Last time:
"Please, do not make this harder for me. I love you, my prince. Goodnight."
"G-Goodnight," he whispered solemnly as the door closed before him. If only there were something he could do. But he knew there was nothing and so, with a heavy sigh, he retreated back to the banquet hall to take his leave of the king and queen so he could go home and wallow in his own sorrow. When had their lives become so complicated?
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
In the week before the grand wedding ceremony, last minute invitations were sent out with the fastest and most reliable of messengers—those who the king and queen paid off more than generously. The banquet hall was off limits to any servant not aiding with the decorations, and those whose curiosity got the better of them were immediately fired without explanation. Across the city, in the grandest of churches, hired men and women worked tirelessly to prepare it for the wedding of the decade—their princess was leaving them, and everyone was both joyous and mournful. She was the only princess in their history who was loved so dearly by her people; her kindness was known in innumerably kingdoms; she was a princess for the people.
Aneko, in keeping with tradition, was by Bulma's side every waking moment. Her lessons switched from calligraphy and customary womanly instruction, to the all-important training to be a wife and queen. Though she was not to be a queen for some time, until the passing of King Frieza, her duties should be well blended with her manner and ready at hand at any moment. Needless to say, Aneko was in for a rough week.
"This is preposterous!" Bulma snapped, throwing her utensils down and crossing her arms. "I am no more fit to be a wife than I am a mule! This marriage will not work, I cannot do it!"
"You know right well you are the only woman likeable to a man such as Yukio Ouji!" Aneko shot back, gathering up the disposed utensils. She shoved them almost painfully back into Bulma's hand. "You can marry this man, and you will, and you will be the most cherished queen the Cold Empire has ever seen."
"But why am I the only first-rate bride? I despise this man and all he stands for."
"You, my sweet," Aneko said, leaning in, a wry smile on her lips, "are the only woman bold enough to take a stand with him, with any man or ranking royal. You are his missing piece, the key to his soul. You are fiery, and that is why he wants you."
"He wants a disobedient wife?" she laughed, not believing her maid's words for a moment.
"Indeed, child, that is the very thing he desires, and he has found it in you."
"It makes not one ounce of sense. I do not believe you, and I am done with these lessons for now. I starve."
"Of course you do," Aneko laughed. "You have not eaten at all today. Come. Your last week here, I will give you a treat."
"A treat?" Bulma's face beamed. "You mean—?"
"Yes, yes. Now come, before your mother catches wind. She has ears like a cat, you know."
"A cat? More like the devil, mistress."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Bulma held her stomach almost tenderly as she and Aneko exited the kitchen, her face glowing. In all her years at the palace, she had never been aloud near the kitchen, or any of the other servant-only areas. Ladies should never get close to having their hands dirty. She had been lucky when the king and queen agreed to let her train.
"I ate more than my stomach can hold," Bulma laughed, her face twisting into a look of mild pain. "I must lie down."
"You enjoyed my gift then?" Aneko asked, almost nervously. As a servant, she made only enough money to help support her family; there was no extra money.
"I could ask for nothing more."
Aneko smiled warmly. Bulma had always been her savior.
"You know you have tea scheduled with Prince Yukio?"
"Kuso!" Bulma swore, shaking her head. She'd completely forgotten about that in her excitement.
"Nyoko, dear, cursing is a point we have gone over. A lady—"
"A lady must never curse, whether she be in the company of others or not," she mocked. "Nyoko. I despise that you must call me that name."
"Outside your chambers it is the only name you can know. I am sorry for that, but keeping your secret is crucial to the survival of this kingdom and the kingdom of your fiancé."
"When is my tea time?" Bulma sighed. The last thing she wanted to do her last week there was argue with her beloved maid; chances were they would never lay eyes on each other again.
"Very soon, child. Come. We must prepare you. You cannot be presented to him this way."
"And what is so terrible about the way I am?"
"Do you wish to make your life painless?" Aneko warned. Of course she didn't mean pain in the physical sense. Bulma nodded slowly, her head hung just a little lower. "Then do as I say and you may still find happiness in your life."
"Happiness, mama?" Bulma asked sadly. "I fear I shall never know that feeling. I entertain myself with the idea I was once happy, in that life I cannot remember."
"You are about to be in the most powerful position a woman can have," Aneko said, almost excitedly, though she kept her voice low so not to rouse suspicion. "You are adored by your people for your kindness, a trait your true parents passed on to you. You will make your new people happy as well, and, in giving them that happiness, you can find some measurement of it yourself…I wish there was more I could offer you. But for royalty…there is no love."
"I know," Bulma sighed, taking her maid's hand. "I know…I only wish I could have felt it once."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Vegeta sat rigidly in a high-backed chair at a fashionable tea table in the south garden. His hands lay crossed in his lap, his eyes downcast and unseeing. For an hour he had been sitting in the exact same way, having come to their meeting place early. He was in desperate need of these moments alone. He did not know how he could endure this wedding. She was Bulma! She had to know who he was, have some sense of familiarity when she looked into his eyes. Though, now that he thought about it, he could not recall a time since their first meeting two days before that she aloud herself to look at him straight on.
"She must know," he whispered to himself, ears perking as he heard footfalls on the stone walk. He turned slowly and stood when he saw it was Bulma, decked out in her finest, her lips playing a half-smile half-frown. "Milady," he said, taking her head and leading her to her seat.
"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice soft and low. Could she ever know how truly beautiful she was? He despised the make-up she was forced to wear. Even as a child, he had seen that unmarred beauty. He longed to touch her clean, supple face. Quickly, he reminded himself that his time for such things would come on their wedding night in five days. Five days was all he had to wait, and then she was his forever.
But at what price?
"It is a lovely afternoon for tea. I'm so glad your arranged for this," Bulma said when her fiancé would say nothing.
"All common wedding business," he said, unable to look her in the eye. All he could think was: Bulma! Bulma! Bulma! Her black wig looked all wrong. "This tea has been waiting since we were born."
"Very well. What shall we discuss then? I know very little about your kingdom."
"The less you know, the happier our lives shall be."
Bulma wrinkled her nose in annoyance. He was playing with her, as if she were a pull toy—a wooden horse with wheels and a string—trying to make her mimic the movements he desired.
"I must confess a deadly truth then," she whispered as she leaned in. Her tea and cakes were untouched.
"A secret you have from me?" he inquired. She was unlike any other lady he had encountered. If his past women had kept secrets, he was completely unaware; they were supposed to be experts at hiding such things. He suspected the world of women was a world of secrets, a place no man would ever understand. Did they hold secret meetings and discuss things no man could know? He laughed silently at the thought. He could never see Bulma at such a gathering.
"A secret I should have from the world." Vegeta's form stiffened. She was going to tell him that she trained, that she had not stopped training since she was that beautiful young girl, her spirit still on fire inside as he remembered; this woman before him was a mere shadow of that Bulma. She was more Nyoko Sasaki than he realized, a woman neither had known. "May I breech tradition and tell you?"
"Tradition?" he wondered aloud. What did she mean?
"You know as well as I do that women are secretive from men. We know all your secrets as well."
"So you do play the game. And here I suspected you were someone spectacular." He smirked, setting a hand on the table only inches from Bulma's. Just a little contact; this charade was insufferable.
"My queen was adamant about such things. I have no desire for secrets and games. Only those I must keep for my safety and the safety of my family. But you have those secrets as well."
"Very well, lady," he said, forcing his voice to sound agitated. She must never catch wind of his trepidation. The act was not over yet; the players were still in motion, curtain raised, and the audience was thirsty for more.
"My secret, my lord, is hidden deep in my heart." She grabbed his wrist suddenly, startling him, and placed his hand on her chest; he could feel her heart beating strong beneath the skin. This was most unladylike behavior. He imaged her parents and his face gasping and fainting at the sight of them being so untraditional in the garden; the tea was cold and untouched on both side of the table. "I do not wish to be a royal. I do not wish for riches and balls and great ceremonies in celebration of things I never cared to mind." Her eyes shifted abruptly, and, for the first time, she looked directly, deliberately, into his eyes. He felt his blood quicken. "Forgive me, sir, but I do not wish to marry either. To be poor and independent. To be a maid like my Aneko. To get my hands dirty and calloused, working for my food and clothing. For a real life, I would give all I have. For love," her voice lowered to a shaky whisper, "I would give my life."
He didn't notice when she stopped speaking, until she sat back and his hand fell hard on the table. He straightened himself up and frowned. Inside, however, he wanted nothing more than to grab her small waist and kiss her passionately. For those few moments he'd seen the old Bulma, the girl of the past, and his soul ached for her once more.
"But," she said, her voice returning to normal, "I am guaranteed to have none of those things. I must conceive of a realistic way in which to obtain my happiness."
"Your life here does not make you happy?" Vegeta asked, picking up his tea before he could stop himself. It was dreadfully cold.
"Does your life in your kingdom give you happiness, my lord? Or do you feel a pit of charred black emptiness in your soul? One that you cannot fill, no matter what you try?"
"You, milady," he said sternly, "are the most unnatural and ill-mannered lady I have ever had the displeasure of courting. When would a question such as that be appropriate for a woman to ask a man?"
"Is that where I must cross the line for who I am, my prince?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side. Her maid had affixed her wig perfectly; not a blue hair in sight. "Must I be forced to hide my true self so you can sleep well at night in knowing that you have a tedious and obedient wife? For a moment I thought I may come to enjoy living at your palace…I was terribly wrong."
"You are terrible, and that is all," Vegeta sighed. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. For a second he thought she might refuse the gesture, but then she smiled and he nearly burst. It was a true smile, Bulma's smile, and he wanted to take it into himself, for he predicted her smiles would be few and far between, the same as his own.
"Then I still have my chance at some happiness?"
"You, milady, shall live in a reservoir of chances."
Her smile widened ever so slightly and she nodded. For now she could accept that.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The wedding ceremony went as expected, with little or no mishaps; a grand array of the most expensive decorations; a dull and lifeless display of riches. Bulma had to stop herself from yawning. It was beautiful, yes, but never had she been more bored in her life.
It was at the gala afterwards that she would be free to enjoy herself, though she wonder how much with her mother's eye on her, and the restraints of a new husband.
"Husband," she thought aloud as Aneko redressed her for the gala. Her wedding dress was too gorgeous to be worn to a party; it would never again be worn by anyone but a mannequin in Bulma's closet. If it were up to her, the dress would be given away. She didn't want a reminder of this day, the day she lost her freedom.
"What was that?" Aneko asked. She pulled Bulma's hair from her eyes and gave her a motherly kiss on the cheek. As far as Bulma was concern, she was her mother. With a deep breath, she forced tears back. Aneko would be too heartbroken if she saw her cry.
"Nothing, ma'am," she sighed. "I was only thinking out loud."
"I wish I could dress up your natural hair." Bulma turned to face her, surprised by her words. For eight years she'd been adamant with the wig. "Yes?"
"But I thought you loved my wig," she teased, knowing the opposite was true.
"Oh, bite your tongue, princess," Aneko huffed, turning her gently back around. "I must make you look presentable for the gala. Kami forbid a single hair is out of place."
"Kami forbid," Bulma laughed softly. It was just like her maid to get herself worked up over the most useless and unchangeable things. But she supposed that was a trait she loved, and would miss, about her beloved pseudo mother. If only ladies weren't supposed to grow up so fast.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Eizo held Bulma firmly in her chamber as she cried into his arms. He had come in just as Aneko had finished preparing her, and in his hand he held a letter addressed to Bulma from her brother; she had been crying ever since.
My Dearest Bulma,
In having found out your true identity, and being struck with it at such force and suddenness, I have given myself some distance from you, my supposed sister, in an attempt to collect my thoughts. On that day and to this day, I have thought for many hours, my brain swelling and aching as only emotional pain can do. It wounds me to no end that you did not trust me, your brother, your friend, enough to tell me your deepest secrets. I had been under the impression for too long that the world was a mostly generous and loving place—your masquerade proved my lighthearted theories wrong and now my soul is in a perpetual state of grief. I mourn for my lost sister. She has been laid in the ground some eight years and without proper prayer from her brother, her true brother.
Regretfully, I have decided that the world is not worth the pain it causes those who deserve none. I sit at my writing desk, where I have not sat in some years, and write you, and only you, this my final correspondence. My heart is heavy and in my head are thoughts so vile and unnatural I feel ill. I cannot endure in this state a moment longer. Forgive me for being a coward and hiding behind the mask of parchment and ink—but somehow I know you will understand the necessity of my clandestine behavior.
Whoever you are, Bulma of a lost empire, I do love you still. Do not blame yourself for my injustices to myself. These are my choices alone and I will not have your heart weighed down by them. You are meant to have a full and fruitful life; your children will carry on your legacy and flourish as you shall. I have no doubts of your future happiness, especially with this new husband of yours. He seems the perfect match for my devious older sister. I mean nothing ill by my letter; I only wish for you to know that you were the last person I thought of. Not mother. Not father. Not even my fair Juri, who could never understand—I love her now as I have always loved her, and I hope that she will find a husband worthy of her love. It is you, dear sister, who are in my final thoughts. I thank you for the time we shared. I pray you will never forget your hellish younger brother.
With Love and Devotion,
Your Cherished Brother,
Tadao
"Take me to him," Bulma whispered as she lifted her head, her cheeks stained with invisible tears.
"Bulma, I strongly advise—"
"I will find his body with or without your assistance, Eizo!" she snapped. "Take me to him now."
Eizo nodded sadly and took Bulma's hand. There was no doubt in his mind that she would never forget the sight. He never would…
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
---Chapter 5!!! Holy Kami! That was unexpected! I just thought of that last part like 5 minutes before writing it. That was completely unplanned, but I like it. More drama! Muhahaha!
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)
Next time: Bulma and Vegeta get settled in the Cold Empire. How will her grief for her brother effect their lives?—Find out!
"Please, do not make this harder for me. I love you, my prince. Goodnight."
"G-Goodnight," he whispered solemnly as the door closed before him. If only there were something he could do. But he knew there was nothing and so, with a heavy sigh, he retreated back to the banquet hall to take his leave of the king and queen so he could go home and wallow in his own sorrow. When had their lives become so complicated?
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
In the week before the grand wedding ceremony, last minute invitations were sent out with the fastest and most reliable of messengers—those who the king and queen paid off more than generously. The banquet hall was off limits to any servant not aiding with the decorations, and those whose curiosity got the better of them were immediately fired without explanation. Across the city, in the grandest of churches, hired men and women worked tirelessly to prepare it for the wedding of the decade—their princess was leaving them, and everyone was both joyous and mournful. She was the only princess in their history who was loved so dearly by her people; her kindness was known in innumerably kingdoms; she was a princess for the people.
Aneko, in keeping with tradition, was by Bulma's side every waking moment. Her lessons switched from calligraphy and customary womanly instruction, to the all-important training to be a wife and queen. Though she was not to be a queen for some time, until the passing of King Frieza, her duties should be well blended with her manner and ready at hand at any moment. Needless to say, Aneko was in for a rough week.
"This is preposterous!" Bulma snapped, throwing her utensils down and crossing her arms. "I am no more fit to be a wife than I am a mule! This marriage will not work, I cannot do it!"
"You know right well you are the only woman likeable to a man such as Yukio Ouji!" Aneko shot back, gathering up the disposed utensils. She shoved them almost painfully back into Bulma's hand. "You can marry this man, and you will, and you will be the most cherished queen the Cold Empire has ever seen."
"But why am I the only first-rate bride? I despise this man and all he stands for."
"You, my sweet," Aneko said, leaning in, a wry smile on her lips, "are the only woman bold enough to take a stand with him, with any man or ranking royal. You are his missing piece, the key to his soul. You are fiery, and that is why he wants you."
"He wants a disobedient wife?" she laughed, not believing her maid's words for a moment.
"Indeed, child, that is the very thing he desires, and he has found it in you."
"It makes not one ounce of sense. I do not believe you, and I am done with these lessons for now. I starve."
"Of course you do," Aneko laughed. "You have not eaten at all today. Come. Your last week here, I will give you a treat."
"A treat?" Bulma's face beamed. "You mean—?"
"Yes, yes. Now come, before your mother catches wind. She has ears like a cat, you know."
"A cat? More like the devil, mistress."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Bulma held her stomach almost tenderly as she and Aneko exited the kitchen, her face glowing. In all her years at the palace, she had never been aloud near the kitchen, or any of the other servant-only areas. Ladies should never get close to having their hands dirty. She had been lucky when the king and queen agreed to let her train.
"I ate more than my stomach can hold," Bulma laughed, her face twisting into a look of mild pain. "I must lie down."
"You enjoyed my gift then?" Aneko asked, almost nervously. As a servant, she made only enough money to help support her family; there was no extra money.
"I could ask for nothing more."
Aneko smiled warmly. Bulma had always been her savior.
"You know you have tea scheduled with Prince Yukio?"
"Kuso!" Bulma swore, shaking her head. She'd completely forgotten about that in her excitement.
"Nyoko, dear, cursing is a point we have gone over. A lady—"
"A lady must never curse, whether she be in the company of others or not," she mocked. "Nyoko. I despise that you must call me that name."
"Outside your chambers it is the only name you can know. I am sorry for that, but keeping your secret is crucial to the survival of this kingdom and the kingdom of your fiancé."
"When is my tea time?" Bulma sighed. The last thing she wanted to do her last week there was argue with her beloved maid; chances were they would never lay eyes on each other again.
"Very soon, child. Come. We must prepare you. You cannot be presented to him this way."
"And what is so terrible about the way I am?"
"Do you wish to make your life painless?" Aneko warned. Of course she didn't mean pain in the physical sense. Bulma nodded slowly, her head hung just a little lower. "Then do as I say and you may still find happiness in your life."
"Happiness, mama?" Bulma asked sadly. "I fear I shall never know that feeling. I entertain myself with the idea I was once happy, in that life I cannot remember."
"You are about to be in the most powerful position a woman can have," Aneko said, almost excitedly, though she kept her voice low so not to rouse suspicion. "You are adored by your people for your kindness, a trait your true parents passed on to you. You will make your new people happy as well, and, in giving them that happiness, you can find some measurement of it yourself…I wish there was more I could offer you. But for royalty…there is no love."
"I know," Bulma sighed, taking her maid's hand. "I know…I only wish I could have felt it once."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Vegeta sat rigidly in a high-backed chair at a fashionable tea table in the south garden. His hands lay crossed in his lap, his eyes downcast and unseeing. For an hour he had been sitting in the exact same way, having come to their meeting place early. He was in desperate need of these moments alone. He did not know how he could endure this wedding. She was Bulma! She had to know who he was, have some sense of familiarity when she looked into his eyes. Though, now that he thought about it, he could not recall a time since their first meeting two days before that she aloud herself to look at him straight on.
"She must know," he whispered to himself, ears perking as he heard footfalls on the stone walk. He turned slowly and stood when he saw it was Bulma, decked out in her finest, her lips playing a half-smile half-frown. "Milady," he said, taking her head and leading her to her seat.
"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice soft and low. Could she ever know how truly beautiful she was? He despised the make-up she was forced to wear. Even as a child, he had seen that unmarred beauty. He longed to touch her clean, supple face. Quickly, he reminded himself that his time for such things would come on their wedding night in five days. Five days was all he had to wait, and then she was his forever.
But at what price?
"It is a lovely afternoon for tea. I'm so glad your arranged for this," Bulma said when her fiancé would say nothing.
"All common wedding business," he said, unable to look her in the eye. All he could think was: Bulma! Bulma! Bulma! Her black wig looked all wrong. "This tea has been waiting since we were born."
"Very well. What shall we discuss then? I know very little about your kingdom."
"The less you know, the happier our lives shall be."
Bulma wrinkled her nose in annoyance. He was playing with her, as if she were a pull toy—a wooden horse with wheels and a string—trying to make her mimic the movements he desired.
"I must confess a deadly truth then," she whispered as she leaned in. Her tea and cakes were untouched.
"A secret you have from me?" he inquired. She was unlike any other lady he had encountered. If his past women had kept secrets, he was completely unaware; they were supposed to be experts at hiding such things. He suspected the world of women was a world of secrets, a place no man would ever understand. Did they hold secret meetings and discuss things no man could know? He laughed silently at the thought. He could never see Bulma at such a gathering.
"A secret I should have from the world." Vegeta's form stiffened. She was going to tell him that she trained, that she had not stopped training since she was that beautiful young girl, her spirit still on fire inside as he remembered; this woman before him was a mere shadow of that Bulma. She was more Nyoko Sasaki than he realized, a woman neither had known. "May I breech tradition and tell you?"
"Tradition?" he wondered aloud. What did she mean?
"You know as well as I do that women are secretive from men. We know all your secrets as well."
"So you do play the game. And here I suspected you were someone spectacular." He smirked, setting a hand on the table only inches from Bulma's. Just a little contact; this charade was insufferable.
"My queen was adamant about such things. I have no desire for secrets and games. Only those I must keep for my safety and the safety of my family. But you have those secrets as well."
"Very well, lady," he said, forcing his voice to sound agitated. She must never catch wind of his trepidation. The act was not over yet; the players were still in motion, curtain raised, and the audience was thirsty for more.
"My secret, my lord, is hidden deep in my heart." She grabbed his wrist suddenly, startling him, and placed his hand on her chest; he could feel her heart beating strong beneath the skin. This was most unladylike behavior. He imaged her parents and his face gasping and fainting at the sight of them being so untraditional in the garden; the tea was cold and untouched on both side of the table. "I do not wish to be a royal. I do not wish for riches and balls and great ceremonies in celebration of things I never cared to mind." Her eyes shifted abruptly, and, for the first time, she looked directly, deliberately, into his eyes. He felt his blood quicken. "Forgive me, sir, but I do not wish to marry either. To be poor and independent. To be a maid like my Aneko. To get my hands dirty and calloused, working for my food and clothing. For a real life, I would give all I have. For love," her voice lowered to a shaky whisper, "I would give my life."
He didn't notice when she stopped speaking, until she sat back and his hand fell hard on the table. He straightened himself up and frowned. Inside, however, he wanted nothing more than to grab her small waist and kiss her passionately. For those few moments he'd seen the old Bulma, the girl of the past, and his soul ached for her once more.
"But," she said, her voice returning to normal, "I am guaranteed to have none of those things. I must conceive of a realistic way in which to obtain my happiness."
"Your life here does not make you happy?" Vegeta asked, picking up his tea before he could stop himself. It was dreadfully cold.
"Does your life in your kingdom give you happiness, my lord? Or do you feel a pit of charred black emptiness in your soul? One that you cannot fill, no matter what you try?"
"You, milady," he said sternly, "are the most unnatural and ill-mannered lady I have ever had the displeasure of courting. When would a question such as that be appropriate for a woman to ask a man?"
"Is that where I must cross the line for who I am, my prince?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side. Her maid had affixed her wig perfectly; not a blue hair in sight. "Must I be forced to hide my true self so you can sleep well at night in knowing that you have a tedious and obedient wife? For a moment I thought I may come to enjoy living at your palace…I was terribly wrong."
"You are terrible, and that is all," Vegeta sighed. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. For a second he thought she might refuse the gesture, but then she smiled and he nearly burst. It was a true smile, Bulma's smile, and he wanted to take it into himself, for he predicted her smiles would be few and far between, the same as his own.
"Then I still have my chance at some happiness?"
"You, milady, shall live in a reservoir of chances."
Her smile widened ever so slightly and she nodded. For now she could accept that.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The wedding ceremony went as expected, with little or no mishaps; a grand array of the most expensive decorations; a dull and lifeless display of riches. Bulma had to stop herself from yawning. It was beautiful, yes, but never had she been more bored in her life.
It was at the gala afterwards that she would be free to enjoy herself, though she wonder how much with her mother's eye on her, and the restraints of a new husband.
"Husband," she thought aloud as Aneko redressed her for the gala. Her wedding dress was too gorgeous to be worn to a party; it would never again be worn by anyone but a mannequin in Bulma's closet. If it were up to her, the dress would be given away. She didn't want a reminder of this day, the day she lost her freedom.
"What was that?" Aneko asked. She pulled Bulma's hair from her eyes and gave her a motherly kiss on the cheek. As far as Bulma was concern, she was her mother. With a deep breath, she forced tears back. Aneko would be too heartbroken if she saw her cry.
"Nothing, ma'am," she sighed. "I was only thinking out loud."
"I wish I could dress up your natural hair." Bulma turned to face her, surprised by her words. For eight years she'd been adamant with the wig. "Yes?"
"But I thought you loved my wig," she teased, knowing the opposite was true.
"Oh, bite your tongue, princess," Aneko huffed, turning her gently back around. "I must make you look presentable for the gala. Kami forbid a single hair is out of place."
"Kami forbid," Bulma laughed softly. It was just like her maid to get herself worked up over the most useless and unchangeable things. But she supposed that was a trait she loved, and would miss, about her beloved pseudo mother. If only ladies weren't supposed to grow up so fast.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Eizo held Bulma firmly in her chamber as she cried into his arms. He had come in just as Aneko had finished preparing her, and in his hand he held a letter addressed to Bulma from her brother; she had been crying ever since.
My Dearest Bulma,
In having found out your true identity, and being struck with it at such force and suddenness, I have given myself some distance from you, my supposed sister, in an attempt to collect my thoughts. On that day and to this day, I have thought for many hours, my brain swelling and aching as only emotional pain can do. It wounds me to no end that you did not trust me, your brother, your friend, enough to tell me your deepest secrets. I had been under the impression for too long that the world was a mostly generous and loving place—your masquerade proved my lighthearted theories wrong and now my soul is in a perpetual state of grief. I mourn for my lost sister. She has been laid in the ground some eight years and without proper prayer from her brother, her true brother.
Regretfully, I have decided that the world is not worth the pain it causes those who deserve none. I sit at my writing desk, where I have not sat in some years, and write you, and only you, this my final correspondence. My heart is heavy and in my head are thoughts so vile and unnatural I feel ill. I cannot endure in this state a moment longer. Forgive me for being a coward and hiding behind the mask of parchment and ink—but somehow I know you will understand the necessity of my clandestine behavior.
Whoever you are, Bulma of a lost empire, I do love you still. Do not blame yourself for my injustices to myself. These are my choices alone and I will not have your heart weighed down by them. You are meant to have a full and fruitful life; your children will carry on your legacy and flourish as you shall. I have no doubts of your future happiness, especially with this new husband of yours. He seems the perfect match for my devious older sister. I mean nothing ill by my letter; I only wish for you to know that you were the last person I thought of. Not mother. Not father. Not even my fair Juri, who could never understand—I love her now as I have always loved her, and I hope that she will find a husband worthy of her love. It is you, dear sister, who are in my final thoughts. I thank you for the time we shared. I pray you will never forget your hellish younger brother.
With Love and Devotion,
Your Cherished Brother,
Tadao
"Take me to him," Bulma whispered as she lifted her head, her cheeks stained with invisible tears.
"Bulma, I strongly advise—"
"I will find his body with or without your assistance, Eizo!" she snapped. "Take me to him now."
Eizo nodded sadly and took Bulma's hand. There was no doubt in his mind that she would never forget the sight. He never would…
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---Chapter 5!!! Holy Kami! That was unexpected! I just thought of that last part like 5 minutes before writing it. That was completely unplanned, but I like it. More drama! Muhahaha!
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Next time: Bulma and Vegeta get settled in the Cold Empire. How will her grief for her brother effect their lives?—Find out!