Privacy

Kantarou turns much of our lives into stories. I'm not sure whether to call them fiction, or fact, because they do take a few liberties, at times, overstating for drama, or misdirecting about information that might reveal vulnerabilities.

But there are things about which he doesn't write at all.

We met when he walked into the illusion I had cast, of a happy home, where I was the wife of a man's dreams—an illusion to make them think that they had wakened into a world better than their own, to make reality seem an unpleasant memory and the illusion seem to be their life. It was crafted to assuage my own, overwhelming loneliness, and the men of nearby towns had hired Kantarou to end my preying upon them with it.

He wrote of that adventure, how I tried to feed him the image of a delicious meal, though in truth I had no ingredients. The soup was water, the fish was air, and he never took a bite of that false dinner, insisting instead upon beginning with a prayer, by that prayer breaking the illusion and forcing me to submit and reveal my form.

He wrote of how he named me, how I came to be in his service.

But he did not write of how I startled him, as he was about to sit for that meal, before his prayer, because I was lonely, and he was so…

I was free, before his prayer, before I was named. I felt his thin strength wrapped in my arms, his own arms briefly and hesitantly around me—his initial confusion and then the soft, warm response of his lips and the quickening of his heart in his chest pressed to mine. I remember his scent and the heat radiating off him. He returned my kiss, just for that moment, and when he stepped back I saw the flush in his cheeks and the longing in his eyes, just for that moment before he steeled himself to finish what he had come to do.

The others were merely prey, but I wanted to be this one's wife.

That was not his plan.

I was named. He told me he was responsible for my well-being. He told me, because I had no choice but to obey his commands, that I had no free will when it came to him. He told me, without free will, there could be no consent, and without consent, I could never be more than his housekeeper, no matter how much I thought I wanted more, and no matter how much he might desire.

He does not accept that I made that decision before he named me.

So of all the human men in the world, the one I cannot have is the one I want. Each night I remember how I felt in that one moment, the only kiss we will ever share. And each day I console myself with his companionship, for I will never have more than that.


A translation of the Character Book section containing the canon-story around which this fan-fic is based, is posted in the love_tactics community on LiveJournal. The date is 8/18/10 (no direct link here as I believe direct links off-site are not permitted by FFN to prevent rick-rolling).