Ha! Released before February! I did it! ((triumphant))

I like to keep a record of my review responses; because FFN doesn't allow us to carbon copy them, I'll continue to post them in my livejournal. They're now up in the entry labeled 01/21/06.

I'm rather proud of this chapter. Keep an eye out for the reoccurring symbols, alright? They'll tell you, hopefully, where I'm going with this… Enjoy!

Chapter Three: Fog

Koharu liked to dream. Being a village girl turned slave turned palace guest, she didn't possess any unique skills or defining characteristics (aside for her great ability to adapt, of course).

But dreaming and remembering dreams? She was good at those.

Her favorite dreams were the ones that involved Miroku. He was her life's mission, so that fact was pretty much a given. Some reveries involved him looking at her and smiling. In others, he reached out to her—because in the past three years, Koharu had done far too much reaching on her part—and held her hand, his beads making marks on her skin. A small percentage of these featured him leaning in toward her to snatch away her first kiss, and in even fewer, he slipped his hands into her shirt just as she slipped into a state of euphoria.

There were other, not so pleasant dreams as well, but Koharu managed to defy her talents for remembrance and forget those.

But as expected, there were some she couldn't forget, those incubuses that were so vividly real and frightening, she needed to shock herself conscious and lie on her futon to breathe, shake, and remember.

In one such dream, one that entered her tired mind the day after Kuranosuke had inquired about her happiness, Miroku stole into her room and kissed her senseless. She did not question how he'd done so, how he'd been so quiet as to keep the palace guards unwary. Instead, just as senselessly, she kissed him back.

But then he pulled away.

And she realized then that his eyes were mud brown, his shoulders much too broad, his hands unbeaded, unscarred, un-Miroku…

She awoke the next afternoon long after everyone else on the grounds and shoved a finger down her throat, desperate to purge herself of the taste of Kuranosuke and the horrible memory that was her nightmare.

Just outside her room, a snowflake fell on Aki's head.

Kuranosuke dreamed, too, as humans were wont to do. However, instead of referring to them as dreams, he only called them "nightly images." He was a lord, after all, and because of his political stature, could get whatever he wanted with a flick of his hand. There was no need for dreaming because there wasn't anything he could lust after that wouldn't eventually fall into his lap.

The only thing that eluded him was indubitably Sango, but he likened her to the boomerang she wielded with her characteristic grace; no matter how much she resisted his loving hold, she would turn around and come back to him soon enough. Without fail. Every time.

And besides, he had Koharu, her substitute, scurrying about his abode, so he found it in himself to wait.

Kuranosuke sighed at the thought of Koharu, wishing to go back to sleep and dream about what wasn't but what would be. Though only nineteen years of age, he regularly claimed that his memory was beginning to fail, mostly to arouse pity and extra work out of his employees. When it came to Sango, he preferred to shed his lie and think his ability to recollect impeccable.

But it wasn't. As time wore on, he began to forget. What was the shape of her face? How did she hold herself? Did her eyes shine, or were they dull? It was when he had questions like these did he call upon Koharu. While he'd been blessed with Sango's company only twice in his life, he saw Koharu once a week at least, running around like an insect, so rare inside the walls of his dwelling. By looking at her, he could assume that whatever physical traits she possessed, Sango did as well. It was just a matter of mental editing; cut Sango's hair a few inches, shorten her height, dot her cheeks with freckles, and there: there was Koharu.

And there: there was memory.

Yet Kuranosuke couldn't bring himself to make his beloved transition completely into the wailing child of a woman that lived with him. If there was one thing he remembered about Sango, it was the way her voice sounded. It fit her personality so perfectly in every facet, whether in regards to its pitch or its volume or its tone. He refused to believe that the harsh, high shriek of Koharu could ever replace the deep, honey-smooth sound of Sango, though it had been weeks since he'd heard her voice.

But he dreamt of it. Without fail. Everyday.

And so he found it in himself to wait.

"Are you alright? You've been looking pale as of late."

One morning about two months after her arrival at the Takeda house, Kuranosuke paid a visit to Koharu again. He did so immediately following her morning meal, appearing seconds after her final bite. Being so perceptive and keen to detail, Kuranosuke noticed the pallor that she wore on her face like a mask, though he could not fathom why it was there.

Koharu coughed, biting back the bitter words she knew she couldn't say. I've been dreaming of you, disguised as Miroku. And I hate it. It makes me sick.

"I think it's the food," she responded, gesturing toward the empty platter before her. "I might not be able to stomach something that's in it."

"Shall I ask the cooks to prepare something different for you?"

"No, you needn't go to all the trouble." Actually, what she meant to say was that he needn't be so kind. His offer to give her food reminded her of Miroku, who had handed her something to eat when she was starving, too. She hated that he was becoming more and more similar to the man she loved; it absolutely made her nauseous.

"But I'm concerned for you."

Not you're not.

"I'm fine; really. It's only been happening recently, Takeda-sama. I'm sure it will go away soon enough."

Koharu knew full well that it wouldn't because, no matter how much she resisted, she couldn't stop seeing the similarities. And Kuranosuke, so attentive to the things that he wanted to be real, knew this full well, because he could never ignore it when he sensed that something was being hidden from him.

In regards to Koharu, there was always a little that remained perpetually out of reach.

She only refused to acknowledge the fact that Kuranosuke was exactly the same way.

"Koharu." Her name was a command that rolled of a tongue more like a whip, and she nodded to show that she was ready to receive. "Koharu, I do not like being lied to. You know this all too well." Kuranosuke's words were a falsity. However, the lord was much more willing to lie than to face the truth. In the meantime, Koharu winced, unaware of his deceit, instead thinking back to her first encounter with him. He continued. "Now, I ask only this; tell me… what is wrong?"

She was quiet, but exclusively on the outside. Internally, she chanted the mantra she'd adopted since she'd seen Kuranosuke's bare hand. He is not Miroku-sama… he is not Miroku-sama…

The prince cleared his throat, making the decision to reform his words. "Koharu…

"…are you happy?"

It was the second time he'd asked her this, and this time around, the circumstances both parties were under were completely different. Before, he'd asked her with a smile; now, seriousness dominated his features like grey clouds dominated the sky. Before, he'd visited to calm his nerves and convince himself that she would stay; now, he really, truly, wanted to know.

Much like on the day of his first confrontation with her, Kuranosuke watched as the girl shook visibly. She held a Sango-colored sleeve up to her face, masking her eyes and intentions. Still, her mouth remained in sight, and he could see her lips curve upward in the saddest smile he would ever see.

"Takeda-sama… I do not know what happy is."

There: the words had been verbalized. And, now that she had thrust them out there, they didn't seem so terrible. Such was the case with everything when it came to Koharu; no matter what happened, her first impressions were always, always wrong.

She laughed inwardly and called herself a failure at prevision.

What surprised her most was that she heard no laugh from Kuranosuke. He was just as silent as she had been moments before and, when she peered at him from above her sleeve, equally as serious. His eyes were closed, his head bowed, and in that second, he looked less like Miroku than ever.

They sat there like that for a long time. The deep but companionable silence was broken only once, this time by Kuranosuke.

"Neither do I."

That evening, Koharu did not dream, and hours later, she awoke to find that the morning frost had already melted, leaving the flowers outside as beautiful as ever.

Kuranosuke did not sleep, but was certain that, if he had, he would have dreamt of Sango.

He simply chose to avoid the fact that Koharu served as Sango's replacement, so, in effect, he would have dreamt of her as well.

So desperate was Kuranosuke to run away from the truth of his self-made ironies, he failed to realize the next morning as he strode about the grounds that it was tethered to his legs in the form of a shadow.

Failing was what Kuranosuke did.

And gradually, he was failing in his efforts to blur the line between Sango and Koharu.

End chapter.

As always, reviews, constructive comments, and the like are very much appreciated. A thanks goes out to my readers for sticking with me this long. You're wonderful. :)