This while it isn't a lime or lemon, could be offenseive read at your own
worry
Fading Dreams: The moments that matter
~Yumi's P.O.V~
From my rice mat the latticed window, with sheer curtains covering the glass, fails to block out the starlight. For with my eyes, clouded by confusion, I can still trace the faint area of light created by each celestial being. This gives me some comfort, but does not set my troubled soul at ease. My soul is forever turbulent; as long as can remember it has never seen true solace. Some element of my life has remained out of place, and unknown to my soul. Such privation of peace hurts, but can be overcome by simple discipline. That is one of the many lessons Lord Shishio has taught me, and through my tragedies I have learned.
Tonight, it seems, no matter how hard I try, sleep will not come. I am too worried to rest, to even shut my eyes. I feel as if any minute Shishio, my beloved Shishio, will disappear from my life, like everything else has. For tomorrow, I know not what will come, will impending doom be spelled, or will Shishio prevail over Himura? I roll over stiffly in between the silk sheets, and my eyes trace the patterns on the ceiling. They contain so many paths and intricacies, which make me dizzy upon lengthy examination. Although I have near memorized them, as any diligent student would memorize Kanji, I fail to break the code that lies within them.
I shift uncomfortably in my sheets again that night, frustration builds within me, and I feel it can barely be contained. But through some strength, I hold in that anxiety and frustration, and manage to suppress it with a heavily-heaved sigh. My eyes examine the stars yonder the window. Suddenly a realization strikes me, these stars clarity give me more than just mere comfort, they give me faith that Shishio will not fall to Himura, and that the fates, as cruel as they are, will never take him away from me.
Another uncomfortable shift finally convinces me that my tired body will not be helped by worried sleep. I gently push aside my silken sheets and rise from my rice mat. The flawless full moon gives the lavish bedroom an eerie glow. Haunting shadows appear on the walls with gold inlay laced on the crown moldings. I bend down and lift the silk cherry-blossom yukata from the deep crimson sheets covering the rice mat and wrap the fine red silk around my slim body. While I glide to my vanity I prepare a match and light the ornate oil lamp that sheds a small amount of light upon the large room. A gleam, a brief shimmer of gold and glass catches my observant eyes as the light of the oil lamp reflects off of a present given to me by Houji from his travels in the west.
He explained the bizarre object to me as a smaller kind of telescope that you could hold in your hand and still see the stars clearly. Perhaps this small mechanism would ease my troubled soul; perhaps I will employ it to examine the stars on this clear night.
Out on the balcony I stand, drawing the light Yukata close to my body, attempting to keep warm. An eyelid while the other peers through the hand- held telescope covers one eye, and I examine the night sky with no real scrutiny. My eye settles on one fading star. It glimmers unsurely, dimly in the southern sky; on and off it flickers, trying so hard to make itself known under the light of the full moon.
I can relate to this dwindling star, I am potent enough to be noticed in a vast sky of many, but not potent enough to exist equally with the man I adore the most. Who am I kidding, no one can ever be seen when next to my Shishio-sama's encompassing strength, darkness, and intelligence. Not even Houji, who through his meticulous management we are millionaires, and least of all me, a dignified whore until I met Shishio-sama.
Then my eye spots a star shining brightly, a star that is not hidden by the bright moon, not in awe of its strength in the northern sky, that star causes great unrest in my soul. I was never a superstitious or religious woman, I was never what my mother or father called samurai. I had no concept of bushido, as they did. But no one had the concept of bushido; it had fallen, to my innermost remorse. Yet in that star I saw that one man, the Battousi, though he was smaller, he had no fear when he looked defiantly into Shishio-sama's eyes. Perhaps it was just I, but I felt that Shishio was not going to win this battle by default. Everyone else around me saw Shishio winning this small contest tomorrow with ease, but I did not, because I am a woman, and because, as so many in my generation, am not samurai. My feelings of love weakened me. If I were stronger I would not be worried, but I am weak because I worry. I remember once I was Samurai, but I was broken and also discovered I was weak.
"Yumi," Shishio-sama asks me in a strangely gentle voice that takes my guard off. I gently wipe tears of regret off of my cheeks and turn around to face Shishio-Sama, "Why do you cry?" he asks me. Inside I am sent into a panic, do I admit my doubts and show Shishio-sama my weakness. I cast my eyes down and look nervously at my feet until I can muster up the courage to say what I mean to say to him. To say, I am worried the Battousi may claim your life and steal you away from me!
I do not say a word; I just keep my eye to the ground, for once Shishio- sama, claim my lips! Do not make me explain myself! My own thoughts shame me. I hear the soft click of Shishio-sama's boots come toward me; he gently cups my chin and forces my eyes to meet his. I am sure he has seen my pain, my weakness. Instead of being cold and standoffish, he wraps his strong arms around me and allows me to cry, just this once, on his purple kimono.
After I have finished crying, he says compassionately,
"What troubles you?" Perhaps it was the compassion and love that dwelled in his voice, or my reinforced bravery, but whatever it was it gave me the strength to say,
"I am afraid-" I begin, then after a deep breath reaffirm, "-that the Battousi's sword will steal you away me forever!" I latch onto his neck as hard as I can, unwilling to see the disgust on his face. To my surprise he holds onto me tighter, taken aback I leave his embrace and ask, bewildered,
"You are not ashamed of my weakness?" Shishio-sama smiles gently, reminding me of another time when a man smiled to me gently and took my innocence at the same time.
~ Kyoto, 1864~
There I stood happily in the ornate hall, my socked feet growing cold on the smooth wood floor. Regardless of the joy rushing through my veins at the prospect of being bestowed the honor of Geisha's, my heart failed to be so thoroughly convinced that this was indeed the truth: that I was to become a geisha. For purposes he would not display to the light or ring in one's ear, Damasu-sama has not passed a geisha's honor into my hands.
Wistfully, I set my gaze to the frosted and icy window from the snow's bite. The winding and whimsical ice crystals gracefully danced from the clouded sky above and silently fell, clinging to the cold glass of the windows. To me, the crystals seemed like real dancers, their motions so fine, and their beauty unmatched.
"Yumi-chan?"
I jumped slightly at the Madame's soft voice. "Hai? Nan desu ka, Madame- san?"
"I believe this belongs to you, Yumi-chan," said she emotionless but still unable to hide a smile. From behind her back she pulled a geisha's kimono and gently placed the fine silk robe in my pale delicate arms. The kimono flowed through my fingers with water's grace and delicacy. Pale blue and lavender hues melted together so perfectly, and in shining silver thread, sakura blossoms waltzed along the grooves of fabric. It had the beauty of even the dancers in the skies and the dancers upon the earth.
I cradled the fine silk in my arms, it was the only way I could protect what I had earned through my difficult years of training. Tears, not of grief or sadness, but of joy, brimmed my eyes. I gently set the delicate robe on a side table in the hallway and threw my arms around the Madame in a deep embrace.
"Madame-san, arigatou gozaimasu!" I said, pulling away from the heartening embrace of the woman who had over the years become my mother. A smile danced upon my red lips, as I lifted the kimono from the table and again cradled it.
I was surprised to feel a small tug and released my grasp on it though I wanted to fight for it with all my heart, to tug on the fine silk and claim what was rightfully mine. I looked once more into the trusting eyes of Damasu Kizoku.
"Damasu-sama?" I asked with a whisper, my voice had become horse and wayward, lost in sudden misery and considerable shock. His eyes danced with amusement, his eyes danced at my sudden torment, as if he were enjoying my moment of confusion. Nay, his eyes were not amused, but filled with lustful desire. Those eyes were directed toward me, they bore into me and were no longer kind, but systematically cruel and calculative toward every voluptuous curve on my blessed body.
"Madame," he scolded softly with a chuckle, "this was not yet to be relinquished into her care." Then he handed the object of my desire, the fine silk kimono to the Madame who accepted the ornate robe with reluctance painted on her face.
The Madame sighed and rolled her dark eyes. "Hai, Damasu-san...." She turned on her heel, with a bow, and walked down the hallway. Discreetly she turned her head and I saw her gaze at me with sorrowful compassion, perhaps I would receive this later.
In turn, Damasu-sama followed Madame down the hall, a thin smile upon his face and the kimono in his arms. It seems it is always winter here. I continued to look upon the ballet of the snowflakes, raging outside the window.
Sighing, I traced the difficult patterns in my mind, and fought back tears of grief and sadness that would cloud my vision of the icy ball outside the windows of the teahouse.
It was just fifteen minutes later, and I still sat despondent in the hallway, awaiting, I thought in vain, an explanation to my sudden demoting. The snowflakes continued to bedazzle my tear-filled eyes, in their now fast paced tango. Then I heard the door being slid open and saw Damasu-sama, and Madame walking into the hall from the reflection in the glass. That day I only heard bits of their conversation, but it was small chat. I had determined I would not receive an answer, and would not. Then Damasu-sama sent me a suddenly kind glance, and hope revived again within me as I walked towards him and asked,
"Why can I not be called Geisha?" Damasu-sama, raised his hand to my shoulder, as he said,
"This, my child, needs to be discussed in a location more private," Suddenly, he turned to Madame, and asked if we could use a room momentarily. She sent him a questioning glare I did not know how to analyze but then slid open a door, and I followed Damasu-Sama into the small room.
It was then that we stood in the small, paper-walled room, and he began his compelling speech,
"Yumi-chan, you are so young, just a girl of fifteen. It would be wise for you to wait till you are perhaps older, more mature. You know very well the strict rules of Geisha, would you be able to withstand the insistence of a paying customer to break those rules. I am a main supporter of this tea house in Kyoto, and I have to think of my business and influence in the newly-established government." I was taken aback, and said, almost defensively,
"But, in older times young ladies of my age were married, Damasu-Sama! I am no longer a girl!" Then, I noticed something, a flash in his grin, a smolder in his soulless eyes, as he hungrily eyed my figure, as if it were his to own.
Damasu-Sama politely told me to sit down, apparently there was more to hear, but he surprised me and sat down beside me, cooing seductively,
"Indeed, Yumi-san, you are no longer a girl, in fact you have grown to be a fine looking woman, much like your mother before she passed." I blushed at the compliment, and was taken slightly off guard, not thinking much of what he said, for his kindness helped my mind wander from the loss of my geisha kimono.
I thanked him quietly, and asked why is he so afraid to let me become what I was destined to be. Suddenly, the glint in his eye grew, and the smolder in his eyes turned into a flame, as he scooted closer yet, and brushed away a tear that had long crystallized on my cheek, and kissed the spot his finger had just brushed.
I stood quickly, and grew very afraid. Damasu-Sama demanded,
"Why are you afraid? Do you think I saved you from the streets because I am kind! You owe me something for that effort and it is time you pay me back Yumi!" Rage, and long withheld desire had taken him, I backed towards the bed, just seeking to get away from the demon he had become. As soon as my ankle hit the rice mat, I fell onto the bed, and now I feared for what was to become of me.
Damasu-Sama loomed treacherously above, and just as treacherously, lowered himself onto me, one of his legs resting in between both of my legs. He claimed my lips in a violent kiss, guiding my head and telling me, in my inexperience what to do with one hand. While he loosened my obi with the other, it was that time I can never forget, even though I wish it to be forgotten.
~Present day~
"Yumi," a distant voice calls out to me, as I stood on the balcony, underneath the bright stars, recalling cold memories of a sad time. The voice appears as foggy as a swamp when the mists are blindly covering its mucky contents.
"Yumi," the same distant voice says, but now it grows closer as my violent remembrance, and the momentary spell it cast on me is broken.
'I know this voice, it is the voice of my beloved Shishio-Sama.' As soon as that thought graces my mind, I am out of the past and look lovingly at my lover cooing my name. His demonic, red eyes reflect a kindness I only know. There in those eyes, lies many traits, his power is seen easily, his bravery most certainly unmatched, then there is the kindness and regard he bears toward me that he does not display to anyone else, not even Soujiro. Lightly his gloved hand strokes my cheek. I relish in this touch, and tremble in impatient anticipation for what is to come. He gently wipes a tear from my cheek and kindly strokes my cheek, perfecting the location of a stray hair so it rests on behind my ear.
"Yumi, do not be ashamed," Shishio says gently, seductively as he draws me closer to him and whispers teasingly into my ear, " You are the wisest woman I know. You saw what I saw in the battousi's eyes, you saw that same look of defiance. Even Houji failed to see that." My heart races, as I bury my head in his awaiting chest and say quietly,
" I am weak, I doubt not in your strength, but doubt in your ability to handle the Battousi in.fifteen minutes." Weakly I resist Shishio's insistent hand on the nape of my neck, the small struggle is over and finally I meet his eyes, but I am unable to hide my shame. Shishio smiles at me, he looks amused at my fear, and jokes,
"You are a woman, it is only natural," I smile weakly, for I am used to his sarcasm, but then he soothes me, as he gazes into my eyes never wavering his glance, "Yumi, you may watch the time tomorrow, and.." Suddenly he stops; I am far too anxious and blurt out,
"Yes?" He glares at me momentarily then his eyes loose their malice as he draws my face toward his, gently cupping my chin with one hand, and wraps the other sensuously around my waist.
"You may intercede. if you think I am in danger." He says hesitantly. In that line Shishio gives me power over him, and gives me judgment power. A small smile graces my lips, ready for what is coming, the inevitable kiss. Oh, how I've wanted this, and hungrily longed for his overabundant affection.
Finally it comes, and Shishio passionately claims my lips. I am drawn, happily into his strong embrace; perfectly content for knowing that I am loved gives me all the strength I'll ever need.
~Yumi's P.O.V~
From my rice mat the latticed window, with sheer curtains covering the glass, fails to block out the starlight. For with my eyes, clouded by confusion, I can still trace the faint area of light created by each celestial being. This gives me some comfort, but does not set my troubled soul at ease. My soul is forever turbulent; as long as can remember it has never seen true solace. Some element of my life has remained out of place, and unknown to my soul. Such privation of peace hurts, but can be overcome by simple discipline. That is one of the many lessons Lord Shishio has taught me, and through my tragedies I have learned.
Tonight, it seems, no matter how hard I try, sleep will not come. I am too worried to rest, to even shut my eyes. I feel as if any minute Shishio, my beloved Shishio, will disappear from my life, like everything else has. For tomorrow, I know not what will come, will impending doom be spelled, or will Shishio prevail over Himura? I roll over stiffly in between the silk sheets, and my eyes trace the patterns on the ceiling. They contain so many paths and intricacies, which make me dizzy upon lengthy examination. Although I have near memorized them, as any diligent student would memorize Kanji, I fail to break the code that lies within them.
I shift uncomfortably in my sheets again that night, frustration builds within me, and I feel it can barely be contained. But through some strength, I hold in that anxiety and frustration, and manage to suppress it with a heavily-heaved sigh. My eyes examine the stars yonder the window. Suddenly a realization strikes me, these stars clarity give me more than just mere comfort, they give me faith that Shishio will not fall to Himura, and that the fates, as cruel as they are, will never take him away from me.
Another uncomfortable shift finally convinces me that my tired body will not be helped by worried sleep. I gently push aside my silken sheets and rise from my rice mat. The flawless full moon gives the lavish bedroom an eerie glow. Haunting shadows appear on the walls with gold inlay laced on the crown moldings. I bend down and lift the silk cherry-blossom yukata from the deep crimson sheets covering the rice mat and wrap the fine red silk around my slim body. While I glide to my vanity I prepare a match and light the ornate oil lamp that sheds a small amount of light upon the large room. A gleam, a brief shimmer of gold and glass catches my observant eyes as the light of the oil lamp reflects off of a present given to me by Houji from his travels in the west.
He explained the bizarre object to me as a smaller kind of telescope that you could hold in your hand and still see the stars clearly. Perhaps this small mechanism would ease my troubled soul; perhaps I will employ it to examine the stars on this clear night.
Out on the balcony I stand, drawing the light Yukata close to my body, attempting to keep warm. An eyelid while the other peers through the hand- held telescope covers one eye, and I examine the night sky with no real scrutiny. My eye settles on one fading star. It glimmers unsurely, dimly in the southern sky; on and off it flickers, trying so hard to make itself known under the light of the full moon.
I can relate to this dwindling star, I am potent enough to be noticed in a vast sky of many, but not potent enough to exist equally with the man I adore the most. Who am I kidding, no one can ever be seen when next to my Shishio-sama's encompassing strength, darkness, and intelligence. Not even Houji, who through his meticulous management we are millionaires, and least of all me, a dignified whore until I met Shishio-sama.
Then my eye spots a star shining brightly, a star that is not hidden by the bright moon, not in awe of its strength in the northern sky, that star causes great unrest in my soul. I was never a superstitious or religious woman, I was never what my mother or father called samurai. I had no concept of bushido, as they did. But no one had the concept of bushido; it had fallen, to my innermost remorse. Yet in that star I saw that one man, the Battousi, though he was smaller, he had no fear when he looked defiantly into Shishio-sama's eyes. Perhaps it was just I, but I felt that Shishio was not going to win this battle by default. Everyone else around me saw Shishio winning this small contest tomorrow with ease, but I did not, because I am a woman, and because, as so many in my generation, am not samurai. My feelings of love weakened me. If I were stronger I would not be worried, but I am weak because I worry. I remember once I was Samurai, but I was broken and also discovered I was weak.
"Yumi," Shishio-sama asks me in a strangely gentle voice that takes my guard off. I gently wipe tears of regret off of my cheeks and turn around to face Shishio-Sama, "Why do you cry?" he asks me. Inside I am sent into a panic, do I admit my doubts and show Shishio-sama my weakness. I cast my eyes down and look nervously at my feet until I can muster up the courage to say what I mean to say to him. To say, I am worried the Battousi may claim your life and steal you away from me!
I do not say a word; I just keep my eye to the ground, for once Shishio- sama, claim my lips! Do not make me explain myself! My own thoughts shame me. I hear the soft click of Shishio-sama's boots come toward me; he gently cups my chin and forces my eyes to meet his. I am sure he has seen my pain, my weakness. Instead of being cold and standoffish, he wraps his strong arms around me and allows me to cry, just this once, on his purple kimono.
After I have finished crying, he says compassionately,
"What troubles you?" Perhaps it was the compassion and love that dwelled in his voice, or my reinforced bravery, but whatever it was it gave me the strength to say,
"I am afraid-" I begin, then after a deep breath reaffirm, "-that the Battousi's sword will steal you away me forever!" I latch onto his neck as hard as I can, unwilling to see the disgust on his face. To my surprise he holds onto me tighter, taken aback I leave his embrace and ask, bewildered,
"You are not ashamed of my weakness?" Shishio-sama smiles gently, reminding me of another time when a man smiled to me gently and took my innocence at the same time.
~ Kyoto, 1864~
There I stood happily in the ornate hall, my socked feet growing cold on the smooth wood floor. Regardless of the joy rushing through my veins at the prospect of being bestowed the honor of Geisha's, my heart failed to be so thoroughly convinced that this was indeed the truth: that I was to become a geisha. For purposes he would not display to the light or ring in one's ear, Damasu-sama has not passed a geisha's honor into my hands.
Wistfully, I set my gaze to the frosted and icy window from the snow's bite. The winding and whimsical ice crystals gracefully danced from the clouded sky above and silently fell, clinging to the cold glass of the windows. To me, the crystals seemed like real dancers, their motions so fine, and their beauty unmatched.
"Yumi-chan?"
I jumped slightly at the Madame's soft voice. "Hai? Nan desu ka, Madame- san?"
"I believe this belongs to you, Yumi-chan," said she emotionless but still unable to hide a smile. From behind her back she pulled a geisha's kimono and gently placed the fine silk robe in my pale delicate arms. The kimono flowed through my fingers with water's grace and delicacy. Pale blue and lavender hues melted together so perfectly, and in shining silver thread, sakura blossoms waltzed along the grooves of fabric. It had the beauty of even the dancers in the skies and the dancers upon the earth.
I cradled the fine silk in my arms, it was the only way I could protect what I had earned through my difficult years of training. Tears, not of grief or sadness, but of joy, brimmed my eyes. I gently set the delicate robe on a side table in the hallway and threw my arms around the Madame in a deep embrace.
"Madame-san, arigatou gozaimasu!" I said, pulling away from the heartening embrace of the woman who had over the years become my mother. A smile danced upon my red lips, as I lifted the kimono from the table and again cradled it.
I was surprised to feel a small tug and released my grasp on it though I wanted to fight for it with all my heart, to tug on the fine silk and claim what was rightfully mine. I looked once more into the trusting eyes of Damasu Kizoku.
"Damasu-sama?" I asked with a whisper, my voice had become horse and wayward, lost in sudden misery and considerable shock. His eyes danced with amusement, his eyes danced at my sudden torment, as if he were enjoying my moment of confusion. Nay, his eyes were not amused, but filled with lustful desire. Those eyes were directed toward me, they bore into me and were no longer kind, but systematically cruel and calculative toward every voluptuous curve on my blessed body.
"Madame," he scolded softly with a chuckle, "this was not yet to be relinquished into her care." Then he handed the object of my desire, the fine silk kimono to the Madame who accepted the ornate robe with reluctance painted on her face.
The Madame sighed and rolled her dark eyes. "Hai, Damasu-san...." She turned on her heel, with a bow, and walked down the hallway. Discreetly she turned her head and I saw her gaze at me with sorrowful compassion, perhaps I would receive this later.
In turn, Damasu-sama followed Madame down the hall, a thin smile upon his face and the kimono in his arms. It seems it is always winter here. I continued to look upon the ballet of the snowflakes, raging outside the window.
Sighing, I traced the difficult patterns in my mind, and fought back tears of grief and sadness that would cloud my vision of the icy ball outside the windows of the teahouse.
It was just fifteen minutes later, and I still sat despondent in the hallway, awaiting, I thought in vain, an explanation to my sudden demoting. The snowflakes continued to bedazzle my tear-filled eyes, in their now fast paced tango. Then I heard the door being slid open and saw Damasu-sama, and Madame walking into the hall from the reflection in the glass. That day I only heard bits of their conversation, but it was small chat. I had determined I would not receive an answer, and would not. Then Damasu-sama sent me a suddenly kind glance, and hope revived again within me as I walked towards him and asked,
"Why can I not be called Geisha?" Damasu-sama, raised his hand to my shoulder, as he said,
"This, my child, needs to be discussed in a location more private," Suddenly, he turned to Madame, and asked if we could use a room momentarily. She sent him a questioning glare I did not know how to analyze but then slid open a door, and I followed Damasu-Sama into the small room.
It was then that we stood in the small, paper-walled room, and he began his compelling speech,
"Yumi-chan, you are so young, just a girl of fifteen. It would be wise for you to wait till you are perhaps older, more mature. You know very well the strict rules of Geisha, would you be able to withstand the insistence of a paying customer to break those rules. I am a main supporter of this tea house in Kyoto, and I have to think of my business and influence in the newly-established government." I was taken aback, and said, almost defensively,
"But, in older times young ladies of my age were married, Damasu-Sama! I am no longer a girl!" Then, I noticed something, a flash in his grin, a smolder in his soulless eyes, as he hungrily eyed my figure, as if it were his to own.
Damasu-Sama politely told me to sit down, apparently there was more to hear, but he surprised me and sat down beside me, cooing seductively,
"Indeed, Yumi-san, you are no longer a girl, in fact you have grown to be a fine looking woman, much like your mother before she passed." I blushed at the compliment, and was taken slightly off guard, not thinking much of what he said, for his kindness helped my mind wander from the loss of my geisha kimono.
I thanked him quietly, and asked why is he so afraid to let me become what I was destined to be. Suddenly, the glint in his eye grew, and the smolder in his eyes turned into a flame, as he scooted closer yet, and brushed away a tear that had long crystallized on my cheek, and kissed the spot his finger had just brushed.
I stood quickly, and grew very afraid. Damasu-Sama demanded,
"Why are you afraid? Do you think I saved you from the streets because I am kind! You owe me something for that effort and it is time you pay me back Yumi!" Rage, and long withheld desire had taken him, I backed towards the bed, just seeking to get away from the demon he had become. As soon as my ankle hit the rice mat, I fell onto the bed, and now I feared for what was to become of me.
Damasu-Sama loomed treacherously above, and just as treacherously, lowered himself onto me, one of his legs resting in between both of my legs. He claimed my lips in a violent kiss, guiding my head and telling me, in my inexperience what to do with one hand. While he loosened my obi with the other, it was that time I can never forget, even though I wish it to be forgotten.
~Present day~
"Yumi," a distant voice calls out to me, as I stood on the balcony, underneath the bright stars, recalling cold memories of a sad time. The voice appears as foggy as a swamp when the mists are blindly covering its mucky contents.
"Yumi," the same distant voice says, but now it grows closer as my violent remembrance, and the momentary spell it cast on me is broken.
'I know this voice, it is the voice of my beloved Shishio-Sama.' As soon as that thought graces my mind, I am out of the past and look lovingly at my lover cooing my name. His demonic, red eyes reflect a kindness I only know. There in those eyes, lies many traits, his power is seen easily, his bravery most certainly unmatched, then there is the kindness and regard he bears toward me that he does not display to anyone else, not even Soujiro. Lightly his gloved hand strokes my cheek. I relish in this touch, and tremble in impatient anticipation for what is to come. He gently wipes a tear from my cheek and kindly strokes my cheek, perfecting the location of a stray hair so it rests on behind my ear.
"Yumi, do not be ashamed," Shishio says gently, seductively as he draws me closer to him and whispers teasingly into my ear, " You are the wisest woman I know. You saw what I saw in the battousi's eyes, you saw that same look of defiance. Even Houji failed to see that." My heart races, as I bury my head in his awaiting chest and say quietly,
" I am weak, I doubt not in your strength, but doubt in your ability to handle the Battousi in.fifteen minutes." Weakly I resist Shishio's insistent hand on the nape of my neck, the small struggle is over and finally I meet his eyes, but I am unable to hide my shame. Shishio smiles at me, he looks amused at my fear, and jokes,
"You are a woman, it is only natural," I smile weakly, for I am used to his sarcasm, but then he soothes me, as he gazes into my eyes never wavering his glance, "Yumi, you may watch the time tomorrow, and.." Suddenly he stops; I am far too anxious and blurt out,
"Yes?" He glares at me momentarily then his eyes loose their malice as he draws my face toward his, gently cupping my chin with one hand, and wraps the other sensuously around my waist.
"You may intercede. if you think I am in danger." He says hesitantly. In that line Shishio gives me power over him, and gives me judgment power. A small smile graces my lips, ready for what is coming, the inevitable kiss. Oh, how I've wanted this, and hungrily longed for his overabundant affection.
Finally it comes, and Shishio passionately claims my lips. I am drawn, happily into his strong embrace; perfectly content for knowing that I am loved gives me all the strength I'll ever need.
