During my first five months as an infant, I felt blessed. I was given a new life, in a colorful and lively place. I was eager to explore everything around me. However, instead of an immediate and grand adventure, I slept. The sensations around me were still too much, I could barely keep my eyes open after sleeping. Whenever I got hungry I immediately had the urge to cry. All the while, I was being passed around by giant women, one of which was my Mother.
By the time I turned seven months, I managed to get my infant body to crawl around. Have you ever seen the movie Alice in Wonderland? Perhaps Honey I Shrunk the Kids? Or maybe even Antman? All these cinematic films had one thing in common, the main character had the ability to shrink. However, I didn't take part in any Drink Me potion, I had no means of creating a shrink ray and I never owned a Pym particle suit. Instead, I was stuck inside of an infant's body. The only things close to my size were the blankies and toys. Cabinets looked more like small rooms, tables and chairs were open huts, and my crib was a fortress. Needless to say, I enjoyed exploring my home, even if it was just one room.
My first year of age heralded new changes. I had grown accustomed to using some of my senses. I could see the beautiful features of my mom. Her sea green eyes, wavy blood red hair, and luscious lips. She wore fancy robes and spoke to me in an asianesque language. It was difficult to understand, but I knew Korean in my past life, and in some ways, the words were similar. I would often attempt to mimic syllables my mom sang out whenever was with me. I was getting the hang of it, but I still had a long way to go. The tongue was a muscle after all, and I was a baby who needed to exercise it.
Three months before my second birthday and I was already running. My first trip around my new home brought me to the kitchens. A chaste and medium sized space with a very organized set of equipment. The kitchen itself had huge differences compared to the modern equipment I was used to. There were pristine versions of retro/antique cooking ware, stoves that needed wood fires beneath them, and a lot of wooden utensils. One of the big sisters saw me out quickly after I tried to make a grab at one of the pots. I hurriedly made my way back to my room after that, I didn't want to get into further trouble. I passed by the bathrooms before making my way upstairs, lamenting over the fact that my home used some very strange toilets.
On the eve of my third Birthday I asked my mother, who I now knew was an oiran, to educate me in the subject of language. I wanted to learn how to read and write the local language, a more traditional form of Japanese. I was fluent in Korean, Italian, Filipino, and English. None of these languages aided in my quest, except Korean. Hangugeo, the Korean language, had a similar grammar structure to Nihongo, the language of the Japanese. Needless to say, my mother accepted my request, began to train me whenever she wasn't with a client.
Unlike the yūjo or common sex workers, oiran were courtesans who had high social standing and impeccable talent when it came to the traditional arts. They were celebrities, exclusive and expensive escorts who pleasured and entertained the wealthy. They were extremely proficient in traditional arts such as sadō (tea ceremony), ikebana (flower arranging) and calligraphy. Oiran were also required to be musically gifted when playing the shamisen, as well as other traditional instruments. Being an Oiran also required intelligence, requiring individuals to be witty, well-read, intellectual and elegant.
Thus, when it came to teaching me how to write, my Mother was extremely strict. Language and calligraphy were subjects my mother excelled in. The woman demanded absolute perfection, each stain, broken brush, and blotchy symbol was met with a fierce spanking. While I believed in corporal punishment, I couldn't the believe the amount of force my mother could inflict with one slap. Each one left me reeling and in tears. I hated it at first, but then I realized where she was coming from. I was a grown woman, and I wasn't about to let a few mistakes and bruised butts get in the way of my judgment. My Mother was a woman with a reputation to uphold. It had been difficult enough for her to regain her reputation after she had given birth to me. Now her standing was also tied to me. There were expectations that needed to be upheld, I wasn't just anybody's daughter afterall.
Though my mother was fierce, she was also beautiful. A graceful woman who spoke to me as if she was singing. She was caring and talented, and though her anger was legendary, it was also swift. Like the ever changing tides of the ocean, my mother's anger would swiftly settle down into a calming wave. She always made time for me, and As I said before, her work led her into becoming the talent she is today, and though she was gifted in many art forms, her calligraphy was on another level. She could paint intricate symbols, letters, and sentences with swift and dainty flourishes. She could do all of that while wearing robes with long flowing sleeves. Each dip of her brush was quick, her motions leaving no droplets to stray from the inkwell onto the paper. All the while her eyes were elsewhere. She could converse with a client about the recent economic changes that occurred due to the seasons changing while writing a poem about the summer mists. Many oiran and maiko (geisha apprentices) would kill for a chance to learn from my mother. Thus after coming to that understanding, I resolved to do better. I was no stranger when it came to excelling under pressure, afterall, I had been a former dancer in my previous life.
I began my dance training as soon as I turned three. I started with ballet and basic gymnastics in order to develop muscle memory and flexibility. I used the handrails of the back balcony whenever I practiced, it was the closest thing to a barre in the okiya. I started with pliés,tendus, and dégagés. Then, I practiced the basic gymnastic rolls, such as the log roll, egg roll, and forward roll. I had to perform all of this at night when my Mother was busy entertaining a client. I feared what she would say about my dance, she was raising me to be a prim and proper woman after all.
The dreams began shortly after my fourth birthday.
I was slumped in a deep pit, the ground before me was wet and tacky. The air smelled like blood and the sky held no sun. In place of a burning sphere was a symbol, an inverted triangle encased in a circle singed itself above me, bearing dim crimson light over this starless abyss. All the while I could feel this drawing presence wash over. It felt like I was being watched. Seduced by the darkness beyond.
"Hello, is anybody there?" I knew I was breaking so many horror movie rules just by speaking, but curiosity got the better of me. Perhaps I'd been drinking too much dumb bitch juice.
Suddenly, my eyes were drawn to a throne I had never seen before. It was close enough that I could tell what it was, but far enough that I could only see the whitish hues it had. There was someone seated atop it, the throne I mean. Their huge frame cast a shadow large enough to nearly close the immeasurable gap between us. They reared their head towards me in a languid fashion as if to draw my attention to the two great horns that grew on their head.
Was I in hell? I'd always imagined maddening screams, endless hordes of devils, and waves upon waves of helpless sinners who were all lined up for eternal punishment. I had always been fascinated by the occult, but it never stretched further than mere fascination. Now, in this strange and endless realm, I cursed myself, wishing I had studied up more on omens and bad dreams.
Suddenly the figure, who I knew was watching me all this time, spoke.
"Come closer." The voice was that of a man. Slow, strong, deep, and dark. His words were tempting, each one ringing through my very soul. It was strange, to say the least. Part of me wanted to run, my common sense screaming for me to get away. However, instead of running, instead of cowering like a weak willed wimp, I took a step forward.
The dream would end shortly after that. I would then wake up in cold sweats, just as the sun would rise, unsure if I was ready to go about my day. However, each night, the dream repeated itself and each time I would get one step closer. It was curious, if a bit foreboding. It made my life more interesting, though the killer ninja flying around the city could also be called 'interesting'.
There were a few familiar things that I noticed from some of the okiya's clientele. Flak vests, dark clothing underneath, and forehead protectors, all bearing four small wavy lines. I wasn't an idiot, I would hear the name of my homeland get mentioned here and there. Kiri, Kirigakure, the Village Hidden in the Mist, the Bloody Mist, the name of my new home.
It seems my second life would soon be filled with turmoil, though I wasn't about to face such trifles unprepared. I just hope my preparations were enough. Even that couldn't prepare me for the events that awaited me.
Before I turned five, my Mother hand found out about my secret dancing escapades. It was rough at first, listening to her conservative rant about how my dances made me look like a common whore. At least I managed not to cry as I prepared for my punishment in silent rebellion. Afterall, I was a dancer who refused to be held down by the societal standards my mother upheld. Damn the consequences and questionable glances I garnered whenever I raised my legs in a 'lewd' and 'inappropriate' manner.
Apparently some men had taken an interest in my dances and asked if I was on sale. This of course, creeped me the hell out. What kind of sick twisted psychos wanted a night with five year-old me. It was an outrage I tell you, to find out that some loathsome lowlifes wanted a piece of underaged this? Frankly I was disgusted beyond belief.
Perhaps then I could understand my Mother's worries. Afterall I was a child, a delicate flower who has yet to bloom into a fully grown woman. Sadly, pigs wearing the skin of men wanted me for my more glamorous talents. Needless to say that was the last time I danced on the windowsill.
Still, the Matron of the Okiya saw opportunity in my movements and intelligence. The old woman was a little too observant of me at times. Perhaps that's why she interrupted my Mother's rage.
I'm pretty sure she was a retired ninja with all inhuman speed and precision. She was elegant in her movements, and yet she managed to make it look effortless. Not a hint of stiffness in her body. I wasn't dumb enough to try and find out more though. I refused to tempt fate in such a way. It was one thing to suspect a person's ninja identity, and it was another to try and confirm suspicions.
By the time I was six, things took a turn for the worse. Citizens from all over Kiri were brought forth to witness the Mizukage's announcement. He announced that all children of ages six and above were required to join the academy this year. The announcement disregarded the caste system. It was an insane maneuver but one that was required.
My Mother, bless her heart, faint upon hearing the news. Her precious child would be entering Kirigakure's ninja academy. It wouldn't have been so bad of a reaction if it weren't for the fact that the Bloody Mist had a reputation. A lethal reputation that demanded children kill each other to strengthen to increase their lethality and to test their loyalty.
Damn. I was going to become a ninja or literally die trying and all I had with me were dance moves. Oh Lord, I was doomed…