quickly. The language was identical to Japanese in nearly every way except for the characters used. It was a simple process of reassociating which character matched with each sound.
You would need a book detailing which character made each book to quickly finish up the last bits of the language, but otherwise you had the basics down.
How simple.
To finish learning a new language in the span of time it took to make dinner. That was a new record for you. It beat the previous record of Korean by a whole hour and a half.
"Youko!" Your mother calls. "Be a dear and help me bring this dish to the table?"
You hum in agreement and close the book. Walking over to your mother, you glance at what she cooked.
It was a traditional Japanese dinner, with fish, rice, miso soup and some vegetables. You take hold of the soup, looking at your mother for confirmation.
She nods, warning you that the soup was hot and to be careful.
You place it on the table and watch as your mother carefully balances the rest of the dishes and sets them down. It was an impressive display of dexterity by your mother, but you can't help but feel that she has done more strenuous things in her past.
You both dip your heads slightly in prayer before picking up your chopsticks and beginning your meal.
It was nice. Your mother was a good cook. The fish was cooked just right and the rice was neither too soggy or too dry. The miso flavor from the soup was refreshing and quaint. The two of you finish your meal in silence.
When you and your mother finish bringing any dishes to the sink. You both sit back down at the table. You speak first.
"Father?" You ask.
"Away on a business trip." She replies.
"What business?"
Her face did not betray any emotion. "His blacksmithing business."
You raise an eyebrow. Your father was a blacksmith? "How long?"
This time she smiles. "A week. Two at most."
"And you?" You say.
"And me what?"
"Your business."
Her smile turns sharp. The emotion that reached her eyes were no longer just happiness, but of a predator stalking their prey.
"I thought it was obvious from earlier." She replies.
It's your turn to smile. "It was."
"Then I wonder what sort of conclusion you made. Do tell, Youko-chan."
How wonderful. What a wonderful exchange between mother and daughter. It's been truly a long time since you've had any sort of fun with any of your mothers.
"But of course dearest mother. Who are you now but a wholesome seamstress? Your hands work deftly and your steps are light. You skill in working the needle extends past the use of just fabrics. Truly what a wonderful mother I have been gifted with."
The smile on your mother's face turned wicked. It no longer held any happiness. For it no longer held any emotion at all. It was a smile of a cat finding something amusing to play with.
You could play that game as well mother dearest. You just wonder how long it'll take until one of you folds.
"It seems." She began. "That I have given birth to a wonderful daughter. To think that nine months of pain have bore fruit so early. How wonderful."
"I am but a measly three years old, dearest mother of mine. But to hear your words of praise makes me feel as if I had spent these three years of mine accomplishing something great."
She let out a dark chuckle. "What a way with words you possess, Youko. I do wonder who was it that you learned from? Perhaps it is simply something to be inherited. Or perhaps, it is nothing but a natural talent for you." Your mother's face went blank.
You stayed silent.
"Youko." She said. Her face impassive.
"Yes, mother?" You reply.
"Perhaps you would like to learn?" She asks.
"To inherit the family business?"
"My business, young one. I believe your… 'Way of working the needle.'" She quotes you. "Could surpass even mine." She finishes.
Her eyes were locked into you. And yours onto hers. You would have to be a fool not to accept. Your last life was decidedly peaceful, but it was not boring. It did however, lack something you needed. Something that your body ached for.
The thrill of bloodshed and battle. It was something you listed after. Ever since the old days of the Greeks, you've had a subliminal desire for it. A want and need for it. To bathe yourself in the blood of your enemies.
You need it. Ever since that damn war god cursed you you've needed it. It ate away at the fibers of your being without it.
At first. You loathed the curse, you loathed what it made you do. You loathed what it made you want to do. But you came to enjoy it. When your sanity had eroded enough you found that you enjoyed the slaughter of battle. A curse it may be, but you did not curse its existence.
So indeed, you would have to be a fool to not accept.
And you were not a fool.
Start: October 9th. 2017.
End: November 8th. 2017.
Words: 3328
I don't like author notes so I'll try to say everything I need to now.
This is as much as an experiment as it is a pseudo character study. I've never written in 2nd person before so I thought that this would be as good time as ever to start. I don't expect people to like this, however this is something that I truly put my best effort into writing. Ideally I'd like for something like this to be longer but I've found that keeping a longer word count in 2nd person is much more difficult than in 3rd person.
Youko will be strong. That is a fact. She will be strong enough to rival the greats. But she will fail. She is not without faults. She may have thousands of years of experience with her, but she will fail. Because that is her destiny. Because that is who she is. Because that is who she always has been.
There will be no romance.
If you notice any mistakes. Let me know.