Hiina was her name. Or at least, that's what people called her. The Madame, her customers. "Doll". "Cute little thing". That's what it meant, but it meant nothing to her. That wasn't her name. It didn't matter anymore, though. Like a pig, no, like a...
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⚠️ Content warnings: Swearing, childhood trauma, abandonment, mentions of sex and death, violence, blood and emotional damage.
Definitions of Japanese words used throughout the chapter will be provided at the bottom of the page.
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I dip the brush into the beni¹ dish, pouting my lips as though going in for a kiss before painting on the red pigment. More. I lather another layer of oshirui² onto my face, masking my reddened cheeks and the dark rings below my eyes under a cast of white. More. With each brush stroke, I cover a bit more of my humanness and transform into that porcelain doll once again. The men like that. They don't want a woman. Smudged mirror in hand, I stare into those eyes I barely recognize. They are my own, yes, the same ones that have always been there. Those same eyes that looked down and saw my little feet take their first steps, propelling me off the ground and into this new world that was mine to discover. Those same eyes that scanned every stroke of every character of every book that I could find. Those same eyes that would glance up at those of my parents as they looked back down at me, filled with nothing but love and pride. Those same eyes that watched that pale, slender hand extend from the darkness, dropping three gold coins into my father's outstretched palm. Those same eyes that looked back into my mother's as I was pushed toward this stranger before the door was swiftly shut. I searched my mother's eyes that night, as I'm doing with mine now. There was no love, no kindness reflected in them, just my own tear-stained face. I apply another layer of oshirui.
The doors to the readying chambers slide open, and the recognizable clip-clopping of geta³ sounds the arrival of Madame Kaji. I catch her gaze in the reflection of my mirror, staring disapprovingly, as always, at my back as though it had just grown a pair of lips and cursed her. Raising her bony hands, she claps them twice together in a manner that could almost be considered delicate. Almost. The shrill sound slices through any lighthearted conversation that had existed among the women in the chambers before Madame Kaji's arrival. All eyes turn to her. "Alright, girls. Finish preening and get out there. There's a line of men with their pants still up and their purses full. Chop, chop!" Madame Kaji's voice is cold and demanding - demanding of labor and demanding of respect.
A quiet chatter returns to the room as the women apply a final touch of beni, pack up their makeup, and shuffle out toward the expectant customers. I am the last to leave. Returning my makeup to my satchel and smoothing my obi ⁴, I begin making my way to the door. "Wait, Hiina." Madame Kaji's arm shoots forward, blocking my path. She doesn't even turn her head in my direction. No, that would be too much effort for somebody like me. Instead, her eyes simply turn to glare at me through the corner of their sockets, the candlelight flickering menacingly in her pupils. The crimson beni is barely visible with the way her lips are pressed. So tight, so straight. That is what is expected of us: an army of perfect little porcelain dolls. Her nostrils flare with unspoken rage, and the image of her growing a pair of horns and spewing flames from her nose emerges in my mind, almost making me laugh. "I expect we won't be having any of yesterday's... behavior again today?" Beneath the folds of my sleeve's fabric, I run my fingertips over the fresh fan-inflicted welds running like serpents across the flesh of my palms. The humor of Madame Kaji as some hideous beast immediately evaporates as memories of last night repeat behind my eyes. That man. He asked me to do things - told me to do things. I said no. I shouldn't have said no. I try to swallow, but it gets caught at the top of my throat. "Yes," I mumble, unable to raise my gaze to Madame Kaji's level. Her eyes narrow impossibly smaller. "What was that?" Her tongue is like a snake, lashing a spitting venom at anyone who dares breathe incorrectly. "Yes, Madame Kaji." She is satisfied... For now. "Very well."
