#fuxhi

[fallesto]

A sharp breath caught in his throat, causing him to halt mid-stride. Something sparkled at the periphery of his sight, a child's earring, partially concealed by tangled hair. The scent of rust and unwashed bodies filled his nostrils, yet the anticipated wave of revulsion never materialized. Instead, his whiskers quivered in recognition: the delicate gem displayed the emblem of the Walrus School.

"Ah." Killingham thoughtfully tapped his horn, the sound muted by his respirator. "Wrong shipment."

His tail flicked dismissively as he strolled past the cages, his boots clicking against the marble in a rhythm that felt just a beat off from reality, as if he were traversing through syrup. One of the auction guards hurried forward with a clipboard, but Killingham waved him away without breaking his pace. The man stumbled over his own feet in an attempt to halt.

“Get out of my way.”

As he continued to scan his surroundings, his ungulate ears twitching at the distant clanking of chains from deeper within the auction house. The resin bubble encasing his head warped the flickering torchlight, casting dancing reflections across the marble columns. His elongated neck bent at an unusual angle as he scrutinized one of the cages, not out of curiosity, but with the deliberate inspection of a man searching his pantry for misplaced spices. A woman flinched as his shadow loomed over her, pressing herself against the rusted bars. Ignoring the worthless slaves on display, his golden eyes finally landed on a cage with a low price, revealing a human inside, prompting him to tilt his head in curiosity.

"And what might your name be, pretty? Quite cheap for a slave; are you useless or something?"

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

The steam wrapped around his shoulders like a spectral embrace, the mineral-laden waters doing little to ease the tension knotted in his muscles. He had washed away the blood from his hands, Eizen's, the Dōshi's, his own, but the stains beneath his nails lingered, dark as ancient sins. Across the spring, a moss-covered statue of a forgotten deity observed with vacant eyes, its face half-buried in the earth as if the island itself wished to consume all traces of compassion.

The berries exploded with tartness on his tongue, their juice blending with the metallic aftertaste of blood still lingering on his teeth. He chewed absentmindedly, hardly noticing the flavor, his eyes locked on the chipped ceramic cup in his hands, a remnant from some long-gone pilgrim, now filled with water drawn from the hot spring's edge. Steam spiraled lazily, momentarily obscuring his reflection before clearing to unveil eyes like fractured flint.

He undressed and plunged into the water, the scalding heat piercing his skin like a thousand needles. He didn’t gasp or flinch, just allowed the pain to blossom across his shoulders as he sank deeper, until the water enveloped his head. Beneath the surface, the world dulled into something bearable.

No voices. No corpses. Just the muted thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears.

As he glided languidly through the steaming water, his motions were fluid yet utterly lacking in joy. The heat ought to have scalded him, should have seared away the numbness that clung to his bones, but instead, it only weighed him down, as if the water thickened with each stroke. His fingers grazed something hidden beneath the surface, a piece of bone, possibly human, smoothed by centuries of mineral accumulation. He let it slip from his fingers without a hint of curiosity.

When he broke the surface, gasping more out of habit than necessity, he brought another handful of water to his lips. This time, he savored it fully, the metallic taste of blood that wasn’t his own, the sulfurous murmur of the earth’s depths, and something else lurking beneath, sweet and cloying. Like decaying fruit left too long under the sun. He swallowed instinctively, then froze as an unfamiliar warmth, unlike the spring’s heat, spread through his chest. It was neither comforting nor natural. His heart stuttered, then thudded violently against his ribs.

“ugh.”

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

The stable air was heavy with the aroma of hay, horse, and who knows what else had accumulated on the wooden floorboards over the years of neglect. He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring, producing a sound that resembled a frustrated sigh rather than the expected equine snort. His breath disturbed the dust motes that danced in the slanted sunlight streaming through the stable's solitary window. The wooden partition to his left pressed against his flank, its grain worn smooth in patches where other horses had leaned over the years. He shifted, his hooves clattering against the packed earth, feeling the movement as foreign, too many limbs, too little control.

His ears flicked back as the bay gelding in the adjacent stall lazily nibbled at its hay net, strands of dried grass protruding like a drunken beard. The creature's eyes were half-closed in bovine satisfaction, completely oblivious to the existential dread tightening around his ribcage. He let out a snort, an actual, undignified snort, and stamped a hoof. The bay didn’t even bother to flick an ear in acknowledgment.

On his right, a dappled mare stood dozing, her lower lip drooping to reveal yellowed teeth. A fly crawled across her clouded left eye, and she didn’t blink. He shuddered, his hide rippling from withers to flank. This was purgatory. No, hell. A hell filled with flies, ignorance, and endless chewing. His tail lashed out, striking the wooden partition with enough force to leave a mark.

Michikatsu loathed this situation.

He let out a snort, a wet, ragged noise that sent bits of hay fluttering from his muzzle. The humiliation, the utter ridiculousness, smoldered in his chest like embers trapped beneath his ribs. His breath carried the scent of grass mixed with something disturbingly herbivorous. Beside him, the gelding exhaled a satisfied sigh, a puff of air that reeked of clover and contentment. Just the day before, he had faced utter humiliation. A name had wafted through the stable like a foul odor, Kagutsuchi. The daughter of some fool, with her poking fingers and a laugh reminiscent of a dropped kettle. His ears flattened against his head at the recollection of the stablemaster’s boastful words. "A splendid gift for the young miss," the man had chuckled, patting his flank as if he were a barrel of fine rice wine meant for a grand feast.

The shame of it curdled in his stomach worse than spoiled grain.

Moonlight streamed through the slats of the stable, casting stripes across his back. He had spent the night pacing, his hooves carving grooves into the dirt. By dawn, his muscles twitched with a restless rage. The gelding beside him had the audacity to yawn, jaws cracking loudly enough to startle a sparrow from the rafters. He contemplated delivering a kick. He sensed Kagutsuchi’s arrival even before the stable doors creaked open, her scent arrived first, a sickly sweet blend of rosewater and rotten persimmons clinging to her silk sleeves. The bay gelding perked up immediately, nostrils flaring like a lovesick fool, but he intentionally turned his back to the entrance. Let the brat witness his disdain in the flick of his tail and the deliberate flattening of his ears. He was no mere gift for some foolish girl on the brink of adolescence; he would rather perish.

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

The letter lay open before him; he had received the summons, war had erupted, and across the land, warriors were in demand, no, not just any warriors, but samurai. Though still young, he felt prepared. The flute rested on his neatly folded hakama, its uneven bamboo ridges glimmering in the soft glow of the oil lamp. He hesitated, his fingertips hovering above it, his childhood awkwardness forever captured in the wood. A breath escaped his lips in a hiss. He ought to destroy it. Instead, he carefully wrapped it in indigo cloth and tucked it deep into his pack, beneath the whetstone and an extra tanto.

Outside, the estate was enveloped in silence, broken only by the sound of his father’s attendants getting the horses ready. There was no farewell feast, no well-wishers to see him off. Just the whisper of the night wind through the pines and the heavy weight of his swords at his side. He adjusted the black-lacquered kabuto that he held under his arm. His father had given it to him that very morning without meeting his gaze.

“Don’t bring shame upon us,” were the only words he had spoken.

The gravel crunched beneath his sandals as he walked past the three-tatami room. The shoji stood open. Moonlight pooled on the vacant floor where Yoriichi once sat, tracing invisible designs with his tiny fingers. His pace slowed. He could almost hear the off-key notes of that cursed flute resonating in the air. His grip on his pack tightened.

He exhaled slowly, a wave of excitement washing over him; this was to be his adventure, his tale, his new life. Approaching the gate, he gazed at the road ahead, a pale scar etched across the landscape, vanishing into the mist of dawn. His heart raced against the grip of his katana, steady and relentless. No longer would he be haunted by the shadow of a brother who never should have been. No more whispered comparisons in the corridors. Just the sound of his own footsteps and the promise of an unbroken horizon, free from the confines of temple roofs.

He turned and made his way to the stable. The air was thick with the scent of dry hay and horse sweat, a warm contrast to the autumn chill outside. His mare, a sleek creature with a personality all her own, snorted as he drew near. She had been a gift from his father years ago, too precious for a son deemed second best, they had murmured. But now she belonged solely to him; he had no brother, and his feelings for his father were far from warm. He stroked her neck, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her coat.

"No one to share you with anymore," he whispered. "It’s just going to be you and me now, Kagutsuchi.”

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

IT WAS ALWAYS THE SAME.

The beauties of the world. The most perfect of all others, the only ones that caught his attention. He had to have them, he could only have those that captured his eyes. That was what love was it not. Appearance. Those who were beautiful and pleasing on the eyes. What else was there? Why only stop at one as well. Why not continue until all the beauty within the world was within your hands, a kingdom of your own, filled with those who have given there hearts to you and only you. That was what he had created, a little kingdom, filled with those who loved him until there dying breathes and each time there hearts…would…burst for him. He merely replaced them with others, never ending in his search, for more to be his and only his.

❝Well look at you, so pretty and wonderful it makes me wonder why would a divine being such as myself, restrict myself to only one wife? I have I think, two hundred and ninety so far, but you don’t have to be jealous of them, I make more than enough time for all of them and you, especially you, I will dote over, until I find another wife.❞

He held her hand tightly within his own, as he placed a ring on her finger and allowed the ring remain upon her finger.

❝You were very kind to speak to me. No one else has ever shown me, anything of the sort, it was…intriguing, to see, what I have only heard about.❞

Human decency.

Kindness.

Such things he had only read about within his gospel, but to see it with his own eyes was one thing, for it to be done to him was something else. For someone within this world, to actually…care about him. It was alarming. He had never experienced such a thing in all of his life, he knew this one would special. His two hundredth and ninety bride, such a landmark, this would be a wedding that would eclipse all the others and a heart he would attempt not to use.

❝Oh, yes. Human introductions and such. You may call me Regulus Corneas, but only once. I prefer husband-sama, but you seem quick-witted and sharp, you will learn quickly what I like, but we cannot waste much time within here. I need to take you home at once and have our marriage finalised..❞

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

"Flat as a washboard!? Flat as a washboard!!!??? Who do you think I am!? I am the Sin Archbishop of Greed. The most satisfied existence in the world! By what measure, with what right do you mean to judge my physical characteristics? In all the years, decades, centuries I have been faithfully serving as a Sin Archbishop, none have ever dared to utter such a ridiculous slight! In the first place, who do you think you are, to judge such traits in one who you've only just met? Do you mean to imply that the size of a woman's bosom, her "tits" as you so elequently put it, are deterministic of her value as a person? So what if my breasts are on the smaller side? If size is what you want, if you believe that is waht matters, then go marry a cow! What is that smile!? I can see it in your eyes, that you are pitying me. Stop! Stop pitying me! I am a complete, independent existence! None, not the other Archbishops, not my husbands, not the Witch herself have the right to pity me! What do you think gives you the right to look down on me with that girn, that snarky gaze, order your knight over there to barbarically remove the clothes from my womanly form, and gaze upon my naked body with derision, judging my perfect self on the size of my tits!? I will not allow it!!!

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

@fuxhi