Part II
"Misao?"
The girl blinked, her vision fuzzy. She blinked again and it cleared slightly.
"Misao? Wake up..."
She continued to blink, bringing her hands up to rub at her eyes.
"I'm awake," she mumbled weakly pulling herself up from the ground. Dust covered her hands and it was caked beneath her fingernails.
Dirt?
"You fell asleep on the road in front of the Aoiya. What are you doing out here?"
Huh? She glanced around, puzzled. Had she dreamed the whole crazy fiasco from the night before up? Was it a by-product of her tormented imagination? She found she couldn't dismiss that. She wasn't behaving as per normal, that much she knew for certain.
"I don't know. I think I took a walk."
Omasu clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Misao, you have to stop this! Aoshi is dead, I know it hurts but you have to let it go and starting living again. Don't you realize it hurts us to see you this way?"
Misao nodded absently. "I know. I'm sorry."
She pressed her hands down onto the ground and pushed herself up. Her bony appendages trembled with her weight and she swayed on her feet. She stared at her hands in amazement for a moment before remembering that Omasu was next to her.
"I'll be better. I'm going inside now."
Omasu frowned, a look of intense concentrating marring her gentle beauty. "Okay, but at least come down for breakfast, okay? I've prepared something special for you."
Special... how familiar that sounded. Omasu and the others had been trying to lure her into eating by making her special or her favorite dishes. It hadn't worked. Misao turned, agreeing weakly and entered the building. The dining room was empty thus far, she continued on without notice. She didn't turn back to see Omasu watching her go.
When she reached her room she went for the hand mirror she'd received as a gift from Kaoru some time back. With it she held it away from her and glanced over her figure.
Thin... thin... so thin.
She was ugly.
Startled at the errant thought she dropped the mirror. It landed with a dull clatter but didn't break. The reflective glass remained intact while the delicate ceramic flowers about the edge cracked and chipped away. Colored fragments littered the floor. The glass pane gleamed up at her menacingly.
Ugly.
Ugly, it seemed to whisper.
Her breath hitched and she kicked it away. It skidded across the floor with no more damage. She glanced around.
How had she gotten so thin? Surely, she wasn't this bad off? What would her Aoshi-sama think of her? She had to think of him! He wouldn't... he... no...
Her throat felt tighten and her heart was beating fast. It was fast, wasn't it? She brought her hand to her chest and pressed down to feel for it.
So thin... she could feel the bone down the center of her chest as she pressed. Disgusted, she moved her hand but then she felt the ridges of her ribcage. Alarmed, she ripped her hand away entirely.
Ugly.
She was thin and ugly.
He'd never love her this way! She was... she was... she was sickly! She couldn't even be a good ninja anymore. One good kick and her bones would crack in half. She'd never have the soft, generous curves of other women... No...
Even before, slight as she had been, she had had some curves. She pulled at her ties of her yukata and hastily stripped it off. It fell from her body like a limp rag and every bit as dusty. She stared down at her body and recoiled. Her hip bones jutted out at sharp angles and her breasts had shrunk.
Already small now they were even smaller, barely tiny mounds tipped by the faint curve of her nipple. She swallowed hard and swooped down grabbing her yukata. Horribly, horribly ugly... unspeakably so.
She hid her emaciated form beneath her dirty yukata once more and numbly walked to the window and peered out.
Aoshi-sama would never love her. No man ever could, not like this... did she even want another man? Did she want anyone to want her? Should she eat? How much longer until this killed her?
Her body was... it was eating itself away right before her very eyes. From the vicinity of the doorway there came a faint tapping and she spun around to see the door slide open just slightly. Omasu peeked at her from the other side.
"Misao?"
"Hmmm? What?"
At the response, Omasu invited herself in and glanced over Misao's form.
"You didn't change?"
Misao shook her head numbly. "I don't want to look at myself. I couldn't."
Omasu blinked. "How about I help you?"
Misao shrugged and Omasu sighed as though this were their everyday routine. Maybe it was, Misao found she didn't really remember waking up in the morning. In fact, she remembered very little at all.
Misao watched Omasu head toward her bureau and then turned back to face the window. Below in the garden, butterflies danced.
Eating. Misao didn't remember eating. She had lunch, she knew that, but she couldn't remember what. Rice perhaps, no, maybe she'd sipped some soup. Maybe she had both... She couldn't recall... did it matter?
Presently, she sat alone. The others had come and gone. She was left alone in the back room by the back garden with solemn warnings not to enter the Aoiya dining room out front. She heard, she knew, she understood. No one would want to look at her. She'd stared at the table shamefully and Omasu and Okon had quietly retreated leaving her there.
She was like the revolting child the family tried to hide. She stood slowly and looked out the back window. The weather was turning to fall quickly. The trees along the back were already shedding their leaves but flowers still bloomed in the garden.
What was she to do?
Ah! Omasu! Of course!
Upstairs in Omasu's room there was a mirror! With hurried, steady feet Misao fled toward the stairs. No one stirred, no one appeared. She flew up the stairs and headed down the hall. At the doorway she pressed her ear against the pane. Was Omasu inside?
She listened.
Nothing.
At the silence she pushed open the door slowly and peeked within.
Empty.
She quickly stepped in and pulled the door closed. In the far corner Misao's treasure stood. Omasu owned a large paned mirror it had been a gift a few years back but from whom she could no longer recall. Misao crept toward it, tiptoeing softly. In the mirror she could see the painted door of the closet reflected back.
She neared placing herself in front of the glass and stared at herself. Glassy eyes stared back her. haunted, haunted eyes… the eyes of a stranger. She didn't even know herself anymore. How had she done this to herself?
She… no… she reached out and pressed one thin palm to the mirror. So cold. So empty… so ugly. Why? Why was she this way? Why was she this unattractive? Why?
She drew her fist back and slammed her knuckles against the surface. It made a sickening thud, a splintering sound echoed in her ears. It felt like her skull had cracked open from her temples to the crown of her head and then down the back. She felt like a broken egg shell leaking the precious insides.
She dropped her gaze to her hand. It throbbed painfully. She could see the flesh was torn and blood dripped freely over her fingers, down her palm. It streaked over the closed veins in her wrist and dripped onto the floor.
The wood was shiny and light and her blood was bright and oval shaped. She stared at the drips. They were small… small drips, drops, droplets. Rounded and the edges rippled almost, some were smooth. She shivered and her knees weakened. She stepped back and collapsed onto the floor, her knobby bones striking the hard surface and flaring sharply with pain.
Her head ached, it hurt. Her hand pulsated with pain. Everything ached. Her vision darkened. She wanted it to stop. Why couldn't she have some peace? Why wouldn't anything, everything leave her alone?
She thought she saw a flutter of light and color enveloped in black lace. She dropped her head back and screamed.
AN: This author pleads patience for her short chapters. I think it'll be a pretty short story actually. I hadn't thought of this until now but this is very likely inspired by Hikaru's "Closing Doors" in some way, that's one of my favorite fics.