Minor revisions. Edited: 1/10/17

a child's life is like a piece of paper

on which every person leaves a mark

Lady Han-byeol was the Lady of the Water Tribe and before her betrothal to my father, she had been known as the Rose of Suiko.

Mother was the daughter of a nobleman of whose ancestry was almost royal, if not cousins to previous kings; if I'd learned anything, pedigree was everything in Kouka, along with the pressures that came with it. On the other hand, she came out thriving in that prestige and I hadn't given a second thought as to why. She was born and brought up with wealth and beauty and an insouciance that people would find charming.

Something did surprise me. She was beautiful, yes, but her union with my father seemed incompatible, personality-wise, like oil and water. It was conspicuous that it was done for political reasons—an arranged marriage—though it was anything but loveless. Joon-gi would be a calm tolerant husband, but Han-byeol, for her simpering frivolousness, was accommodating.

They weren't madly in love with each other, unsurprisingly. Mother would fall for different men, except for her husband, and Father preferred his quiet independence, wholeheartedly committed to his obligations like a second marriage contract; I say this, with his official marriage being the other affair. Regardless, their relationship was mutual, a sort of complacent acceptance.

The second time that surprised me was having a mother. When the realization of whose identity I had dawned to me, I expected one of the few similarities me and Lili had was a childhood without a mother. Hers, in a manner as all universal tropes did, died of childbirth; mine left.

I hadn't truly been fond of my real mother, and as little as I could scrounge in my vague memories, they always left me in a cold state of bitter loathing, so I seldom did. Although they were different and it may come off as immature, it didn't mean I began to warm up to this mother either. The moment she dressed me up, that was the end of it.

Mother loved to coddle.

And as most devoted parents always did, she thrilled at the idea of spoiling me with mountains of affection.

Silk gowns, toys, and sweets, all bundled up in colorful woven wraps and ribbons.

Lili may have loved being pampered. But I didn't.

In my other life, we didn't have much and this was coming from a family of five; three boys, one daughter, and a single father. Everything was shared and prioritized among my siblings. Always the responsible one, I hadn't been babied then and I certainly hated being babied now.

I tried to disguise my resigned sigh into a gasp.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

I marveled at the gossamer silk; silk of quality, one that felt like flowing water on your palms. Carnations, I thought. Intricate patterns of carnations adorned the silver and white trim of my pale sea-green blouse and the maroon sash that hung high on my waist. Last time, it'd been red-crowned cranes. The skirt was a soft forget-me-blue, fading into a darker shade at the hem that ruffled like waves beneath my feet.

I stared at the bronze mirror before me, a deadpan stare masked with blank astonishment. Another dress for a spoilt little girl, and as much as I would protest the price it cost, it was of little to no expense for the daughter of the Water Tribe general. Some part of me withered at that.

I held the dress at both sides as if I were about to courtesy. Then I smiled my best smile. "It's very pretty."

Mother buoyed in response, almost looking less of the graceful dignified lady of the court and more like a woman about to squeal adorable. I could tell how much she adored anything she found endearing. I was the source of this, regrettably.

"How about a little twirl for mother? Oh please, darling."

There it was again, that excited tone of hers. Mother was almost clapping from giddiness when she goaded me.

Of course, I submitted to her wishes. A small twirl and that's that. In my amazement, the dress gleamed as I spun, gleamed like sea-glass, but it was likely the gloss of the silk and the pearls.

Mother smiled. Whenever she did, it wasn't just painted lips and perfect teeth, but it made her all the more beautiful, radiant in a way that made her years younger than me. She was beautiful in that natural childlike way.

Conscious about it, I looked at the mirror again, seeing myself take after her—dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin—but I hadn't been the rest. I wasn't tall or elegant, and I had no trace of that innocence. There was a great irony to it; how I'd been oceans apart from the woman whom I resembled the most.

I grasped my braided hair, tied by a silk bow. "I'd like my hair up."

Mother tilted her head at the suggestion. "But your hair is lovely like this," she replied smilingly, never forgetting to add an assuring compliment: "the prettiest."

From the mirror, I privately admired my mother's hair. It was gloriously held up in an elaborate coiffure of five braids pulled and spun atop the scalp, forming into a crescent shape around her head. Strung with care, a pin of silver and cut amethyst hung at the base of her neck. How Mother loved her flowers; ivory-pink camellias were pinned on each side of her ears and precious saltwater pearls delicately threaded the strands of her hair, giving an illusion to baby's breath.

What sat in the middle of her plaited hair is an ostentatious comb; atop it was a large rose, petals flushed in blue and cut aptly in mother-of-pearl. It'd been wrought with curling silver twine and rosebuds. As it was placed at the center, its purpose was meant to be flaunted as both a wedding gift and a crown for her reputable title.

Although the complexity and effort poured into a one hairstyle is questionable, I thought it to be an art form of sorts, despite the sentiment of heavy coifs above stiff necks and time-consuming preparations. Regardless, Mother appeared regal and that is exactly what she'd been.

In the past, I mistook the braids of her hair as a wig however it had only been her natural hair, long and thick from years of scented oils and proper grooming. Apparently, all noblewomen were required to grow out natural hair.

To my surprise, wigs were disdained. From what I've gleaned, wigs were only worn by courtesans and prostitutes thus considered inappropriate for the aristocracy.

Another form of profanation was cutting your hair. That was by far the worse. In a country were taking care of hair was the norm, cutting it was considered mutilation, dishonor, and ostracism in society even—and the list just goes on. As much as I wanted to cut my hair short, it would be like asking for my disownment and a strict confiscation of scissors for the rest of my life.

People here just couldn't help but fuss over their hair, in my opinion.

"Besides, sweetling, you would have to be a married woman if you'd like it up like mine," Mother said, a thumb cupping her chin in concentration. "A marriage proposal should come to you when you are older . . ."

I didn't like the sound of that. One day, maybe, but I'd rather not mull over it.

It meant going through a miserable cycle and I wasn't in the mood to feel helplessly depressed at the thought of wedding vows.

I riveted my attention to Mother instead. Then I sighed under my breath. She was really being thoughtful about this.

There were stars in her eyes and that only meant she was getting ahead of herself in her musings. Mother nodded, keeping up with her imaginary conversations with herself. She went on: "You'd certainly make a beautiful bride. Hair up and a good husband—oh, oh, and a fabulous wedding!" she was chuckling now, and I wasn't a fool to not fear how there was so much heart and meticulous planning in that resolution.

And then she stopped for an interval. Blue eyes lingered on mine a second later. Smile on her lips, affection in her hold, she grasped my cheek as she kissed my forehead.

Softly, tenderly, she reminded, "But for now you are just my Lili."

Her Lili.

In this life or the last one, I don't believe both of my mothers could understand how I feel.

I sighed, and it wasn't in resignation.

—

My disappointment was met with Dae-ho's stare.

The man in question towered me, shadowing me under the light. However what caught my eye was his distinct white and blue uniform, carrying the proud colors of the Water Tribe. The emblem of the blue dragon embossed the sterling metal of his breastplate. Only the private guards were worthy of wearing this emblem and that meant also being tasked to protect the An family. Apparently, Dae-ho had the misfortune of being assigned to me.

Dae-ho was intimidatingly tall with a stern face, which made him the most daunting among the other guards. If one wasn't paying close attention enough, one might have misidentified him as a young placid-mannered man. He'd been older, so I was corrected. It was his reserved no-nonsense attitude and specific skillset in tracking me down that hadn't really won me.

His eyes—a bright pale green, like jade—grilled me beneath his gaze, closing after having done so; they almost looked reproachful if he didn't invariably succeed in giving off the impression that he'd seen a nuisance. "You're making this very difficult for your nursemaids, Lady Lili."

My head tipped innocently to the side. "What do you mean?"

To my defense, my nursemaids weren't always very attentive and I couldn't stand the thought of a servant breathing against my neck. They live to please, to follow orders, and I just wanted to be alone. I even suggested they take a break once but this was followed with a few niceties that I understood as euphemisms for not a chance.

As convincing as I was, Dae-ho seemed to be the only one impervious of my round-eyed guile. I chuckled. "I have you, don't I?" I regarded him chirpily, and then glanced at the vacant space to his left. Something was missing. "Se-hun is not with you."

"He is indisposed at the moment," Dae-ho reasoned, and somberly added, "a fever since last night."

I nodded sympathetically. "Ah. I hope he gets well," the news did evoke a sliver of my concern because Se-hun was a nice man after all, friendlier than poker face Dae-ho. I peered up at him, giving an excuse for myself this time. "I wanted to visit Father but . . ."

The smile on my lips became brittle. "He's left, hasn't he?"

"Just this morning," Dae-ho confirmed, dipping his head down as if to apologize. "Lord An had been summoned to the capital."

The responsibility for the country comes first before the burden of one's own kin, Grandfather Mosu reasoned to me once in the eve of my father's departure to Kuuto. There was great pride among honorable men that willfully accept his duties and to deprive him of his obligations made me ungrateful, so I learned. An Joon-gi was a respected general and an imposing lord, and his absences weren't rare occasions within his own abode.

As dutiful An Lili, I was wise enough to never utter aloud a complaint. As his daughter, I cared enough to wait for his arrival, as long as it may be. However lacking his company now had ingrained a disappointment inside of me that I knew better to never to show.

After a polite exchange of a dismissive nod, I trod away, and Dae-ho tailed behind me, four steps away like always.

I casually just ignored him.

"Lady Lili,"

"Yes, Dae-ho?"

"Your chambers are this way."

I smiled tellingly. "I know."

"Lady Lili, if you would pardon my boldness," Dae-ho said, and I couldn't help but imagine him put a hand to his chest; he was too serious, too prudish to utter aloud anything mean-spirited. A gentleman or an obliged servant, I wasn't sure. Perhaps, I gave the latter an afterthought.

"I hope you don't intend to start yet another reckless chase," there was an underlying edge in his tone that did manage to daunt me before I could ever try. "I would be forced to return you to your chambers."

"I want to go to the library," I hummed, coiling a lock of hair on my fingers. "You can come if you want."

Dae-ho abided, wordlessly.

Once the doors were opened for me, I invited myself to the library after muttering a word of gratitude.

Aside from the gardens, the library was a safe welcoming haven. Father had once told me it hadn't been as large as the imperial archives in Kuuto though to my wide curious eyes it was massive and I adored it for what it was. Every spine of literature, every scroll and tome greeted me in each corner with each page whispering of stories of time which was lost.

Finding a lacquered shogi board, I suggested, "Would you like to play shogi with me?" I took note of his patent doubt, and although I found it a little insulting, I took it into consideration. Normal four year-olds didn't play shogi, especially normal four year-old girls. "Father taught me."

I smiled proudly at the memory.

I remembered how it happened that evening months ago where he'd been home in his private study, and I, ever the meddlesome child, interrupted his silent hours alone, partly because I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't want to disrespect my Father's wish for solitude, so in return, I offered a consolation of warm tea. I approached him in small conversation, which he welcomed acceptably; he'd always been the kind of patient man that nods off at each sentence, but this hardly meant his attention was elsewhere. He was an innate good listener albeit rarely speaking a word.

However this fact hadn't occurred to me then, prompting me to randomly propose that he teach me calligraphy, which was a favorite pastime of his. Father denied this, instead telling me of its technicalities and my future practice for the art—which would be from a suitable instructor, not him. I was a bit stubborn at the time, so I suggested he teach me something else. It took time to wear him out; a no here, an absolutely not there, he was adamant.

When it came to the point he stated 'it can't be helped', he fished out a lacquered shogi board on his table and the rest was history.

I situated myself on a cushioned chair and a desk and beckoned Dae-ho to sit opposite of me.

I had to boast a little. "I'm confident in my skills, you know." I was actually good on my first try; I took pride in being a seasoned chess player in my other life. Shogi was a different variation of chess with minor complications after all. I began to set the board.

Dae-ho, like Father, had also given me a reluctant look.

"Forgive me, Lady Lili," he told me, voice earnest. "I am unsuitable and inexperienced in the game. I've been out of practice for a time."

"How long did you last play?"

"Three years, I believe."

"Oh," I tapped my finger on my chin. "You could always let me win?"

Dae-ho shrugged again, as usual.

Once we began, the game ended just as quick. Dae-ho left so many openings and it came with no calculated move for his part. This made the experience somewhat tedious. Though I would appreciate a little effort in trying, he hardly had a single competitive bone in his body. I wouldn't blame him, though. The sport hadn't motivated him as I had.

This was the third game. I moved my piece and he did the same, alternate clacking resonating the room. It was a silent affair between the two of us. He wasn't very talkative.

During our match, I was feeling a bit hungry and then it occurred to me I still had my packed treats in my sleeve pocket, which was an addition that was very convenient. Postponing my move for a minute or two, I held it out and unknot the wrap on the small box. It felt a little gratifying that I did manage to cause my bodyguard to peer curiously to my way. He was only ever curious when I had clandestine intentions to rove about or when Se-hun mentioned supper.

When I lifted the lid, an array of delectable balled rice cakes delighted my eyes. As if it had a mind of its own, my hand snatched one and eagerly placed it in my mouth. It was sweet, not the kind of sweet you'd find in chocolate bars and candy floss, but just the right kind of sweet that melts on your palate. My lips tugged up at its soft glutinous texture sticking in my molars. Mung bean paste this time, I thought.

I reached a rice cake at him, thinking he shouldn't be deprived of the pleasantries of a good dessert, but he shook his head in declination.

"It's good," I stuffed another one in my mouth, bulging out my cheeks. It was very childish, the way I spoke with my mouth full, hardly my idealized poster child Lili façade, but this was Dae-ho and he wasn't one to judge; I decidedly liked him. "Ah thoken uf ma gunerothity."

His nose wrinkled at my choice of words than my utterance. I was sure he could still understand me.

"If you say so," Dae-ho complied, taking my sweet offering in quiet acceptance.

My face split in half from the large silly grin I sported, and from the weird look in his eyes, what he saw wasn't a pretty smile—not when dark bean paste and sesame seeds were stuck on my teeth. He hadn't uttered it though his expression made an implication that I should wipe my mouth or maybe chew my food first. I was prepared, of course, dabbing my lips with a kept handkerchief.

After Dae-ho took a tentative bite of his rice cake, he seemed pleased, or so I wanted to think.

What was it with Water Tribe men being so inexpressive?

Dae-ho had two rice cakes after refusing my third offer, which was welcomed as my fifth mouthful. With all the sweets I've eaten, I was starting to crave for some tea.

"I believe you should return to your chambers, Lady Lili," Dae-ho advised, a holler from the servants bellowing the corridors. "With the uproar you've caused with your nursemaids, Lady Han-byeol should be looking for you."

"I don't want to," I hesitated, stopping at mid-sentence. I felt it at the tip of my tongue, an aftertaste of uncertainty from the palate to the tap. It's weakness—not in the voice of Lili, but in mine. I swallowed it down though it felt as if something was still on my throat, still clinging, still reverberating. Then it came out in an echo, maybe a whimper: "I don't want to go back to Mother."

My eyes pulsed wide in horror.

Detecting my discomfort, Dae-ho let his sharp eyes steal furtive glances in the library.

Ascertaining I hadn't been emotionally compromised, he stated, "No one's here."

I was reluctant at first, debating whether I should trust him or not. It'd been a precarious choice—a child's word shouldn't truly endanger a household but the risk of a stained reputation remained. The servants loved their gossip, after all. I would have held my tongue but there was something so inviting in his reticence and unbiased nature. That's what I wanted to convince myself, only because some part of me was in desperate need to talk to someone, anyone. I muttered very, very hopefully, "Don't tell, all right?"

Dae-ho was quiet—he'd always been like that. He gave me a slow nod. "I didn't hear a single word."

I tucked my knees to my chest, arms circling around them. I must have looked vulnerable like this. "Sometimes, it feels like she's smothering me . . . she's not a bad person," however as certain as my words appeared, there was the silent but that loomed in the air around us and it caught the breath in my lungs, made my confidence quiver a little.

But she's not my mother.

The pressures of what I had to go through just to be that lovely beaming child I knew I could never ever be—to be reminded everyday of it by Lady Han-byeol with her gifts and kisses. I wasn't her daughter. I couldn't be her daughter. I wasn't Lili. My hand tightly grasped my skirt, knuckles whitening. "It's just," I sighed deeply, feeling my eyes prick a bit, "I don't know."

"So you don't like your mother," Dae-ho voiced out for her with an uncharacteristic boldness. "That's not a good reason to be upset."

I vented out, "I-I'm not upset!"

Unaffected by my raised voice, Dae-ho shrugged. "You don't have to believe my words if you don't want to."

From the heat of my outburst, I tried to compose my temper. In and out, I breathed. "What do you mean?" I asked bemusedly, maintaining the steadiness in my voice. I hated stuttering. "Not a good reason? Does a reason need to be good, Dae-ho?"

"Too many questions for this humble servant to answer," his large hand waved dismissively. "I'd only answer one."

I pouted. "So stingy."

His jade green eyes didn't meet mine, but they were distant—in a different place, a nice calm place. "It doesn't need to," Dae-ho shared in a placid tone. It'd been thoughtful and gentle, like the caress of a cool stream, and I marveled at the wisdom of his words. "Sometimes, it just has to."

I was speechless, and for awhile, my heart was stuck on my throat. Even though the sentiment left my chest heavy and the memory of my mother ached still, there was reprieve in his silence. It welcomed in its quiet and unintrusive sensitivity, and I may have given in to its embrace—a small recompense for all those four years of prying servants and prodding questions.

We finished the game. I won, of course, but it wasn't so much of a victory. After being escorted back to my chambers, I never forgot to tell him: "Thank you."

Dae-ho bobbed his head in response. "You're welcome, Lady Lili."

I smiled, supposing I saw his bright eyes soften.

In two days' time, I found out Dae-ho didn't like rice-based desserts from Se-hun, who laughed apologetically for it. Dae-ho, that passive liar. Determined to build bridges, I fed him flower-shaped tea biscuits in our rendezvous in the library under the compromise of my return to my chambers, after a recent hullabaloo from the garden again. Although Dae-ho remained stone-faced from his first bite, Se-hun assured me he appreciated it.

This is nice, I realized. I didn't expect liking my bodyguards before my predestined encounter with Tetora and Ayura.

Exposition Corner:

Wigs: In ancient Korea, wigs were worn by noblewomen, courtesans and prostitutes. These were considered aesthetically pleasing, especially when the wig was bigger and heavier.

Basically, I didn't use that rule for nobility. Only the courtesans and prostitutes wear wigs.

Hair: A bit of history first. This'll be long.

Our bodies, to every hair and bit of skin, are received by us from our parents. And we must not venture to injure or scar them. This is the beginning of filial piety. — Classic of Filial Piety

In ancient China, the Han had a tradition of keeping their hair long and did not cut them. The reason for not cutting their hair was because your hair along with your body and skin were considered a gift from your parents, and damaging them was considered unfilial.

However in ancient Japan, long hair is seen more as an aesthetic. The longer and thicker the hair, the greater the beauty and nobility.

In terms of hair in the AnY universe, I made a culture where taking care of your hair is an absolute must. Like what's mentioned above, long hair is regarded as important, especially by the nobility. Cutting hair, on the other hand, varies on different regions in Kouka. Like, for example, the Wind Tribe isn't as uptight in cutting hair like the other tribes, such as Water, Sky, and Fire. Though, I should mention that there's nothing wrong with an occasional trim. There is a required certain length of hair for it to be manageable, especially when styling it.

There is the case of status: nobility values long hair, but soldiers and workers may be required to shorten them. Commoners aren't also required to lengthen their hair. However, the applicable rule for everyone is that unkempt hair is considered uncivilized.

Married women have their hair up while unmarried women keep it down however there are no prohibitions for unmarried women to tie their hair into low ponytails and buns. Jewelry and ornaments on hair, especially when it's made of expensive metals are only worn by nobility and royalty. In the Earth Tribe's case *cough*LadyYun-Ho*cough*, it'll be explained in later chapters. But it's nothing big, it's just a regionalism thing.

I just can't overlook this, especially when it comes to Yona. When Yona's hair was cut, it just didn't symbolize her change, but also, in a way, it meant her banishment after Soo-won took over.

A/N: Yes, our not-heroine here has mommy-issues. I'm sorry if she did come off as whiny, but that's just how she feels about it and the fact that her real mother left her family just makes her more resentful, taking it out on Han-byeol. More on their relationship next chapter. I like Dae-ho and Se-hun hasn't had a proper introduction yet. I hope not all of you are disappointed with this change because Tetora and Ayura aren't going to show up yet (they'd have a good intro though, I promise).

I'm going to shamelessly mix a lot of cultures here. Well, expect the big three. But the most prominent one would definitely be Korea. There's some elements of Japan too, of course, but AnY is more like a medieval Korea and China than Japan.

When it comes to ages: Lili [4], Yona [3], and Hak and Soo-won [6].

I'm grateful for the follows and favorites, especially the review! I hope you enjoyed it so far!