Hetalia Deaths

Kiku Honda (Japan)

Now we have Japan who, trapped in an unhappy arranged marriage, commits seppuku. This partly explains his quiet, introverted demeanor, not wanting to get involved with others.
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It was 'what was best'.

Best for what? For who? For the family, for their status. Not for his bride, and certainly not for him.

Asami was a beautiful girl. She had snow-pale skin that seemed to be made of porcelain, smooth under his fingers, and cold. She was always cold, despite her warm spirit. Her lips were the color of the pink flowers on sakura trees, and the corners were always lifted in a soft, sweet smile. She had beautiful dark eyes that stood out on her pale skin. They were flecked with a lighter brown that made them akin to the smooth dark wood in their new home. They shone in the warm light of dusk like embers. Her hair was a silky blue-black, glistening in the pale morning light, framing her graceful face with beautiful contrast.

She was so kind, and so gentle. Her patience far outmatched his and every action done with her slender fingers was elegant and precise, from draping fabric to laying out dishes. She moved with a sense of purpose and an effortless grace, her vestments swaying around her slim figure, lying against the curve of her hips and her waist.

She was quiet and demure, but an atmosphere of calm always surrounded her. Whenever he sat down to dinner with her, he immediately felt the stress leave his limbs and he would show a rare smile back at her.

Asami was beautiful, kind, and capable. She was what would be considered a perfect wife. After their engagement was announced, despite the two being complete strangers to each other, he was always told by acquaintances that he was a 'lucky man'.

The thing that he hated about it all was that, despite being married to the 'perfect wife', it never felt right to him. Before the day prior to their wedding, they had never actually met. He had been told copious amounts about her, as she had been told of him, but neither of them had met, neither knew the other. Neither was ready for something as intimate as a marriage. They were expected to love each other, to have a family and be a representation of wedded bliss. How could they when they only knew their names?

Although a picturesque life, it was not a happy one, at least not for him. He was not happy, knowing that not only was he being denied the opportunity to find someone who loved him, but that Asami was as well. In this life of his, he felt... uncomfortable. It was as though there was a constant itch on the back of his neck that ate away at his skin, or the scrape of a too-tight shoe rubbing his heel raw to the point of bleeding. Some days, he almost felt that there was so much pressure in his head that his skull would crack.

It was forbidden for them to part, despite how much they may have wanted to. They were bound together, for better or for worse, although they seemed to be leaning towards 'worst'. He had to find a way to break the ties that bound them. And find a way, he did.

For him, it hadn't been a hard decision. He had seen a way out, and he knew that he had to take it. Although some might have considered it on a more extreme end, it was essentially his only option left. He did not want to live a life trapped inside a box, and he did not want poor Asami to be bound to someone who was unhappy.

He'd had the ceremonial dagger for some time, since he'd first begun training with swords as a child. The faintly curved blade had a smooth bamboo hilt and casing, embossed with several characters and bearing two tiny red tassels on the butt of the weapon. It had been bound to his waist for many years now, always neglected, and rightfully so. With no cause for dishonor, the blade was never meant to see daylight.

But now, the shining metal would finally have use.

His culture was a strict one. It was based entirely on how you or, more importantly, your family, were perceived by society. It was a constant act, a constant façade that took a great deal of effort to keep standing, but took barely a move to crumble. The entire hierarchy that he was uncomfortably shoved into was based upon those appearances. If you were the one who crumbled that image, you would be disgraced with a debt that could only be repaid through your own death.