What...
What...
How can this be?
I fell asleep?!
I'm shocked and confused. Understanding how this could happen eludes me.
Sleep...
When was the last time I truly slept?
To me, slumber and unconsciousness are one and the same. Sleep crept into my life gradually during my childhood, born amidst a cruel famine. I recollect rice being a rare luxury, and in those early days, hunger gnawed at my very core, rendering sleep an abstract idea. I gradually realized that even the agony of hunger could be considered a form of indulgence.
Soon, even the pain of hunger became a wearisome companion. During famine, one's body starts to deteriorate from within, a constant assault of physical frailty and mental desolation.
Sleep became that state where I was so numbed and weakened that even the effort of opening my eyes felt like an insurmountable task. Reality blurred into a haze of delirium.
During the famine, even livestock failed to survive. I often wondered why. Perhaps it was because the people had stripped them of every morsel of sustenance, left with no choice but to consume what was meant for beasts.
As time progressed and I embarked on my training in Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, I was molded into a state of perpetual alertness, never afforded the luxury of reclining in slumber's embrace. I existed in a state of passive vigilance, attuned to every rustle, every shift in my surroundings, even as I closed my eyes and permitted my muscles a transient respite. For me, this was sleep.
So, how did I come to fall asleep now?
I find myself grappling with an unprecedented turmoil.
An irritation simmers within me.
Why this vexation has surfaced, and how it might be quelled, escapes my comprehension.
All I know is the gnawing fear that I am losing myself, and the woman has vanished.
I strain to recollect the events of last night, following my arrival with the woman at Kohagiya.
? Last night ?
"Okami-san, I need a room."
The torrential rain soaks both me and the woman I cradle, the streets of Kyoto awash in a shimmering silver deluge. It washes away most traces of blood from our forms.
Yet, the haunting scents of blood and Hakubaikou linger, staining the air.
Okami-san regards me with an unusual expression in her eyes.
How could I reproach her for such a gaze? Here I stand, bearing an unconscious woman in my arms, seeking shelter within her establishment.
I fight to maintain my composure.
"There are no vacant rooms. Take her to your own, and I shall fetch a change of attire," she states in a dry tone.
She pauses, then adds, "Himura-san, this is not a brothel," her words tinged with sternness.
She has witnessed countless Chōshū men ushering women into their chambers one too many times; I can hardly fault her suspicion.
I convey the woman to my designated chamber, where Okami-san has already replaced her attire.
I assume my customary position by the window, clutching my katana, and at last, I am able to scrutinize the woman's features with clarity.
She slumbers, utterly tranquil.
A porcelain figurine.
Is that what one might call an otherworldly beauty?
Her visage appears as if it were meticulously etched, each line and contour crafted with precision, right down to the delicate placement of those lush eyelashes.
I gaze, entranced, without even realizing the intensity of my scrutiny.
The lingering fragrance of white plum saturates the room.
I had anticipated that the mingling scents of blood and white plum would unhinge me.
? Present ?
Indeed, derangement seems to have found a home within me.
Else, how can I explain the inexplicable sleep that gripped me?
Sleep? Me?