When you found out you had become a rokurokubi, you desperately tried not to have the truth be known, even to your grandfather.
You never spoke long with the other villagers. You never touched your neck, you never stretched, leaned your head to the side, or even so much as scratched it, no matter how much it hurt. Not even at your favorite spot at the woods did you feel safe.
Only when it was late at night would you let your head fly freely in the safe darkness in your room. It was a major relief to do so.
One night, however, your head hit the wall after flying around too fast. Too late, your grandfather entered the room to see if you were okay.
You remember crying in his arms as he reassured you everything would be okay, you were still his granddaughter, you were still...
...human.
He came up with a plan in order to let you be accepted by the other villagers as you are: he would invite neighbors to your home. You would get to know them. You would be nice to them. And then, after they've really warmed up to you, you would show them the truth.
It began to work. The widower next door. The farmer and her daughter. The blacksmith. The Outside World-obsessed shopkeeper. They all got to know you as you are.
They loved you. They promised that you are a loveable girl no matter what. They became your friends. You knew them, and they knew you.
Then it all went wrong.
You invited the soldier over. He was polite. Not rude, and denied your meals because he knew you'd need them for yourselves. He helped your grandfather stand up after he went to leave.
Then you popped your head off. The man screamed and ran out the door, calling for help. Your grandfather turns to you, shakes your head, and wipes the tears from your eyes.
The next week, the widower tells you that there have been more soldiers and that they've been looking at your home as they pass by. He's suspicious. So is your grandfather.
You're not suspicious. You're scared.
Your grandfather tells the widower to leave and never come back. He asks if there's anything he can do to help. Your grandfather says that he can hand over his sword. The widower reluctantly agrees and says goodbye to you.
He never appears again.
Your grandfather sits with the katana on his lap, staring at the door, waiting. You know that they will appear. You know for a fact that they will appear.
Two days later, the soldiers knock on the door. It is barricaded with your table, and they knock harder, shouting in anger.
The door is kicked open. Your grandfather gets up and raises his sword.
The soldiers slice his throat open before he can even use it.
You scream and, in a panic, throw your head at them. They all leap back and your head goes right through the doorway.
That is the distraction you need. Following your head, you run through them and out the door. They chase you, but you are faster, more agile. You escape to the woods and hide at your favorite spot in the woods: a willow tree.
You cover your mouth to hide your sobs as you hear the soldiers in the background, stomping through the dead leaves and sticks.
Hours pass, and they leave.
Knowing they're gone, you cry, but this time, your grandfather is nowhere around to comfort you.
You just wanted them to love you.
Was that too much to ask?