III.
"What have you done?" Seiji stands by the door, horror and confusion etched into his face like lovers' names in stone. Even with the window wide open, there's the heavy stench of blood and iron engulfing the room. He looks down at the red floor and then to her, to the floor, to her, and back again. He's mumbling, gasping, seething… and Kiyoha's as quiet as springtime rain, perched on the window sill, cigarette holder in hand.
II.
"It wasn't like I was trying to hurt you," she says. Her eyes follow Takao as she practically sprints from one side of the room to the other, throwing clothes and hairpieces and books everywhere. Kiyoha's silk kimono falling off her shoulders, barely tied together.
Takao screams, "Horseshit!" and aims a book right at her head, but misses the target by a foot.
I.
Takao's glued to her makeshift seat on the hard floor, eye peeking through the gap in the sliding doors, as much the voyeur as she is the whore who stole her boyfriend. Figures moving back and forth, up and down, and all around. Telltale sounds seep through the thin paper doors, and it doesn't take long for her to burst through like an explosive. "You bitch!"
II.
Kiyoha looks over her shoulder at the failed projectile and laughs. "Okay, maybe I lied."
She stalks over to Takao, the long yards of fabric falling behind her. untangles herself from the bedsheets and stalks over to the other woman. A soft smile graces her lips, and for just a moment, everything stops. Takao isn't seething; Kiyoha isn't staring at her without a care in the world. The clothes are in their drawers, hairpieces in their rightful places. Everything's still…
And then Kiyoha stands over Takao as she bleeds out from the deep gash in her throat. "But I just can't stand you."
III.
Kiyoha stares out the window and onto the bustling street below. Men walking by and stopping for their pick of the brothel, the tempting giggles and talk of the courtesans wafting through the air. She scoffs and takes one last long drag of her cigarette. The paper burns right down to the filter and the ashes fall and scatter on the window sill. She turns around, a Cheshire Cat like smile etched into her face like lovers' names in stone. "What do you think?"
