Haruo Makino was not a wise man.
Looking at his life as a whole, one could trace the thread of foolish decisions. From the time he frittered his youth away and refused to learn a trade, to the time he married just to anger his parents. Like the time he rashly left the town that reminded him of his deceased wife, and took up an occupation that he had no aptitude for. And now, at the pinnacle of his foolishness, he had gotten himself lost in the supernatural depths of the woods he had resolved to enter no more.
The previous week's events had shaken the town of Eitoku, and Haruo Makino most of all. He had so far persisted as a woodcutter in the dangerous forest by only skirting the edges of it, unlike his rash daughter who would explore as far as she could. He figured she must have inherited some of his folly. After Eitoku had suffered such a vicious beast attack, for her sake and his own, Haruo had resolved to quit any business involving the woods.
And how does a middle-aged man with no skills, little sense, and a small amount of savings accomplish this? Apparently not through betting on the horses in the next town over, for now Haruo found himself not only penniless, but drunk and in debt, and hopelessly lost. Following the road through the forest at night had seemed a simple task, but not only was Haruo foolish, but also terribly unlucky.
The further he delved into the forest, the darker it got. The tree branches above created an impenetrable roof, blocking out the light of the moon and stars, creating a world that seemed to exist beyond even time itself. Haruo shivered. How could anything grow in this evil wood? he asked the dark.
A blue bird burst from the underbrush, frightening the poor man, knocking him back upon his seat. The sprightly creature cocked its head at him from a nearby branch, then flew away and landed on a distant stone.
Having seen nothing so lively in many hours, the bird almost glowed in the dark woods. Haruo swallowed nervously. This forest was uncanny, the beast being only one of its rumored inhabitants. Yet, the bird seemed friendly enough, and perhaps his plight was so pitiable that this was a guiding spirit sent to aid him.
The bird took off then, and disappeared through the trees.
"No," Haruo cried, "You're meant to guide me! Come back!" He stumbled to his feet and ran in the direction the bird had flown. Branches whipped at his face, roots tangled his feet, and as he burst through a patch of shrubs, he beheld a tall and imposing castle surrounded by a stone wall.
The blue bird poked its head out from a crevice in the wall, gave a chirp, and ducked back inside. Unsure if he should believe his eyes, Haruo followed after numbly. There was just enough space in the crack to squeeze through, and he emerged in a snowy, frozen garden. In awe he surveyed skeletal orchards which had long lost their leaves, frozen fountains, evergreen shrubs heavy with snow, and frozen dirt beds that must have once been home to an army of blooms. He rubbed his eyes. But…it's still autumn, he thought.
He began to suspect that nothing more could surprise him, until he entered what seemed to be the centre of the garden, and discovered a rose bush with four large flowers. The red roses were open in full bloom as if the summer sun beamed down, seemingly heedless of the frozen waste surrounding them.
Haruo thought he had never seen anything so beautiful before, and tears suddenly filled his eyes as his daughters came to mind. Whether it was a case of his bad luck, history of foolish decisions, or something else entirely, Haruo reached out and snapped the stem of one of the roses.
Instantly he heard a distant roar come from the castle. Knees buckling, he turned and stumbled out of the garden, through the hole in the wall and dashed into the forest. With his heart in his throat he ran, only slowing once he thought his lungs would burst, and found that he had somehow ended up back on the road he had lost. Filled with fear, he made his way back to Eitoku, barely registering that he still clutched a brilliant, red rose in his hand.
Tsukushi had never before been prone to vivid dreams. She usually slept the sound sleep of a hard day's work well done, and yet lately her nights were disturbed with dreams of a handsome stranger with tea-coloured hair. It was in that morning-space between sleep and wake. The hazy fog seemed to sparkle and flash like dew drops on flower petals. Then she heard haunting violin music floating down and around her, swallowing her whole. The sweetness of the music was marred by a deep melancholy. Through the mist she would see him: eyes like marble, clear and cold, lowered in deference to the strings. Careful fingers working the bow, the stranger seemed to be beckoning her with his tune. And then she awoke, breathless at the beauty and filled with a longing she couldn't quite put words to.
She turned to stare at the vase on her desk, which held the rose her father had brought home last week. In the cold dark of the morning, the rose seemed to give off a luminous glow. "How strange," she thought, not for the first time, "that a rose would grow in winter. And despite being out of season it still blooms as if it had been plucked yesterday." Although she had been worried sick when her father had gone missing, he refused to speak of where he had been. The only clue had been the single red rose he thrust into her hands.
Each night since then she had been visited by the strange dreams. The handsome young man appeared long enough for her to move towards him, but she was never quite able to reach him. Tsukushi had never been superstitious, but to dream the same dream each night was unexplainable. And to dream of a perfect stranger! A man she had never met!
"He's far much handsomer than any man I've seen in town," she mused as she tied a kerchief around her braided hair. "His eyes are so cold, but the music he plays must come from his heart." With each passing visitation Tsukushi found herself more and more preoccupied with thoughts of him.
The forest seemed to sing today. Birdsong and babbling brook, each sound was alive with the music from her dreams. Although she was usually able to lose herself in the calm delight of the forest, today she was restless. Unable to carefully search in a single place she ranged through the meadows and underbrush, only half a mind towards gathering herbs. Quicker and quicker she moved, over log, under branch, muscles aching as she searched frantically. Suddenly her foot snagged on a root and she tumbled to the ground. Disrupted from her restless searching, she shook her head. "Now, now," she chided herself, "what's gotten into you, Tsukushi?"
The late autumn sun set quickly that evening. Hurrying to beat the lengthening shadows, Tsukushi noticed a strange stillness had invaded Eitoku. Though this should have been the time of day when most were coming and going, no other people seemed to be on the outskirts of the town. As she made her way further and entered busier streets the few who were out and about talked in hushed whispers and turned away from her quickly when they saw her. Tsukushi felt the cold steel of fear begin to pierce her heart. "No one is supposed to see me. No one is supposed to notice me. But not like this. What is happening?"
The eerie atmosphere sped her steps, but she slowed as she approached her door. Her heart stopped. Violent streaks of blood marred her view. No, not blood, but red paint. A crude painting of a red rose laid claim to her household. They had been struck with the mark of the beast.
This explained the stillness in the town, and the whispers as she walked by.
Her head suddenly jerked forward, struck from behind by an egg. "Look what you've done!" came an angry shout. "You've brought his anger down upon us! You will be the ruin of us all!" She glanced over her shoulder and a rotting tomato hit her back. Eitoku was angry. Hunching her shoulders against the jeers and dodging projectiles, Tsukushi closed the distance to her door and bolted it behind her.
It seemed a war had begun.