A/n: Before you begin to read I must give the trigger warning that this fic will centre around a major character's death, if you are uncomfortable with reading death mentions then this fic is not for you.
Also it's set in 1920's Japan, you might think that the characters are acting OOC at times but since I have to situate them within the time period so this is something that I cannot avoid.
There might be a lot of Japanese words coming up in the story, so I will make a glossary at the beginning of every chapter to make it easier to read and understand for everyone. If you want it at the end instead let me know, majority rules.
Showa: the name for the emperor's era between 1926-1989.
Noboribetsu, Hokkaido: Town and Prefecture in Northern Japan, respectively.
Genkan: entrance of a traditional Japanese house.
Koto: traditional Japanese instrument, also the national instrument of Japan.
San-san-kudo: three times three exchange, sharing of sake cups in a traditional wedding ceremony.
Fusama: wooden sliding wall panels in a traditional Japanese house.
Kitsune: Fox.
Kimono: Traditional Japanese clothing.
Prologue: A Snowy Evening
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Showa Year One, December 01, Evening
The sky was as black as ink, illuminated only by the pathway of shining stars spreading far and wide and draped across the small town of Noboribetsu in the southern part of Hokkaido, like a curtain covering a stage before a show begins. On one end of the town, steam hisses loudly as it rises up from the natural hot springs reservoirs, covering its surroundings with a silver mist giving anyone wishing to cloud themselves from plain sight, a good chance to do so. Beyond the cluster of hot springs, the town is under a quiet lull, the shops are closed and the streets are empty, leaving the snow on the ground lonely without footprints. However, further towards the other edge of the town faint noises can be heard from a house standing taller than many others at the end of a road surrounded by barren trees covered in snow.
Beyond the wooden entrance gate, that is supported by a fence made of strong bamboo on either end, the pathway leading up to the house has been decked with paper lanterns on each side. The door that leads to the internal part of the house has been kept open, with the genkan crowded with slippers and sandals of all the people currently inside. One wonders if today is a special day for the residents of this house, whether something is being celebrated, a milestone or perhaps a birthday?
The sound of a koto being played skilfully is ringing through out the house, but it is difficult to get a glimpse of the artist as the room in which the concert is being held seems to be crowded with people, possibly members of the family residing in this house or possibly the fans of the koto player. The attention of all present is uncharacteristically glued to the koto being played, as if the crowd has been taken in a trance as each string is pulled and each note reverberates through the wooden house.
A scroll framed arranged on the top of the shoe shelf in the genkan read that today was the wedding ceremony of the sole heir of this household. An auspicious day no doubt, and the reason behind the presence of a crowd, as the groom and the owners of this house belonged to one of the families behind the founding and prosperity of this town, while the bride was the daughter of the man who had built the first and so far, only hospital in the town. The joining of two such influential families couldn't suffice with just prayers from the priest and the act of san-san-kudo, there had to be a spectacle worthy of being the talk of the town for days to come.
Perhaps that is why the cloaked figure remains unseen as they walk by the room, and further down the empty corridor, navigating briskly through all the turns and lengthy corridors that this house was riddled with, almost as if they had spent their life living among these never-ending fusama. It is difficult to decipher whether the person beneath the cloak is a man or a woman, as the darkly coloured fabric manages to perfectly hide every feature underneath that might help a witness identify its bearer. The head too, is covered masterfully with a hood and the face with a white, kitsune mask. On their feet are wooden sandals with stilts that make it impossible for anyone to guess the figure's actual height and makes one wonder how is it possible for them to move so smoothly in footwear like those?
One doesn't have the time to ponder on such questions as soon enough, the figure enters into one of the rooms, sliding the door open with much ease and closing it behind themselves without a sound. They walk through the length of the room, careful not to disturb any of the items laying about, and open the door on the opposite end of the room, which allows them an entry into the garden that is located towards the back of the house. For the first time that night, the figure pauses for a moment.
What could they be thinking about, as they gaze upon the snow that covers every possible inch of the garden, were they worried about leaving footprints behind, as they had not anticipated the layer of thick, white snow to get in their way?
But the sound of koto is almost fading and the figure does not have much time.
Finally they make a move, pulling from beneath their heavy cloak a bundle of crumpled newspaper paper packages that seemed to have something stored inside of them, and whatever it was, was only visible to the figure holding onto it.
Although the kitsune mask hid the mysterious figure's face and any expressions they may have been making under it, once they began to trod through the snow, the smell of a smile hung in the air even after they disappeared from the scene.
One couldn't say how much time had passed but a while after the cloaked figure had made their exit, a loud and shrill scream filled the whole compound.
It was followed by the sound of thundering footsteps taking over the whole house along with more shouting and crying as the residents attempted to make sense of what had just occurred. Another hour passed and still there was no end to the frenzied activity around the house, until the inspector in charge showed up with two constables swiftly on his tail.
The inspector took in the scene that greeted him at the front yard, the owner of the house sat on the ground, his face stricken with utter shock and as white as someone who had just seen a ghost, or worse. His arms were wrapped around his wife who was sobbing uncontrollably, her body shaking with each wail that escaped her lips and her rosy brown hair that had come undone from a neat bun, and now framed her face as tears rolled down her pale cheeks.
Some distance apart from them sat the beautiful bride-to-be, lips tightly pursed and berry coloured eyes hollow with an undecipherable emptiness, the bottom hem of her ivory white, bridal kimono was stained red with what could only be blood. The inspector found it odd that she was not crying, as that is what he believed women usually did in such situations, but what he found even more strange were how her parents stood a few meters apart from her, making no attempts to comfort her or even accept her as their own.
In the Inspector's experience, the spouses were usually the prime suspect in cases like these, but when for a brief moment his eyes met with the bride's and he was taken aback by how beautifully bright her auburn hair looked against the pitch black night sky, he remembered the detail that had been mentioned to him on the telephone.
The body of the groom had been discovered before the wedding rituals had begun.
He had no reason to suspect her, and as he passed by her parents he faced them with a sharp look, they had no reason to shun her so soon either, she was a victim too after all.
The Inspector spoke with a few guests, family members of the groom, who had been around when the body had been discovered, and instructed them to guide him towards the crime scene. It was when they entered the house that one of his constables approached him with a dire look in his eyes, he said there was something his senior needed to see first. Although the Inspector couldn't understand what could be more important than investigating the actual crime scene, he trusted his underling and followed him further into the house, on the same route that the cloaked figure had taken before them.
They soon arrived to the sliding door that led to the back garden and before opening the door, the constable turned to him and faced him with a determined look that said, brace yourself.
The door slid open and the Inspector stepped out, admiring the layout of the garden before his eyes fell on the snow laden ground and he almost stepped back in surprise. He was used to criminals attempting to hide their presence at the scene of crime but what lay before him was something he had never seen before. Even as he had set off from the police station the Inspector had mused to himself that catching the suspect would be a little easier this night, thanks to all the snow, but it looked like that thought had also crossed his opponent's mind.
The beauty of the garden was enhanced as it came together to paint the picture of the culprit's escape, or lack thereof. The mid level wooden picket fence that lined the edge of the garden seemed unharmed, either the culprit had been tall enough to manage a jump over it or agile enough to make the climb, or had chosen not to go that way at all. From where the Inspector stood the forest behind the picket fence looked like an easy place to hide so he signalled his other constable to begin a search, explaining carefully to not take the route from the house but around it. After all the only route to the forest from within the house was through this garden, and he couldn't have his underlings ruining the beauty of the culprit's work just yet.
The Inspector knelt down on the wooden floor that was still attached to the room, pressing his palms face down on the floor he leaned in closer towards the scene in front of him.
Every inch of the garden was covered in snow making it impossible to see whether there was any greenery still persisting there through this harshly cold December. The Inspector attempted to measure the thickness of the snow on the ground solely through instinct and experience in his head, and he concluded that if he attempted to wade through the snow, it would reach a little short of his knee and he would leave behind obvious marks of his presence. Yet, the state of the snow that had blanketed the ground looked absolutely undisturbed, save for one thing.
Lilacs.
The snow covered the ground and the purple flowers covered the snow. Strewn all over the garden in an incomprehensible pattern, the purple lilacs looked even more mesmerizing than usual in stark contrast to the white snow upon which they lay. For the next several minutes, the Inspector took his time walking across the wooden floorboard and looking at the garden from every possible angle without stepping down into it. He attempted to make sense of the flowers but the hints they provided were minimal and he couldn't help but feel that understanding the presence of these flowers would lead him towards the criminal. Although one would say that flowers on the ground were not an unusual sight for a garden and on most days the Inspector would agree.
But tonight was different.
You see, there was no Lilac tree in the garden, let alone one in the whole house.
It was as if the flowers had sprouted from ground up tonight, it was as if the lilacs were blooming in the snow.
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