Disclaimer: I didn't create Fushigi Yuugi, otherwise I wouldn't be writing fanfics about it anyways.

A/N: So. Here you have a little story. Geiren, an original character, retells the story of her past which is a huge part of the plot. First fic I've ever written, so please give me any type of feedback. Enjoy.

Chapter One

Even after her death, they all say that Mother was asking for it. Any prostitute who gets too selective with her drunken customers is begging for demise to come her way. The commotion over Mother's death was no longer than the two short-lived hours when they ditched her ashes into a mud puddle. At first, they still remembered her name, and then she became known as one of the hundreds of prostitutes who came and went at the small tavern situated just outside of Eiyou.

I was 5 years old at the time. Many say that memories earlier than a child's fifth birthday are temporary, then eventually are forgotten; everyday, I pleaded that mine would be.

Due to Mother's profession, I've concluded that I was one of those children that just came out of the blue or in other words, unwanted and without a father. Mother had a rough pregnancy; high fevers, abdominal pain and chucking up her stomach contents every other morning. Her pimp Plasu, like any pimp with a shred common sense, tried his hardest to convince mother to abandon me after birth just as she had done with her previous child.

I never knew that I had a half-brother until the day I walked in on Mother chatting away with the eldest prostitute. From what I overheard, he too, was an "unexpected" child. Mother kept him until the age of two when his mischievous boy nature started kicking in. With not much of an opinion from Mother, Plasu chucked him into the hands of a passing bandit, who, to my surprise, agreed to keep the wailing child. I later confronted mother about this. She denied his existence and then gave me a good beating. I never asked about him again.

However, Mother, being the kind woman she was, decided to keep me, but of course, strictly on the terms that her infant wouldn't interfere with any "business". I didn't know what "business" meant back then, so I've walked in on her and several men on a few occasions. When she quietly shooed me away and apologized to the balding man, I knew what she was. Most children would be traumatized at the discovery that their single parent fed them on the basis of selling her own body, instead, I observed her because I was sure that I had the same fate.

She was a good whore to say the least; it was no wonder that Plasu refrained from kicking her out when she gave birth to me. She was a strong woman who appeared submissive at times to get what she wanted. Her ability to adapt to any man's preference intrigued me and soon, at the age of 4, I started to learn the fine art of seduction.

Mother would gracefully slide into a man's lap and if he wasn't mesmerized yet, she'd arch her back and give him a good eyeful of her half exposed breasts. She'd whisper things in his ears, dirty things I presume, with that quiet, lingering voice of hers. By now, the man surrenders all forms of consciousness and gives in to the striking woman no matter empty his money bag is: that matter, is for Plasu to deal with.

"Don't…no, Geiren," Mother used to plead. "Don't watch me. I'm not ashamed, for I've repeated this deed over and over again until it has lost all meaning. I don't want the same thing for you."

I'd look up at her with my eyes wide and tell her that I'm sure I was going to stay here just as she did.

She looks down with hurt in her eyes, gives me a strong blow to the cheeks and tells me that she's disappointed. Those were her last words to me.

That night, Mother tiredly served 6 men and went back down to the tavern for a swig of sage. A thunderstorm had erupted outside, so the tavern began to empty out for the night. Mother said her goodnights to Plasu and the many prostitute awaiting slumber.

When the tavern was completely drained of its usual brawling, Mother took out a glass and began to drink. Unaware that I intently watched her from the aging stairs, she finally let herself wander the realms of human emotion. Small tears dripped down her to the table, creating dark blotches. I have never seen Mother like this.

With a thud of the tavern door, Mother quickly composed herself.

Four dripping wet men stood before her dressed in black cloaks. Even from the stairs, you can smell their presence that was something along the lines of strong sage mixed sweat. They demanded to be served immediately.

I'm not sure how mother managed to tell four tall, well-built, intimidating, not to mention drunken men that the tavern was closed for the night and she wasn't in any mood to "screw revolting bastards." Mother always gave off an aura of being slightly drunk, but I never knew it had gotten so bad.

They smiled under their black hoods.

"Ya wanna be crippled for the rest of your life, whore? Ya better serve us before we get angry. Ya do it everyday, doncha? Fucking other men out of their minds…"

I begged mother to admit defeat. Instead, she gave them a little piece of her mind. That wasn't a very bright idea.