A beautiful woman comes from nowhere, or so they say. One day, a woman with the beauty of a serpent crosses the barriers of Jujutsu High, and she comes to ask a question. She wants to know one little answer and then maybe she'll leave: "Where is my...
When I think of my wife, I always think of the back of her head. I picture cracking her lovely skull, unspooling her brain, trying to get answers. The primal questions of a marriage: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other? What will we do?
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THE EXECUTION OF THE PRINCESS
In the dimly lit courtyard of an ancient Japanese estate, the yearning whispers of cherry blossoms filled the air, creating a surreal backdrop to the grim spectacle unfolding. In the midst of this ethereal beauty stood an unnerved woman, her delicate hands bound tightly, her silky hair pulled behind her falling shoulders. She's dressed in a flowing, silk kimono, it was clear that she belongs to the very noble lineage that created her life. Y/N "Hebi" L/N was born to lead. But on this fateful day in the 1800s, nobility offered no sanctuary for the named murderer.
Down came the snow that crunched beneath her sandals.
The somber gathering of courtiers and commoners alike bore witness to her tragic fate, as she was dragged, her footsteps leaving imprints of reluctant despair in the gravel. Eyes and folks of different color watch with turmoil swirling within themselves. They didn't understand the reason for her impending doom, yet it was whispered through hushed tones in the crowd - the murder of her unfaithful husband, a transgression deemed unforgivable by the rigid laws of the time. What many would call many a time later, a crime of passion.
The woman stares back, citing the only faces she would remember and cherish no matter their votes against her. Arisu, a good boy who knew how to make his own clothing. Eldest mother Mariku, the only woman that taught Y/N to be more than a wife, more than a woman.
Amidst the silent anticipation, a figure of unparalleled authority occupied a grand throne at the forefront of the courtyard. The King, adorned in regal attire that mirrored the opulence of his era, sat with an aura of calculated power. This monarch was none other than the woman's father, a man torn between his kingly duties and the blood that flowed through both their veins. He sits with his head leant onto a knuckle, the elbow propped on the finest gold in the nation— perhaps even on the planet.
Closer, Y/N game to her fate.
As the seconds stretched into an eternity, the King rose from his throne, his voice resonating like a solemn decree across the expanse of the courtyard. "I, as both your father and your King," he declared, his gaze unwavering, "vow to preserve you for the time that lies ahead."
Colored eyes blink once.
Confused eyes blink twice...
Then, in that poignant moment, a fleeting smile danced upon the lips of the condemned woman. It was a smile that held the weight of her uncertain destiny, a glimmer of hope in the face of impending darkness.
"How considerate of you, your majesty," she bows her head, feeling the biting breeze of the winter tug at her clothes. Those to be executed aren't provided proper wear. She would off and reprimand but, she finds it useless and instead wraps her arms around herself. Self-soothing.
You're going to be okay.
A silence stills the shadowy courtyard of the ancient estate, two knights, their armor gleaming under the pallid moonlight, approached the unnerved woman with grim determination. Their swords, honed to a razor's edge, hung at their sides, ready to carry out the sentence imposed upon her.
As they escorted her to the looming guillotine, a hushed stillness enveloped the gathered crowd. Whispers of anticipation hung in the air like a shroud of impending doom. The woman's father, the King, watched with a heavy heart, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.
Amidst the solemn silence, a voice, soft and tentative, pierced the tension. A young boy with dark hair and midnight eyes, standing amidst the throng, spoke, his voice quivering with a mix of sympathy and curiosity, "Lady, before you depart this world, may I ask for your last words?"
The woman, her eyes fixed on the horizon, where the moon painted a silver path across the darkening sky, drew a deep breath. Her voice, though tinged with sadness, held a poetic grace, "I wonder, am I the darkness of the sea, or am I the moon that lights it?"
She smiles at him, quizzical with a tilt of the head.
The boy says nothing, unsure.
Her words hung in the air, ethereal yet haunting, echoing through the hearts of those who bore witness. The King's daughter, the serpent like princess, was about to be killed for all eyes to see.
And with that, she approached the cold, unforgiving guillotine, her steps steady, her gaze unwavering.
...
The blade fell with a swift and final motion, a somber punctuation mark to her poetic farewell. A stomach churning 'CRACK' sounds through the night before being followed by the thump of her head hitting the ground. The white kimono is spoiled like the snow, turning the ground red in a spray and gush of red.
Darkness descended upon the courtyard, mingling with the tears and sighs of those who had witnessed the tragic end of a woman whose spirit would forever be intertwined with the enigmatic allure of the night.
The king sat, unnerved and staring into the lifeless eyes of his daughter.
"It's only a punishment," he told himself. "She'll be the first of us in the new age."
