My friend told me that no one is going to accuse of using Chatgpt because most of the "fucked up shit" I write is against Chatgpt's policy so I should "calm tf down" and stop "flooding her dms with my sob story" Anyways this one is not proof read cuz I don't have any volunteers rn
The rain had come and gone, leaving the streets of Edo wet and glistening in the moonlight. Narrow alleyways buzzed with the quiet hum of late-night revelers and merchants finishing the day's trade. Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell tolled, signaling the hour of twilight, the cusp between the day's end and the night's offerings.
Rody Lamoree, his hair damp and clinging to his face, moved swiftly through the labyrinthine streets, clutching the small lacquered box to his chest as if it were his very heart. The box was dark, intricately carved with a pattern of plum blossoms and delicate vines-an heirloom passed down through his wife's family for generations. Inside lay Yukiko's most prized possession: an ornate comb made from tortoiseshell and inlaid with gold.
It had been her mother's, and her mother's before her-a symbol of their noble heritage and the purity of their bloodline. Yukiko cherished it as a token of her family's honor, but for Rody, it had become a weight, a thing that tied him to a life of quiet submission, to a woman who, though kind, could never satiate the growing void within him.
He had loved her once. When he first arrived in Japan, an outsider with his dark auburn hair and strange green eyes, Yukiko had been the only warmth in a cold world that whispered about him behind his back. She was beautiful, with soft features and an elegance that came naturally. But over time, Rody began to see her as something fragile, almost too delicate to hold, her quietness a reflection of the quiet suffocation he felt in their marriage.
And then he had seen *her*.
Vanessa. The name rolled through his mind like a forbidden secret, each syllable pulling him deeper into an obsession he could not escape. She was an escort in the Yoshiwara pleasure district, a woman unlike any he had ever seen. Her beauty was ethereal, with porcelain skin that seemed to glow in the lantern light, raven-black hair cascading like ink down her back, and lips painted a deep crimson that made his heart stutter.
She had moved with grace and confidence, her dark eyes locking onto his, and in that moment, Rody felt the world shift beneath his feet. He had only seen her twice-once from afar, and once closer when their gazes met in a crowded street-but it was enough. He had to have her.
And now, with the comb in his possession, he would.
---
Kuragari Antiques was nestled between a teahouse and an abandoned shrine, its dark wooden exterior faded and unassuming. The door creaked as Rody pushed it open, a cloud of incense and dust hitting his face. Inside, the shop was dimly lit, filled with shelves of forgotten treasures, old scrolls, and tarnished metal. Behind the counter sat a man, hunched and grizzled, his eyes sharp and calculating. He looked up as Rody entered, his thin lips curling into a smile that did not reach his eyes.
"You've returned," the shopkeeper rasped, his voice like the creak of old wood. His gaze dropped to the box in Rody's hands, gleaming with anticipation. "You've brought it."
Rody nodded, his throat dry. He placed the lacquered box on the counter, sliding it forward. "It's... the comb," he muttered, already feeling the weight of his guilt sinking in. His stomach churned at the thought of Yukiko discovering what he had done. He could picture her now, sitting by the hearth, gently running the comb through her hair, unaware of the betrayal taking place.
The shopkeeper opened the box with a deft hand, revealing the tortoiseshell comb, its gold inlay catching the flickering light of the room. He lifted it with a reverence that made Rody's skin crawl, inspecting the delicate craftsmanship. "This," the shopkeeper said, his voice now tinged with greed, "is a rare treasure. Worth far more than most men could ever dream of."
