Spector
She goes to the forest to seek peace, to seek comfort, to seek freedom, although she is old enough to know that she will find none of these things. She is fourteen, after all, and a princess, and betrothed.
In less than a year she will marry, though she cares nothing for the man she is promised to. He is just another lord, more than twice her age. There have been some jokes about how she will outlive the graying old man, but she knows it's unlikely. She is strong, but she is small, and will most likely not bear many children before childbirth carries her off.
Perhaps that is the fate she wishes for. She imagines doing her wifely duties, letting him take what tradition says is his by right, and has to force back a shudder.
She sits under a tree, brushing back her long hair and seeking that peace, that comfort, a mere taste of the freedom she desires. They do not come to her, because she knows that they would be illusions, and she is too old for such petty dreams. She is, after all, fourteen.
She stands, and walks further, and knows if she doesn't return soon her father will be angry. But she can't help it, and she doesn't want to go back. Ever ever ever again.
She is only a few feet from him before she sees him. There is snow on the ground, on the trees, and his long silver hair and white fur cloak nearly blend. An old warlord, she thinks at first, judging from the color of the long tail of hair, but what old man could bear that heavy armor? And those swords? Not one or even two, but three, two at his side and one across his back.
His head turns slightly, and she recoils, because this is no warlord, old or young, and no warrior, no samurai, no soldier. His face is smooth, young, shocking -- because of the pale, smooth skin, such an oddity; because of the jagged purple stripe along each high cheekbone; because of the large, exotic amber eyes. And she can see his ears are pointed.
This is no human -- this is a demon, a youkai, a creature of legend and myth and fear.
She gasps, steps back again, stumbles, and falls.
He turns completely now, to look at her. Her heart nearly stops beating; partially it is fear, but mostly it is how handsome, how utterly beautiful and otherworldly he is. His beautiful amber eyes meet hers, linger, then scan the rest of her.
Why are you out here, child? And alone?
She opens her mouth to speak, but she can say nothing. He doesn't seem surprised -- it will occur to her later that he's probably used to such a reaction, and would never be impressed by a mere human girl like her, anyway, she could have nothing of value to say to him -- and steps forward, extending one hand. The fingers are clawed, and she hesitates to take it.
I'm not going to hurt you, girl.
She takes his hand, and stands. She gazes at him for a moment, stunned, before she bows, low and graceful. He seems startled for a moment, then amused, then something else, an emotion she cannot identify. He returns her bow.
Behind her, she hears her father's soldiers approach, undoubtedly searching for their wayward princess. She turns her head for a moment, then turns back, so she can ask him who he is, ask his name, ask him to take her away, away from her overbearing family and her father's commands and her impending marriage.
But he is already gone.
Princess? Lady Izayoi? We must return!
Takemaru. Yes.
Izayoi sighs, her gaze lingering on the snow at her feet, where he -- her handsome, dangerous spector -- had been just a moment ago...but there is no sign he had ever been there. Perhaps it had all been in her imagination.
But she knows she will return to this place. If only so she can see him again, if only from a distance... it would be worth it.
End