Pride can stand a thousand trials
The strong will never fall
But watching stars without you
My soul cries

Heaving heart is full of pain
Oooh, oooh, the aching
'Cause I'm kissing you, oooh
I'm kissing you, oooh

Touch me deep, pure and true
Give to me forever
'Cause I'm kissing you, oooh
I'm kissing you, oooh

Where are you now
Where are you now
'Cause I'm kissing you
I'm kissing you, oooh

Lyrics~Kissing You

Summary: When Heracles first lays eyes on the bewitching Kiku, it's love at first sight. But though their love runs true and deep, it is also completely forbidden. With family and fate determined to keep them apart, will they find a way to be together?

Warning: OOC, FemJapan, and other things

I own nothing

PROLOGUE 1-1

For my father and mother,

You will have come for me this morning, expecting to find a bride. The guests will be gathered, the food prepared, the groom waiting. The will be busy, expectant. The call will go up, "Kiku! Where is the girl? What, Kiku. . . ?" I have always come before. But this morning I will not.

Because I am dead.

Do not grieve. It is what I wanted.

I once had a dream that I with the dead. I embraced a gentleman in his shroud, laid kisses upon his cracked skull, felt his sharp and brittle fingers at my breast. All bone, he covered me. And I was happy.

So do not grieve.

Mother, you once wished married to my grave. That was in your rage when I said I would not marry Adnan. Perhaps in some small way, then, you will be pleased by this. That is always what I tried to do, please you. To do your will in all things. When you called, did I not always run? "Madame, what is you will?"

Until now. Now there is another I must yield to.

Mother, Father. You who gave me life will want to know why I choose to leave it. I must try to think of you as you were, and not as I have known you for the past few days. And so you must try and remember me the same way. In our last hours together, I have told you many lies. We have said terrible things. For that I am sorry.

But even before now, you have not known my heart. Because I did not know it. I do now. I will try to tell you what is in my heart. And I pray that you can forgive me.

Where to begin? It has all happened so fast. A short week been long enough to take me from maidhood to grave.

What was my life before now? I can barely remember. Did I speak? Did you listen? All I can recall is Yes, Father, No, Mother, and prayers.

Nurse? I hope someone reads this letter to you. Because you will remember. You remember everything and tell the stories afterward. When I was a little girl, you told me about your childhood in the countryside, the animals and the funny people you had known. You make me laugh.

But the stories I loved best were the one you made up. The stories you told me of the man I would someday marry were the ones I begged to hear over and over.

"oh, my lady shall marry a prince, who will travel far from some distant land because he hear how fair and good your are. And he shall have dark hair and blue eyes . . ." Sometimes he was blond with gray eyes. Sometime light eyed, sometimes dark. Always tall. Always rich. He draped me in jewels and gave me palaces. And he loved me as no man had ever loved a wife.

Perhaps, Nurse, you should not have told me such love stories. Because I listened very closely.

I remember yearning for brothers and sister, a great romping group of children I could play with. Brothers to protect me, sisters to keep my secrets. Our house seemed too large for one small child. Once I asked for brother and sisters. Do you remember that, Mother? But when I did, you said it was not God's will, and something in your voice made me never ask again.

But being the only child can mean you get more. My fond, foolish, loving father, you gave me all your love, calling me your great hope in this world. Oh, you might pretend to scold and bluster. But none feared you.

I can remember crying one day because I was not a boy. You came upon me, scooped me onto lap, and demanded to know the reason for my tears. Finally, I confessed that I was sad that you had no heir-only me. You paused a moment, then hugged me hard, saying you would want no other child but me. You were certain, you said, that I would one day marry a fine man and he would inherit all you had.

But you could give him nothing more valuable than myself. Then you kissed me and said you hoped I would not marry too soon, but stay with you a bit. At this, I threw my arms around your neck and promised I would stay as long as you wanted.

Mother, you were too distant for kissing. When I think of running to you, I recall your hands held out, not to meet with mine, but to halt, hold off. As if feelings were too sharp. Kisses might scratch, hugs bruise. I can remember gazing up at you as I gazed on saints in church, anxious, hoping for favor – but uncertain that I deserved it.

Does everyone close to death think about what people will say of them afterward? It feels sinful, as if reveling in the pain we are about to cause. But I cannot turn away from such thoughts.

Nurse, you will cry loudest. I smile as I say this, because your sorrow will be noisy but sincere. Your skirt and sleeves will grow stiff from mopping up your tears. I shall leave you my handkerchiefs. And a fine new story to tell about me. Most of your stories end with laughing. But this one shall leave you sighing and weeping. "Such a fine, fair lady to be undone so!" And-confess it now-you will enjoy the tears almost as must as the laughter.

Mother-you shall be angry. Rage will be your answer to death; it always is. You and my cousin Kaoru were much alike in this. No wonder this feud between us and the Karpusi has gone for so long. Rage follows death and death follows rage and there is no end but a pile of mossy bones in a vault.

Father, I do not like to think of what you will say. Part of me prays that you remember our terrible quarrel and think, It is no bad thing to lose a child who was so ungrateful and disobedient.

When we fought, you said you did not care if I lived or died. For your sake, I hope you meant it.

In the morning, they will send you, Nurse, to wake me. You will come in, chattering as you always do. You may not even notice how quiet I am.

You will pull aside the bed-curtains, give my arm a shake. "Kiku, lamb! Awake now, it is your wedding day." But I will not wake. Nor more. Your screams will draw Mother and Father. I imagine you all crowding into my chamber. Mother, Father, I can almost hear your cries: Dead! Dead before she was married. A maiden and dead!

But, my parents, you will be wrong. Because I am no longer a maiden. And I am already married.

Why? You will demand to know. How did this begin?

Like all the tragedies in our lives, it begin with a fight. A fight that was part of this feud our family has with the Karpusi. When you can tell how this feud began, then you will have the answer to why and how.

I will start with the morning of the feast. It has been so hot this summer. The sun is cruel, beating upon the senses until you are dull witted and openmouthed. The air does not move. Some-like you, Nurse-became slow in the heat, caring for nothing but shade and a cool cloth to press against your sweating face. For me, the sun puts me into a trance, sets me dreaming at my window. But it is not so for everyone. For some, sunlight sets fire to their smoldering tempers. Turns peevishness to passion. Bad humor to murderous rage. Already this summer, members of our house have twice brawled with men of the Karpusi clan. Yet some felt the thirst for still more blood.

That morning, I saw two men from our clan, Im Yong Soo and Hyung Soo, go out into the streets. Hyung Soo is pleasant, but Im Yong Soo is one of those people who will tell anyone who listens what a great fighter he is- even if only he believes it. They were not yet on the street, but Im Yong Soo was boasting that if he saw anyone of the Karpusi clan he would draw his sword. He said he was quick to strike, when moved. Hyung Soo, the more mild and sensible if them, tried to tease Im Yong Soo out of his violent mood, saying as far as he had seen, Im Yong Soo was not quickly moved to do anything. I laughed at the jokes only because it's true, Im Yong Soo is lazy.

But jokes only seemed to spur Im Yong Soo on to darker threats. Not only would he attack any man of Karpusi, he would attack the women as well.

"Women are weak," he said. "I shall thrust them against the wall." He made a gesture with his hips. Looking around in case someone had overheard this remark, Hyung Soo reminded him that the quarrel was between the masters and men. But Im Yong Soo did not care.

Listening to him, I felt a stab of fear, as if this feud had grown so hot, it would soon run out of control and we would all be consumed by it, man, woman, and child.

But then, Nurse, you came in and asked what I would wear to the feast that night and I forgot all about Hyung Soo and Im Yong Soo.

Mother, Father, you think I do not know the world. What happen in the streets. You think I do not hear the shouting, the oaths. You think I do not see the blood upon the stones. But I do. And when I heard the shouting later that morning, I knew another brawl was upon us. I was in my room, trying to choose a gown when I heard you, Father, shouting for a sword. Going out onto to my balcony, I saw you run out to the garden in your dressing gown. Mother, you followed him, saying that a crutch would serve him better that a sword.

Both of you rushed out onto the square near our house, and would disappeared from sight. More shouting, more swords clashing. People running from all corners to join the fight. Who knows what might have happened had the Daimyō not come and put a stop to it?

Fearful. I waited by the door for you to return. A servant who had been in who had been in the square when then the Daimyō arrived to told me that he was so enraged, he promised death to anyone who broke the peace again.

"Who began the quarrel?" I asked.

As I had thought, Im Yong Soo had yapped his way into a fight with two other men from the Karpusi clan. I was barely under way when Antonio, a gentle youth related to the Karpusi, had tried to stop it. But the Kaoru came. . . .

Kaoru, Kaoru. When I was little, I adored my darkly handsome cousin. I can remember us in the garden: Kaoru, a gallet six-year year-old, striding forth to strike at the roses with a reed sword as I toddled after him. Later he snapped a bud off a rosebush and presented it to me with a bow. I still have that flower pressed in a book.

When I grew older and Nurse's powers of invention failed to conjure my fantasy prince to my satisfaction, I imagined him as Kaoru. Charming and elegant, ever gallant with ladies; Nurse, no gentleman made you blush like Kaoru did, do you remember?

I loved him so much that it was heard to believe the other stories I heard. People said no one hated the Karpusi as ferociously as Kaoru. That his hatred was almost too great. That he practiced daily with his sword, and when he was finished, he drove the blade into the target and cried, "Death to Karpusi!"

This summer, even I noticed a change in him. It seemed Kaoru talked of nothing but wrongs and righteousness. And he was not content to hate alone; everyone must hate and fight with him. Or we would become his enemies, too. Once I innocently ventured that there must be some honorable Karpusi. He turned on me and hissed, "To think well of Karpusi is a betrayal of your own family." Shocked by anger, I began to cry. He was immediately contrite and begged my pardon.

So I was not surprised to hear that Kaoru had been at the fight.

"Where are my parents?" I asked the servant. "Why aren't they home?" He told me that the prince had demanded your presence. Child that I was, I worried the Daimyō would keep you at his palace and our feast would be postponed.

How strange the ways of fate. If you had not been called to the Daimyō's palace, you might not have encountered his kinsman, Adnan-sama. And this story might not be as sad as it is.

That afternoon, Mother, as I looked from on gown to the next and wondered if I should choose the third, you came to my chamber. At first, I thought you wanted to instruct me on how I should behave that night. For this was the first time I was allowed to attend the whole feast, from the dancing to banquet. As you sat me on the bed, I expected reminders that I should not dance too long with any one gentleman, that I should keep my conversation brief and modest, and that I should keep my conversation brief and modest, and that I should remember in all things, I was a daughter of Honda.

Instead you asked, "Kiku, what do you think of marriage?"

At first the word barely made sense. Marriage? I was only thirteen. Father had always said he did not wish me married too young. He said those married young are often unhappy. I did not know what to say, so I replied, "I do not think about marriage." Which was true. I dreamed of love, my handsome prince coming from a faraway land- but not marriage. Impatient, you said, "Well, start thinking about it. Because the valiant Adnan-sama, kinsman to the Daimyō himself, loved you and wishes to marry you."

Nurse, as always, you had something to say. Adnan-sama was so good looking, you exclaimed, the very model of a man. Mother, you also gave him lavish praise. I sat there and repeated your words in my head.

Marriage. Adnan-sama wanted to marry me.

Because he loved me. A man I had never even seen.

I thought of him and thought of love and I felt . . . empty.

Mother, you told me Adnan-sama would be at the feast that night. I should look at him for myself at him myself. He was handsome, you assured me of that. There was an urgency in your voice, a nervousness. I could feel that this was important to you, and I could guess why. Through this marriage, our family would be connected to the prince- something you wanted badly. You had only one child, and so only one chance to advance our family through marriage. No wonder you jumped at the opportunity.

But I couldn't do the same. For some reason, I felt stubborn. Why, I wondered, bother to ask what I wanted? What did it matter? Clearly, I was to be married to Adnan-sama. It had been decided before I even had my first dance.

This is how it is for all girls, I know. I can't explain why I felt so disappointed. I thought, I would like to have been wooed by at least one other gentleman before you chose one for me, Mother.

You pressed me, telling me to answer quickly: Could I like Adnan-sama?

I told you I would look at Adnan-sama and hope that I liked what I saw. Then I murmured that the one look wouldn't tell me much about him.

But you did not hear me. As far as you were concerned, the matter was settled.

I have loved the feast since I was a little girl, even though I was only allowed to watch from the balcony before being put to bed. Sometimes, I would creep downstairs and hide behind the tapestries, watching everyone and everything. I would gaze at the ladies, imagining myself one of them. One day, I would dance and talk and be admired in the candle-light.

Now, it seemed, there would be none of that. Flirtation, romance- I would skip it all on my way to the altar. As I dressed for the feast that night, I searched my heart and found it quiet. All the excitement I had felt earlier in the day was gone.

When I was little, I overheard Nurse say about me, "He that gets her shall have the chinks." I did not understand and so I asked her what "the chinks" meant. She turned red and said "Oh, only the fairest, sweetest maid in all Verona." I smiled. But I knew she was lying.

When I was alone at my window, I thought about it. To get me meant getting . . . something a man might want more than me. Or as much? Perhaps I could not be loved or wanted for myself. Perhaps it was only these chinks that mattered.

"Oh," I imagined people saying, "if you must have her, you can at least have the chinks as well." Then when I was little older, I learned what chinks meant: money. My father's money. Then I imagined people saying, "She may be small and not at all pretty or witty, but you shall get her father's money."

As Nurse fixed my hair with special care in the early evening, I wondered, does Adnan-sama want me or does her want the chinks? Remembering the hunger in my mother's voice, I suspected I was not the heart of his desire.

But then I rallied. I must not give way to gloom so easily. Perhaps Adnan-sama was exactly the prince Nurse had promised all these years. Maybe he had seen me only once but fallen madly love. These things were possible. So perhaps I would see him once and fall madly in love back.

I have- had- an obedient nature. What I am told to, I often do. And this night, we were having a feast. And what should one do at a feast? Dance. Be happy. And so, I thought, whirling around the room, I shall dance and be happy!

I love night, its silence and shadows. When I was a little girl, peeking at the feast in hiding, I thought that all the most important things in life must happen at night, as if everything that matters must be hidden somehow. True feelings cannot belong to the workaday world of people trudging here and there, chatting of meals and weather and horses and roads. When it is dark and no one is watching, that is when we speak what we truly feel. Do what we wish to. Be who we are.

The hall was wonderful that evening. Torches flared, making every lady beautiful, every gentleman elegant. Scarlet and gold tapestries hung on the walls. The tables were full, the wine flowing. Laughter jousted with music. My dress was dark green, threaded with gold. In my hair, a crown of pearls. "Dark and light," you said, Nurse. "Your black hair, Your pale skin. Pure enough to turn impure thoughts to honorable intentions." Mother, you told her to hush.

Moving carefully down the stairs, I felt like a full-grown lady. Then I realized, only a child would feel that way. But, child I was, I was happy. It was too wonderful to be at such a gathering. My friends and cousins and I exclaimed over our new finery and brashly speculated over which young man might fall in love with us that night. "You shall have him," we told one another as we pointed. "And you . . . him. He? Oh, he is for you, certainly!" Girlish foolishness. We meant none of it, but enjoyed it all thoroughly.

Off to one side, not joining our game, sat my cousin Lien. Lien was from my mother's side of the family and she had my mother's look. A little older then I, Lien held herself at a distance, so it was easy to think of her as a rare and fine creature. She had a dark, icy beauty. Her raven hair fell just so over her exquisite face. I confess, I did not always like her, yet always yearned for her good opinion.

"And who is for Lien?" I asked.

"Kami alone," said one cousin, rolling her eyes. "She has sworn she will stay chaste and never marry."

"Ah, no," said another mischievous girl. "That is only what she that poor boy who is so in love with her, so that he will leave her alone."

"What boy is that?" I asked, wide-eyed.

Each looked to the other. No-one, it seemed, knew his name, "But he is mad for her," said the gossip. "They say his heart and mind are nearly broken with love. He spends his days sighing and weeping because she is so cold. His family is quite worried," she added with a wicked little smile.

"Poor boy- why does Lien scorn him?" I asked.

"Because she is an ice maid," said my cousin, bored with the subject.

And though our talk turned to other things, my mind stayed on that sad young man who loved Lien. I wished someone loved me like that. But I would never have the heart to torment a boy who loved me so deeply. If someone loved me truly, I would-

Then a group of men romped into the hall. They all wore masks, so it was impossible to know who they were. But since they were disguised, it was easy to guess they hadn't been invited. It was the custom of adventurous young men to come uninvited, it added excitement. Besides, they were handsomely dressed and carried themselves with grace. Immediacy, a whispering went up among my little band. Who are they? We had great fun guessing: Who was that one? Who this one?

Looking around me, I thought happily, anyone might be anybody and anything might happen. And then I remembered, there was no mystery about my fate. I would marry Adnan-sama. I felt that dullness in my heart again.

We were not the only ones to notice the boys' arrival. My cousin Kaoru turned storm-faced and went directly you, my father. Like me you loved a festival. You were always welcoming everyone, making sure everybody had enough to eat and drink and that the music kept all light.

So no wonder you looked annoyed when Kaoru approached. I did not hear all your words, but I knew Kaoru's mood had something to do with the new arrivals. Doubtless, he was angry that they were here without permission. Father, you refused to throw them out like how Kaoru said to. Now, I wonder, had you known what will happen, would you have done as Kaoru said?

I did as you told me, my parents, and looked for Adnan-sama. I hoped to find him handsome and kind. I told myself that I should be happy. I was about to see the man I would marry. I was about to begin my life as a woman. Yet when I thought of Adnan-sama, it seemed like me life was ending.

I confess that I did not look as hard as I could have. But shortly after Kaoru's tantrum, I heard a voice greet me by name. I turned to see a tall, richly dressed. My eyes, rather than my heart, saw he was handsome. He gave me his name and asked me to dance,

This was Sadiq Adnan. I said yes.

We shared a careful dance, Adnan-sama and I. We talked of . . . I do not remember the details. He found ways to tell me he had fine connections. The Daimyō was mentioned several times. As was his friend Antonio.

"Have you met Antonio?" he asked.

I said I had not- at least I did not think so.

"Oh, you would remember Antonio, if you had met him," Adnan-sama assured me. "A fiery, poetic gentlemen. Often caught up in fantasy. But one is never bored in his company." I would like to dance with Antonio, I thought, rather than the one who holds my hand now- and forever, if he and my parents have their way.

As we danced, I thought, this is my future, walking side by side with this man. I tried to find my fantasy prince in him. This version of my prince was short brown haired with a white mask covering his eyes, one of the few combinations Nurse and I had not imagined. Certainly, he was wealthy. Certainly, noble. And he said he loved me, although I did not feel it. Because if he loved me, shouldn't I feel happier in his company? Shouldn't I feel freer to share my thought with someone who supposedly wished to have my heart? Why was I so stingy in my replies and in my looks?

Mother, I could feel you watching us from across the room. It did not put me in ease.

The dance ended. I curtsied. When I looked up into Adnan-samas' smiling face, I did not care if I never saw it again.

I was not sure where to go next. Kaoru stalked back and forth near the fire, keeping his eyes upon the masked newcomers. He had always had the time for me before, but he would not be interested in my girlish business now. Mother, you stood in one part of the hall, awaiting reports. In another, my female cousins, also wanting news. Nurse, you fluttered here and there, searching for me.

I looked for you, Father, and found you standing near Adnan-sama. You beckoned me over. And I realized, Yes, it is Father who has what Adnan-sama wants. The richness of the feast, the fineness of our house. In a rare moment of defiance, I thought, Yes, he shall have the chinks. But he shall not have me.

Perhaps that is why, rather than coming when you called, I did a very childish thing and hid. Gathering my skirts, I ducked in between dancers and servers and onlookers and slipped behind one of the curtains. It was the same as when I was younger, peeking out to watch the grown-ups. But as much as I had wanted to join the pa-ti then, I was glad to be away from them now. I played the old game. If I could choose, what man would I have for my own?

I saw things differently than I had when I was a child or even a few hours ago. Now, I looked past the beautiful eyes and fine clothes and saw things I did not like. So many men's faces were closed. Their eyes hard. From this distance away from the dance, I noticed that it was the older married men who paid the most attention to the ladies, paying them compliments or whirling them around the dance floor. The younger ones seemed restless and angry like my cousin Kaoru. The simple joys of life seemed to bore them. None, I thought. I would choose none that I see here. I laid my hand on the stone pillar, cool in the heat of the crowd and the flames of the fire. I thought of the churches and cemeteries. This might be the last feast I attended as a maiden. From here, I would go to the church and be married. After that, I would be a mother to children-until they were married off as I was . I would complain of my about to be. I would grow old, stout, and gray-haired. I would complain of my aches like the nurse. And then, off to my grave. Was that a life? Everything I had dreamed, would it really amount to so little?

My parents, as I think of how to tell what happened next, I am almost afraid. But perhaps since I am dead, it is better that you hate me. Perhaps it will make it easier for you to be without me. I will tell myself I am being kind in tell you the truth. I pray that I am. I

I felt a hand over mine. At first the fingers just touched the tips of mine; then they lay over them, warm and gentle. I did not look. I was afraid to. Our palms met. Before I even laid eyes on him, we were joined.

I turned and saw . . .

Well, how shall I say what I saw?

A boy. A youth. He wore a mask, so I knew he had come uninvited. It was bright blue, shaped as a cat and covered only half of his face. A lock of brown fell across it. His eyes were breath-taking and green. They search mine, looking for . . . what? I was not sure, but I was aware of a desperate desire that they might find what they sought, whether it was beauty or an answer or . . . Yes, I found myself thinking, hoping it showed in my eyes. Yes, yes. He was slender, but the hand over mine was strong. His mouth was full, parted slightly in hope. Oh, if he is looking for someone else, I thought, I will die. Our hands were already touching. His fingers moved slightly. I parted mine without thinking, our fingers treaded together. He smiled and so did I. No, he was not looking for someone else. He made a little game, pretending he was a pilgrim and I was a saint's statue.

He said, "If I've offended by touching with my unworthy hands, I will soothe the hurt by kissing the spot my hand has spoiled."

Despite my happiness, I was slightly shocked that he would talk of kissing so soon. And besides, I must be true to the game. Would a saint accept such boldness?

Taking my hand back from him, I said, "Pilgrims' hands are best used in a prayer," and put my hands together to show him. "Do saints have lips?" he asked. "Of course," I said. "But like hands, they are best used in a prayer." I stepped back around the pillar, but he followed, as if we were two children around a maypole. "If lips and hands are so alike," he wondered, "might not lips meet as hands do, pressed together?" It took me a moment to understand his meaning. Our hands had touched; why not our lips? I knew that most of my female cousins would have stop the game here. And so should I. But I, entranced, thought of those saints' statues I prayed to. After all, if someone wished to kiss a statue, what could it do?

I whispered, "Saints do not move, but grant favors asked in prayer."

"Then move not," he said "as I pray."

As we kissed, I was aware of the cold stone at my back, my palms and fingers flat against the marble. I felt his life's warmth and weight press against me. I did not want to stop, and gave him many little after-kisses, like a bird wanting more from another's mouth. I murmured that now his sin was on my lips, and he swore he would take it back again. And so he did, until our mouths were open and my hands were no longer pressed against the stone, but twined in his hair. Nurse, I suppose we were lucky it was you who came upon us. And that when you did, we were no longer so tangled. Still, I think your sharp eyes caught something, because you said my mother wanted me in a voice much louder than necessary. I swear, I had forgotten I had parents. Or that anyone existed in the world, save for the young man in the cat mask. Who I had just kissed. Without even knowing his name. I, who was about to be engaged to another man. In a burst of confusion, I hurried back to the pa-ti in search of my mother.

You pressed. "Did you like him?"

"Well, I . . ."

I felt certain that the burning blush of what had happened was clear for all to see. Surely my lips were bruised, my hair loose, my eyes wild. My fingers felt at my neck, my thigh, brushed my breast. I could think of nothing but that young man. Only a little while later, I saw him again. He and his friends were leaving. Father- sweet Father!- you invited them to stay longer, but they would not. Why, I wondered, does he not look for as I look for him? Perhaps he has kissed me- and who knows who else at the pa-ti- and now leaves in search of another party and other ladies? No. It cannot have meant so little to him and so much to me!

Nurse, I asked you what his name was, so that I might at least be able to investigate and learn his reputation. To mask my interest, I asked about several men; infuriatingly, my young man in the blue mask was the only one you did not know. So I sent you to find out. At the time, my greatest fear was that he was not free. If he is married, I thought, my grave will be my wedding bed. Alas, you returned with news. Not married, but Karpusi.

"Heracles," you said, breathless with surprise that he would dare come to our house. "The only son of your greatest enemy."

XxX

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