Chapter Text
CHAPTER I
-Harue is sixteen-
The sound of water running would eventually hit against the jade sink of her bathroom. The pool of water, calm as it formed in the bowel. Long fingers rushed through the water and cupped it in her hands, bringing the water up and onto her face.
Familiar lashes of the once unfortunate child flicked the drops of water away and down into the sink. Large dark red pupils glanced into the mirror, raising the eyelashes slightly, causing the water to drop once more. Red eyes in the shade of a dark, blood red shade glance back to the woman in the reflection. Harue.
Water dripped from her body as she stands there, wiping herself dry with the towel which always remained in her en-suite. Soon enough the towel became damp, soaking in the bath water that she had emerged from. Her black hair, now chest length, clung and stuck to her back and chest. Strands falling over and finding their own paths. As the strands were pulled away from her body her hands took hold of all her hair from the back. Squeezing the water out and to the floor, creating a small puddle by her feet.
Wrapping her hair around her palm as she squeezed she pulled it over her shoulder. Her fingers began to braid her hair, parting it down the middle to create two plaits. Wrapping her hair under her ears she joined them at the back of her hair. Holding her hair together with her right hand she walks away from the mirror and out the room. Sliding open the door she walks into her bedroom.
The bedroom compared to how it once was could be described as a journey through time. Once a plain room with little to no furniture the room had been brought to comfort with the addition of personal possessions. Although Harue’s style wasn’t gold and treasures she had her own treasures. A variety of books inside the bottom of her wardrobe, a collection of rocks from the outside garden, her jewellery box that sat on her dressing table at the left. Her bed was still in the same position, in the left corner of the room on the window side. The shorter side against the window while the longer side (the left of the bed) was pressed against the wall. Meaning to get onto the bed Harue climbed on at the end of the bed (not against a wall) or by the right side, which she had always done gladly. Not wanting to take up space by having the bed in the middle of the room. She had once said how she’d probably fall of the bed with more ways to get on. Therefore the bed has remained where it always was, in that snug corner. Nothing had changed about how snug the bed was, always being littered in blankets to keep Harue warm.
The once drafty room now emitted a warm atmosphere of colours such as gold and sunrise. It would seem that not just the atmosphere was warming, but also the collections of possessions. Most belongings seemed to be In the colour yellow or a varient of gold.
The walls remained the same, a beige with patterns such as orchids and other flowers inked to the wall. The wooden creaking floorboards remained the same, nothing changed. Like the home itself it stands still, frozen in the era it was created.
Hands pick up the ornamented green hairbrush that was upon the dressing table. The hairbrush already having some of her hair on, just thin strands nothing that would make it seem like Harue would loose all her hair to this brush. Raised to her hair she begins to brush, still holding her hair at the back of her head she brushes the ends. She had already plaited it and brought it under her ears. She would stay inside, it’s not like she needed to please anyone. Once done the hairbrush is placed down onto the dressing table, hairs added to the many already lost.
Her right hand being occupied by holding the hair up she reaches to the little ornament green box at the top left of the table. Leaning her body over she flicks open the lid, grazing her left elbow on the hairbrush’s bristles she pushes it gently away. Opening the box she reaches into the box to find the hairpin section, where she familiarly went to the dark red pin at the front. Picking it up she doesn’t close the lid, instead she inserts the pin into her hair, holding it together. Slowly dropping her right hand, ready to put it back into position if it was to fall, but it doesn’t. Which she lets out a gentle sigh of relief to.
She closes the lid to the box happily, hiding away her pins and other accessories kept safe inside. A lot of the time she wouldn’t choose her own, but that was fine. She would always describe in detail what kinds she wanted. But sometimes her father would get her quite a few close to what she wanted instead of just one. Harue didn’t mind, but what she did mind was that her box was always overflowing.
With the towel around her body she gets up and opens the wardrobe up, with her right hand this time. The structure’s inside was once again overfilled with what her father had gotten for her. Harue, always appreciative of the things brought for her, didn’t mind at all. But sometimes she wanted to wear and show them off to someone else other than that father.
For Harue, she was kept in isolation, away from the world. But sometimes she would be brought outside her home, but always under the eye of her father Kokushibo. The gardens were as far as she traveled, but her father would always experience and travel the world, after all, he was a demon. An incredible demon who she looked up to, he was her saviour, and thankful to be made his daughter, even if she lacked his blood.
The sound of fabric over her arms was soothing to her, the feeling of the rich material against her body as she slipped on the finery. Today she would wear a pale yellow kimono. Even as a child she would wear pale colours, a stark contrast to how the home and its contents were. She stood out as if a she was a songbird mixed with pelicans, not to say her father was one of course, he was a demon, quite the difference.
The fabric fitted onto Harue, cozy and worn. But there wasn’t a fray, Kokushibo had made sure to keep her belongings in the best condition, even if it would require him to take up sewing. Once dressed and ready she allowed herself to pick up a book from the shelf, a hobby she had only gained due to her fathers lessons when she was a girl. She couldn’t say she was too enthusiastic about the lessons, but her love of the battlefields called to her, peaking her interests. Oh how she yearned for the battlefield, why did her father get to fight he tear of her? Why was life so unfair towards her?