"Stay here."

Those two words trailed together three times a week along with a dismissive wave of his hand. He would rise from behind the screen, utter them, and slip between a slat in the fence that only gave way to the forest behind the house.

Maka allowed it four times before breaking his order– a surprisingly long tolerance if she did say so herself. This time, as his footsteps once again receded, she waited until they were no more than a rustling before following the trail. Training . She started the list that brought a hopeful swell to her chest. He must be sneaking off to train in private and if he's training, that's where his weapon will be. Where Papa has to be. She was careful, sure to be slow enough not to come upon him but not to lose the soft scuffed messages his feet left behind to the wind or an animal.

The road was footworn, but still mostly forgotten as the weeds had started to eat into the path. It was steep for some time, bringing the steady clap of her heart as she avoided roots in her search for the signs of him. She could almost roll her eyes at his stupidity as he started to talk, giving away his position and letting her slip into the forest to approach in the darkness of the bract.

"The new page is different," Soul murmured just as Maka pressed into the side of a tree to catch him kneeling in front of a simple hokora. "I still wish I could–" He cut off with a brutal sigh that shook his shoulders. "I promise this one will be different." Soul's head bowed forward, giving Maka a better view of the shrine.

It was Jizo– easy to tell from the sweet roundness of the monk, his staff in one hand and a jewel in the other. At the foot of his lotus base sat the mask, propped and staring back at its wearer. But why? A tiny, roadside shrine? And to the guardian of children? I–

"Mother"—broke from his lips as his head raised—"I try to remember what you said: 'Even if they fear you, I will always love you.' " That crackled away hoarsely as his shoulders curled. "I wish you could tell me that you forgive me." His trembling fist fluttered to Jizo's feet. A scattering of stones fell from his palm, littering the base of the shrine.

Stones for penance? Maka balked as she eased back on her heels. Whose child? His brother said he should marry—not that he had— so why…

Soul used his empty hand to grab the mask, bringing it back to his face. "I'll… I'll bring you some flowers tomorrow."

Maka turned against the tree, hiding the rest of her body as he started back on the path. It wasn't until he disappeared down the descending hill that she slipped out of the dark foliage. She moved to the shrine, noting the stones left behind along with ones that had been pushed back under the awning, a litter of offerings of contrition. His spot was still warm as she settled into the worn grooves from his knees while Jizo stared at her. This is where he slips away to? Not training, instead some search for absolution? And why here? There are plenty of shrines and priests to pay for 'real' forgiveness. Instead, he comes here and talks to… his mother?

With a shaky breath, she picked up one of the pebbles that had fallen asunder back into the dust before starting to stack them with the rest of the fold. Her eyes met the gentle stone, that jovial face trapped in well-wishes. "What kind of man is he?"


Soul came back to an empty house. There was no point in searching for Masao– if he wasn't in the room or the courtyard, it was a lost cause. He slumped to the floorboards of the engawa instead. Under the mask, his face itched where the tears had been trapped between the wood and his skin. He didn't even have the strength to lift and clear it, and his hands were too busy reliving the feeling of the stones slipping through his fingers.


Marie was leaning over the hearth, letting the steam of the iri zake hit her as it boiled away.

"Marie?"

She started, turning to see Masao standing wavering in the doorway. Her heart tried to will away the icy panic that lingered at the uncertainty on the page's face. "Did something happen?"

"Well, it's almost time for lunch, so…" Masao murmured softly.

"Almost…" Marie stood tall, taking a few steps towards the boy– or at least that's what he was calling himself. I still have my doubts– but that hair, those eyes, doesn't it all just look like – Marie's mind muttered over the cherubic curl of those cheeks. "But you're sure there's nothing else?"

"Do you"—a sigh fluttered over the page's lips before Masao continued in a small voice—"did you know his mother?"

"Oh!" Marie couldn't help the exclamation as she felt the first thaw to the worry in her heart. This one asks. All the rest… all the rest feared him but for some reason this one wants to understand him. Finally. "The young lord's mother died when he was ten. I didn't come here until he was twelve. His brother hired me and the physician to care for him since, well, the two years of isolation hadn't really done him any good."

Worry furrowed the brows in front of her. "You mean he was alone for two years?"

"Yes, in that house…" Marie let out with that drifting melancholy that always came with remembering the child she found alone in that dark room.

That completely unsettled the sweet face and the moments of silence after only seemed to engulf it more in agony. "And he's never taken a wife?"

Marie couldn't stop the breathy laugh that left her. "Oh, no . I don't think he's seen another woman besides me since his mother passed. Again, it's you, me and the physician. Sometimes his brother. His father only when— well, when Soul's called to court." That only added to the consternation so Marie bridged the gap, putting a gentle hand on the top of the so-called boy's head. "Masao, did something happen?"

Pleading green eyes focused on Marie before a soft shake of the head under her palm. The page stepped back, leaving enough room that her touch could no longer reach him. "I'll take the lunch now, Marie."

"Alright…" She didn't let the defeat eke into her heart as she turned back to the hearth to arrange the meal on the regular platters. I really do wonder about this one. I wonder if I could … Her lips fell into a thoughtful pout as she scooped out the rice into bowls. "Masao…"

"Yes?" Sadness still laced the words, only bolstering Marie's resolve.

" I don't know anything about the young master's mother, but his brother certainly does. Master Wes was twenty when his mother died, so he'd have more than enough information if you're interested." She let that come as easily as she could, trying to put thought and effort into arranging the chicken on the plate rather than into the words.

There was a shuffle of feet before a tentative whisper. "I thought you said I shouldn't speak to his brother or his father."

"His father definitely not," Marie answered with a scoff. "But as long as you don't mention it to Soul, talking to Master Wes isn't all that horrendous." She picked up the tray filled with rice and chicken before turning back to Masao. The page took it just as easily as he seemed to absorb the information. Marie couldn't help the excitement at the spark that was igniting in Masao's green eyes– a fire that she could only hope would burn down the walls around Soul's heart.


Maka set the tray in front of Soul as he lounged wordlessly on the engawa. He only made a slight tip of his head towards the food, but remained reclined.

"I'd like to be excused."

The tilt increased, but he stayed silent.

"I need to pick up a sewing kit from Marie and I'll get more of your medicine from the physician." Fingers flew at the list before Maka leveled a stare at him. "Well?"

The answer stuck behind his teeth until a gentle sigh broke the barrier. "You're not gonna eat?"

"Later." She waved it away since it wasn't as if the boiled chicken and rice was very appetizing to begin with.

His eyes took the slowest path from the food to her, his lips remaining in a grim slant.

Regardless, Maka took that as permission. "I'll be back." She turned on her heels before he could disprove her assumption for allowance. Her steps started steadily towards the bower and it's promise of the main house. As she emerged back into the steady sunlight, her feet sunk slowly into the dirt. Now how the hell am I supposed to see Master Wes? Maka fiddled with the leg of her hakama as luck struck her square in the shoulders.

Sauntering along the hedge was exactly her quarry, his fingers dusting along the petals of the hydrangea to knock off the dew. Without wasting a second, his mahogany eyes turned to hers, a smile not half as toothy as his brother's gracing his lips. "Ah, there you are. Marie told me you were looking for me."

What? In the five seconds I was away?

Wes chuckled. "I actually have to admit I was spying on your conversation." His hands came up innocently, flicking off one last bit of droplets he'd accumulated from the flowers. "I'm deeply curious as to why you asked about our mother." While all of those words were drenched in carefree warmth, Maka watched the tensing next to his eyes as the sincerity drained from them.

"I meant no offense, my lord," Maka murmured as she resisted the urge to hang her head.

"Then what was your intent?" There was still a sweet lilt to it, but it brought a chill down her spine. "If it's about something you heard–"

"I don't listen to idle gossip," Maka cut off flatly. Or at least I'm trying not to– not about this.

"Then what was your intent?" he echoed with less patience.

What is my intent? "I–"

His shadow grew in front of her, Wes taking wide steps to tower over her. "Do not mistake my distance from my brother as disinterest. I can have you dismissed if all you're trying to do is–"

"He prays for your mother," Maka hissed quietly in a rushed whisper.

Wes wavered before taking a step back. "Prays?"

"He treks up the mountain at least three days a week and visits a paltry shrine there." Why does it feel like I'm pulling a burning ember up my throat to let this go? Why does the memory of him kneeling keep peeling across my mind? "Has she no grave, your lordship?" That came as a strange plea, making Maka grip at the breast of her kosode.

"No…" Wes murmured as he turned to let his eyes search the flowers for an answer there. "A shrine, you said? One of those small, roadside ones?"

"Jizo."

The name struck him as the hardest news of all, his eyes pressing shut through an aching breath. "That's enough." Wes showed her his back, starting a few steps away from her.

Maka took a strong step forward, keeping the gap from widening too far between them. "Master Wes, one more thing."

He stopped but did not speak.

"Can you get me red cloth and a sewing kit?"

His head swiveled quickly to display eyebrows askew. "What?"

"For the statue, my lord." The smile she gave was meant to soothe but she watched it further confuse him. "It was bare. It'd bring more luck if it was adorned."

Wes grappled with that, feet shuffling so he half-turned towards her. She watched his fists flex as unsteady breaths moved his chest. "He'd get angry if you changed something of his. He's very… set in his ways now."

Maka couldn't stop herself from scoffing. "Like the food he eats? Or the clothes he wears? Or any of the other innumerable ways he suffers that none of you do anything about?"

That bristled him, brought his hackles high as he squinted at her. "His page for a few months and–"

"I knew the first month," Maka snapped back and tossed her station aside to stride towards him. Even with her petiteness she stood under his nose, chin upturned in defiance. "You said not to mistake your distance for disinterest, but that's all I see. Give me the cloth. You can choose what you do with the rest of the information I've given you, but I'm willing to do what I can."


Soul had pushed the food around his bowl, only a few bites actually reaching his mouth. There was no way to force more with the absence of Masao on the other side of the screen. He huffed before letting it drift into a sigh. As the air expelled he fell back against the mat, hand slipping under his mask to bring a breath to his trapped skin. As he watched the ceiling askew through eyeholes, he heard the first stomp onto the engawa.

Those footsteps told him not to ask, but it was certain Masao was flitting into the room and disappearing behind the screen. Just in time for his head to turn, the physician's normal packaging appeared at the edge of the divide. "You didn't eat your lunch–" came the accusation next that struck him as the voice of his mother.

Soul sat up quickly, giving into the temptation to peer around to catch a glimpse of the ghost he was sure was there. Instead, it was Masao's slim shoulders, his back to Soul. "I'll eat later." He sat blinking at his own answer. Why am I givin' excuses?

"Eat now," Masao corrected but didn't bother to add the glare that Soul assumed would come with it.

He touched the rim of his bowl as the idea of eating turned his gut. "What're you doin'?"

"Do you need me?" he shot back.

"... No," Soul muttered.

"Then I'm doing as I wish–" came the jaunty reply with a stiffening of those shoulders.

Soul found a sigh eking from his lips.

"What?"

He jumped, fists clenching at the top of his hakama. "Nothin'." That word tasted bitter on his tongue, further repelling his urge for food even as he snatched at the bowl. He grabbed it and the medicine, tossing the herbs towards his bed before making his own hard steps towards the engawa. Even with Masao's order, he dropped the bowl harshly to the wood before scowling out into the garden.

Why does it matter? Why does it make a difference that he's hidin' somethin' from me? His shoulders crumbled as he turned his head, trying again to spy anything more than just Masao's back with little success. All the rest were idle. All the rest feared me. But this one… "Tell me what you're doin'." The order didn't feel any better off his lips than stuck between them.

Masao sighed before getting to his feet, leaving a bit of red fabric and a sewing kit strewn in his wake. His face soured as he turned to Soul, but lips stayed buttoned. He lifted his own bowl from the tray before making his way to the engawa and plopping next to Soul. "I'll eat if you eat."

Soul was tempted to throw his glare over his shoulder and take in the mess that Masao had left behind but his eyes fell forlornly to his bowl instead. "Why does it matter?"

Masao huffed and Soul caught the end of his eye roll. "Eat or be miserable. It's your choice." He leveled his chopsticks at Soul to prod the air between them before letting it dive into the bowl. He brought a bite to his lips without any relishing, a face that Soul knew mirrored his own with each bite.

He attempted the mimicry anyway, bringing a mouthful up to chew slowly.

"How many kosode do you have?"

Soul lazily finished his bite. "Two. One to wash, one to wear." That brought a blustery sigh from Masao's mouth in reply. Soul uselessly raised his eyebrows under the mask before correcting with his words: "What?"

"I'm a servant, and I have four ."

A strange bit of smoke seemed to drift through his chest– something that he couldn't name or grip in any fashion. A guileless smile started to grace his lips. "Guess you make a mess of yourself more than I do."

Masao scoffed, sending a sharp look his way. "And here I was, ready to offer to mend this rag you're wearing!" He brandished the chopsticks at Soul again. "Now you can forget it. Wear your moth-eaten robe for all I care."

A chuckle sprung to life from his chest, another odd twittering feeling. "Who taught you to sew?"

The question froze him, shoulders suddenly trying to straighten. "It's not that I'm any good."

"But you can," he muttered back.

"It was my mama," Masao replied quickly as his eyes fell to his bowl. "She was never exactly one to accept what the sexes were supposed to do, but…"

So she taught her boy to sew? Soul narrowed his eyes at the way Masao looked anywhere but him. None of it settled him, leaving Soul with nothing but an uneasy sigh on his lips as he let his glare drift back to his own food. "You don't have to fix anythin'."

"You can't go around with those rips in your clothes."

He recoiled instantly as Masao's hand drifted near. "I told you"—hissed up from his throat—"that you can't touch me."

Masao's eyes went wide only for a second before narrowing while he dropped his bowl. "Don't worry, my lord . I'm not some blushing maiden looking for a soft word."

It wouldn't make a difference if you were. It's me. I'm the monster– I'm– That slithering cold beast in his chest lurched, ready to toss more venom off his tongue. He swallowed it instead, lifting to his feet quickly with only the sound of the creak of the mat under him. He went to the wall, finding the catch to the slide that brought with it a new poison in his veins as the hidden room opened. "Go back to your sewing," he gritted through his teeth as he disappeared into the darkness.

Memories swarmed him in the pitch, the dark knots of pine giving no light and allowing them to flourish there. It was his mother's hands that he felt desperately grasp him in the darkness, drawing him to his knees with ghostly fingers. It did not matter if he had left the stones, following so carefully in her footsteps because while his sisters would be forgiven someday, he would never. With that thought, the first blades started to part his skin, drops of dark, oily blood joining old ones on the mat.