The Girl in the Painting.

Our romance started on a miserable, wet day in the middle of a wretched, damp month. Funny, how I can think of our romance in terms of liquid. It started with water, moved on to shoushu and climaxed in blood.

We were celebrating, hitting the sake houses for some fun. Drinking until my head left my shoulders. And halfway between my Zen archery using a no-dachi and you drinking sake… somewhere between the torn rice paper screens and spilled cups we wound up in that little boat. Sailing in naked in the middle of the harbor.

A romance born of shoushu is fleeting at best; I had expected no message when your best friend was found dead the next morning.

I had expected to make it up to my sensei by submitting to her will.

You surprised me with your romance. You sent letters. I sent them back. Perhaps it would be best if I restored honor by committing to this fling.

The bon festival was wreathed in danger. The unwanted Otomo; the surprising Hida; and my sensei.

My ancestors spoke of foreboding things.

But it continued.

You were weak and overpowered by the rounin. He was a powerful opponent and despite my wishes Akemi and Yume both intervened in my losing battle against him.

You fell asleep on my horse, your arms around my waist and I thought of your paintings. Private things. Beautiful, like any well drawn letter. Your art was dancing with emotion. I could see them, from the harsh strokes to the soft curves. Just as my penmanship is delicate worship of letters, as is your brush work wonderful, “suteki.”

The weather turns worse. As autumn leads to winter, and blood is wiped clean of blades. We go to meet my parents and announce our engagement.

It does not go well.

My family needs my marriage.

A Daimiyo’s son. A man of much greater worth to my family than a Shiba bushi artist I was foolish with. My beauty will buy respect for my long disgraced family.

My father does not take our desire for marriage well.

I dare not see you, but send you a note; hoping for your understanding.

You challenge my betrothed.

I do not understand your reaction. Surely you know that I –must- act in the best interests of my family and clan? I –must- obey my father’s wishes. You may ruin everything my father hopes for.

I cannot encourage that. You are a responsibility I have been lifted of. I send another note.

The morning dawns red, or is that my fading dream?

I am confused by the three men that bow to the emperor. Hida Hitoriga, who had spent but a few hours in my company, challenges the marriage also.

Blood sprays in the morning air.

My family is at a loss.

Blood trickles down your shirt.

You bow to the emperor; you bow to me; you bow to the ground.

The shugenja rush to your side.

I am marrying the man I wished to marry.

So why am I not happy?

So why do I not go to your side?

It is the same reason that I cannot look up at my parents.

The same reason that I know where my father goes.

“I spent all my last favors in court arranging this marriage for you, Fuumi.”

Fatherless.

Blood.

Note.

The bloody note.

All for my inability to hold my shoushu.

I do not hear my mother’s wails. I do not see Yume’s burning eyes.

I do not tell you why. You have ignored my wishes. Yume says it is love.

Is it love? For the girl in the painting?

Yume lashes out in anger; I do not see it coming. I am thrown off the practice hall’s floor and ungraciously dumped in a snowdrift.

She will not say why.

Do I not deserve your love? For begging you to respect my family’s wishes?

What comes first? Myself or my family?

“Sometimes it’s okay to break the rules.”

It is because I broke the rules that this has happened. If I had seen you face-to-face… would it have really made that much of a difference?

Yume believes this to be so. She is wise and secretive.

Perhaps I should write some new rules.

~ Ide, Fuumi.

Flaw: Dark Fate.