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Momo tugged on the edges of her crimson cloak and pulled it over her onyx eyes, shielding the bustling crowd from her view. Tall stalls leaned against each other for support, colorful banners decorating tables in an attempt to catch the attention of curious shoppers.
Food, piled into crates, were carried off of wagons by farmers, their horses cantering down the street. The throng of people was especially thick today, she observed. Ceaseless banter filled the air, hagglers trying to get discounts on food. Stubborn stall owners chased away thieves with broomsticks, scattering eager burglars like rats.
Women shopped in cliques, gossiping amongst themselves as they inspected produce. Children played in the streets, kicking around rubber balls or pleading for warm buns near the bakers’ stand.
Momo let a rare smile crack through her marble skin. It wasn’t every day she managed to escape the constant pampering of her guards, but when she did, it was always worth it.
The calamity of the marketplace was so unlike the stoic silence of her home that she looked forward to her weekly visits. Surrounded by servants who catered to her every need, it wasn’t often that she could do something as normal as this.
She quietly walked through the market, watching as market goers piled their baskets with ripe fruit and pressed silver coins into the palms of the farmers. She peeked at the empty basket in her hand.
What she needed was far from the ordinary, and so she would have to make haste in order to find it. She sped through the throng at a faster pace, taking great pains to not let anyone notice the silk dress underneath her ragged cloak, or the soft slippers that adorned her feet.
Her kind wasn’t welcomed here. People looked at the high class with utmost derision and scorn, not that she blamed them, given how the elite exploited them at every turn. If anyone noticed the quality of her clothes or the elegant shine of her hair, it was over. She’d once heard of a story where a young man had been chased out by an angry mob. She didn’t want that to be her.
Momo wove deeper into the market and approached a young man who was gifting small animals as pets. An unusual thing, really. Many people in town believed that he was daft at best, simply insane at worst. She knew him well. He was not someone to cross nor pity. A young woman had thought it would be funny to taunt him for his misshapen head, and nearly lost her hand to one of his loyal ‘pets.’
A smile spread across Momo’s face as she made her way to his stall, which was purposefully shoved into a shadowy alcove. “Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted, searching her pockets for some coins, “how are you this fine day?”
The young man nodded at her. He never spoke, except for the silent whimpers he would release when afraid. He relied solely on body language. It was his way of speaking, and through the many times she had visited his quaint stand, she had learned his language.
“Bad day?” The young man nodded his head and Momo’s smile turned downcast. She gently placed the coins in his sodden hands, watching his eyes glimmer at the sight of rare gold. They had an unspoken agreement that, as his best (only) customer, he would remain silent about her usage of gold instead of common silver. “I will take all your animals.”
He raised an eyebrow at her request, but said nothing. How could he, when she had generously gifted him? Slowly, he packed up the small reptiles, amphibians, colorful birds and other ‘undesirable’ creatures and handed them to her. She gingerly took them from his tight grasp, ignoring the symphony of cooes and hisses that erupted from the bronze cages, and placed them in her basket before waving the young man goodbye.
Covering her basket with a handkerchief, she made a brief stop at another stand. Standing behind the counter was a burly, sturdy man, who grinned as soon as he recognized her ratty cloak. “Yaomomo!” he called out.
“Hello Sato,” she said curtly, making sure to smooth down her rounded vowels. “How is business going?”
“Business’s been alright,” he said, running a hand through his maroon colored hair. “Lots of people have been buying ingredients from me ever since I took your advice. The cakes have been selling like crazy!”
“I’m glad I could be of assistance.” Momo reached into her cloak. “By any chance,” she began, fishing for the paper she had brought with her, “do you happen to have…ah, here it is.” She handed the small, folded piece of parchment.
He unfolded the paper, quietly reading it to himself. “I don’t think so,” he answered, “but I think Kirishima does.”
“Ah, good. Thank you.” She hid the note again in her coat. “May I have five of your delicious cakes, wrapped in foil, please?”
“Of course!” Sato went into the back and reappeared with a circular box wrapped with a petite bow as Momo placed payment on top of the stand. “Planning a party, huh?”
Momo giggled sheepishly. “You could say that.” She gingerly lifted the box full of delectable desserts and waved the young man goodbye.
One more stand to stop by. She remembered her interesting encounter with the masculine man at the library. She had been looking around for a book relating to creation theory when she stumbled upon him arguing with one of the guards. The guard refused to let him in because of his status.
Frequently, he was seen hanging out with delinquents and because of that he had gained a reputation of being one. She had heard little of the delinquents, all she knew of them was they were considered rejects by society. Momo, being a lover of books and learning, felt it wasn’t right as she believed that everyone should have access to knowledge and that those that may not fit in with society should still be treated with respect.
She had politely told the guard that he was a companion of hers, and the guard immediately backed off. She could never forget the sheer amount of joy that had spread across his face. Breaking herself out of her reverie, she walked over to his stall.
With a wave of her hand, she caught Kirishima’s eye. He waved back at her with a bright, toothy smile. “Hey, Yaomomo!”
“Good afternoon, Kirishima! How is your cold?”
“Gone, thanks to that amazing brew you whipped up for me. What brings you?”
“I am running a small errand.” She handed the folded paper to him. “Sato said that you might have this?”
Kirishima skimmed the note. “Yeah! We have plenty. Just wait here while I get it ready for you.”
Momo let out a relieved sigh as she stood, shuffling about nervously every time a person glanced at her. She’d like to leave as soon as possible. Even though her cloak shielded most of her face, it wasn’t helping that her companions kept calling out her familial name. If he kept that up, it would only be a matter of time before someone recognized the familiar surname and the whole market’s attention would be turned onto her.
He returned with a small brown bag and handed it to her. “This one’s on the house. Consider it thanks for what happened at the library.”
“Thank you, Kirishima!”
“No problem! You take care, Yaomomo!”
“Likewise!” She hid the brown bag in her straw basket, and with all her errands being done for the day, took off.
Being fabulously wealthy was not the only reason why she disguised herself. She looked behind her to check if anyone had noticed her. The crowd milled about, unaware of her presence. With a smile, she ventured deeper into the forest, her cloak billowing in the breeze.
She trudged through the leaf litter, holding tightly to her basket. The sun brightly shone, its rays bathing the forest in a warm, ethereal glow. Once sure of her safety, she removed the hood of her cloak, indulging herself in the beautiful light. Magnificent trees loomed over her, creating abstract shadows that sheltered her from the sun’s radiant glow.
In the distance, Momo spotted a violet-haired girl sitting on a blanket, her hands fiddling around with a small lute. Momo eagerly dashed towards her, her basket swinging wildly beside her. “Kyouka!” she shouted, embracing her friend tightly.
“And good afternoon to you too, Yaomomo,” her friend grinned impishly, placing the lute to the side. “What do you have there?”
“Cake, of course,” Momo announced. Then her voice dropped to a whisper as she joined Kyouka on the warm blanket. “Is there anyone around?”
“None,” she replied. “I checked the area twice.”
Momo nodded. She pulled out the china plates she’d brought from home - small dishes that were white as a pearl, with swirling designs of crescents and crows etched in violet. Holding her breath and doing one last look around to see if there were any shadows hidden in the brush, she murmured a chant. As she did, the cutlery came to life and levitated eerily in the air. The knives smoothly cut equal slices of cake and served them onto the plates, which floated just an inch over the blanket. A plate slid itself in Kyouka’s hands, a fork gently going between the fingers of her other palm.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to fully fathom this,” she joked.
“What, that I ordered five?” Momo tittered. “I couldn’t help myself, they’re absolutely divine.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Kyouka grinned. Momo moaned happily as she ate a bit - this time she’d ordered a honey-crepe cake - stacks of thin, pale yellow pancakes stacked and sealed on top of each other with amber colored honey. A thick chocolate ganache coated the top of the crepes, and was smothered with chopped almonds and swabs of honeycomb. The crepes weren’t too sweet, the ganache dark and almost bitter, but the honey nicely wrapped the flavors together and the almonds added a surprising crunch. It was, to Momo’s refined tongue, a culinary masterpiece.
“Five cakes, goodness. That’s a record.” She teasingly clapped at Momo’s achievement. The girl in turn puffed out her cheeks, her face turning a tinge pink before she boisterously laughed. That was one thing Momo loved about Kyouka—she could be herself around her. She could let her magic run free through her veins without worrying about the threat of being discovered. Kyouka was a good listener, and Momo often found herself venting about the woes of balancing her parents’ expectations and hiding her witchery all at once.
She was considered ethereal by the village folk, beautiful in body and spirit, and would've been a prime suspect of witchcraft if it weren't for the fact that her parents were too holy, too gracious, too blessed to have birthed a monster. So nobody questioned how eyes followed her, scrutinized her, and undressed her as she walked through the market. And for that, she was thankful for her upbringing. If it had not been for her parents, she would’ve been sentenced a long time ago.
Momo rummaged through her basket and pulled out a glass of ginger ale, her mind now occupied with her parents. What could she even say to them? They weren’t aware of her abilities and she was sure they wouldn’t take it kindly if they learned that their beloved daughter belonged to one of Satan’s spawn. Part of her believed that she would still be accepted, but it was a naïve prospect and one that could place her in grave danger.
She felt a hand rest on her shoulder and turned to Kyouka, whose eyebrows were laced with concern. “What’s wrong, Yaomomo?”
“My parents,” she replied, setting down her cake, “should I tell them?”
Kyouka quietly thought it over. “You should tell them when you’re ready to leave. That way if it goes badly, you won’t lose your life too.”
“Would they really kill me? I make sure I am behaved and I don’t speak out of turn. After all I do to please them, would they cast me away?”
Kyouka patted her thigh. Momo laid her head on her lap while Kyouka reached for her lute. “I don’t know, but you’re a good daughter Momo. Any parent would be grateful to have you. Being a witch shouldn’t change that.”
Kyouka strummed the first notes of an old gothic hymn, softly singing the words. “Kyouka?” She hummed in response. “If my parents don’t accept me...will you continue to be there for me?”
“Of course, Yaomomo,” she assured her. “Till the end of time, just as you were here for me.” And with that comforting assurance, Momo relaxed and let Kyouka’s enchanting voice gently carry her away into a pleasant dream.
Momo strolled down the cobblestone street, her nerves now at ease as she approached the extravagantly lavish Yaoyorozu mansion. She shut the door behind her and hung up her cloak on one of the racks. A servant bowed and greeted her, “Welcome back, Miss Yaoyorozu. Your parents are waiting for you in the dining room.”
“Thank you.” Smoothing down the ends of her dress, she gracefully walked to the dining hall, the very staple of grace and elegance. She took her seat across from her parents. Her hands politely tucked underneath the table, her back straight against her chair and her appearance perfectly poised. “Hello, Father and Mother.”
“Good evening, darling,” her mother responded. “I take it that your trip to the library went smoothly?” Momo nodded. “That is good to hear. Your father and I have something very important to discuss with you. It has to do with your marriage.”
It was the same conversation they'd had for the past few months, ever since she'd turned eighteen. For men, this meant they were fit to get jobs and make a name for themselves. For women, it meant getting married and tying their worth to their fertility and home-keeping. With Momo's pampered lifestyle, she could afford a maid or two, but having children against her will? Being torn away from her home and carried off by a man she did not know? The very idea sickened her, but that was what her parents were trying (albeit gently) to push onto her.
“The family has accepted our proposal. You are to attend a ball where you should meet the heir so that you are acquainted with him. This is a very special event and I expect you to be on your very best behavior, understood?”
Her mother revealed to her the details of her marriage that they had set up without her consent nor approval. She barely heard them after that. She kept her eyes trained on the blurred scenery outside the windows, her hands fisted into her dress as she tried to fight the screams threatening to tear out of her throat and the tears pearling up in her eyes. A real lady does not scream. A real lady does not cry, her aunt would’ve said, stroking her hair to soothe her.
So Momo leaned up and stared her parents straight in the eye. She could not outright deny them without facing consequences, but she could prove herself to be the worst wife possible. She would annoy her spouse so much, he’d be driven to insanity. Or at least until he would offer to divorce her.
“Yes,” she told them stiffly. They smiled, relieved that their daughter had finally come around. Then they proceeded to explain how she should attempt to seek him out at the ball, since he would be in attendance.
Blond hair.
Strong build.
Good with a sword.
The rest of the details were lost in her mind as she was already deep in the pit of scheming.
“How could we have been blessed with such a wonderful daughter?” her father remarked. “God must truly favor us.”
Inwardly, Momo cringed, but she still feigned a smile. “May I please be excused?”
“Of course.” Momo curtsied before walking up to her room to get ready. She’d already laid out an outfit, knowing that the end of the month was near and that there would be yet another ball. As she clambered into her corset, she glanced at the mirror and stared at her reflection, wavering in the polished mirror. She had put on such a brave face for so long that her own reflection looked foreign to her. When was the last time she had ever let herself cry?
“I’m such a liar,” she murmured. She didn’t want to marry someone she didn’t know. In fact, she wasn’t sure she was ready for marriage. She wasn’t sure about a lot of things, and it wasn’t helping that she was a witch. She felt like such a fraud, putting up an act when the only other option she had was to suffer a miserable death. But would it be worth it, disappointing her parents?
With a shuddering sigh, she dressed and put on her brave face. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. There was a ball about to happen and she needed to prepare. She prayed that whoever the heir she was to meet would be kind and understanding. Maybe. She gazed at herself once more with her outfit now on. Be strong, Momo.
Momo wondered, faintly, when this was going to be over.
She swirled her wine around, watching with disinterest as it sloshed over the sides of her flute. Her gloved hands traced the sides of her glass, and behind her she could see the flourish of dresses - velvet and satin fluttering in grand circles as women twirled elegantly with their partners. Gentle music filled the air, the light press of piano keys and the twinkle of a large harp. It was suited to this slow, idle dance.
She sighed and took a sip of wine, turning to face the grandeur. The royal ballroom was by far the most exquisitely crafted building she’d ever seen. The floor was made up of emerald, checkerboard tiles that clicked against the dancers’ heels, and tall corinthian columns held up the massive transparent dome. The moon’s silver light filtered in through the colorful stained glass, giving everyone a faint, iridescent sheen that made it seem as though they’d been stroked by the hands of a rainbow.
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, firelight dancing on wax candles that hung in their sconces. Statues were carved into the walls, depicting scenes of war, love, and mythology. The walls, the floor, the people themselves all sparkled with the splendor of gold.
It was all almost too bright to look at, even for someone of her status. She’d seen the ballroom many times before. Her family was never left out of the monthly revels, and the hectic routine of getting ready, arriving at the marble steps of the palace, and dancing until her feet were sore had lost its magical touch. Now, when the letter appeared on the table of her family’s manor, she looked upon it with dread and wished to curl up in the library, where no servant or responsibility could bother her.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. And so here she was, gazing at the flushed faces of the dancers as the song came to a close. She eyed their intricate dresses, gossamer and chiffon, with sequins and layer upon layer of useless, jarring fluff. Her own gown was simple, for she’d chosen to dress herself that night. She wore a shoulderless red gown with a veil that ran down to her ankles. Roses clustered the upper arm and collarbone of her dress, making her appear a newly blossomed woman. Instead of pinching her hair into a tight, braided bun, she allowed it to fall loose over her shoulders and over her breasts.
Perhaps it was the fact that she’d dressed so radically that had given her looks throughout the night. Her mother continuously shot her looks of disdain from across the room. Momo ignored her, ignored the sharp eyes that seemed to be devouring her like a piece of delectable cake.
Let them stare, she thought robustly.
She finished her wine and set the glass down near the table, clutching her open lace fan between her fingers. She noticed a few of her companions present - the lady-in-waiting, Ochako Uraraka, tentatively led her clumsy but well-meaning guard into a dance. Kyouka, one of Momo’s closest friends, sang as a part of the crowd watched her in awe. The princess, Itsuka Kendo, sat on her throne. Though a thick veil concealed her face, Momo knew she held a look of immense boredom behind the white tulle. There were plenty of blondes, but some didn’t fit the limited margins, and the ones who did weren’t of the right status. Her parents would never allow her to marry a common merchant.
"Madame."
Momo turned sharply, her skirt twisting furiously. A stout man stood before, his form pudgy in a tight blue suit. He had greasy purple hair that clung to his forehead in an unappealing manner. Despite Momo being much taller than him, he held himself in a way that suggested his status and, perhaps, his hubris.
"Sir," she said slowly, her mouth twisting into a frown behind the fabric of her fan. "How may I help you?"
He brushed his knuckles on the collar of his suit. "I was wondering if you'd like to dance."
Ah. She wasn't surprised; he wasn't the first to have asked her that night. Once upon a time, she'd eagerly accepted these offers, believing them to be courteous and genuine. It only took a few dances for her to realize that the men held on a little too tightly to her waist, that their hands ventured out of the standard movements of the dance, that they never looked her in the eyes when she gazed at them. The delicate dances felt more like dissections as time went on, and she eventually withdrew from it all together. That didn't stop the advances, though.
"I'm afraid I can't," she told him, turning away to signal the end of their conversation. And yet he pursued.
"Why not?" he asked. "I'm a wonderful dancer, if you'll just give me a try."
He almost sounded earnest. The way his eyes subtly traced the lines of her bare shoulders made her take a small step back. His words rearranged themselves in her mind: I'm a wonderful dancer, let me give you a try.
"No, I believe our height difference would pose a problem." She reveled in the shame that rose to his cheeks. "I ask you to leave me."
He stepped forward and she grasped the hilt of her fan, disguising the grimace that came to her face. "Darling, I assure you that it won't be a problem. If I could just show you…"
He seemed lost in his own world now, solely focused on the curve of her legs, the creamy white of her collarbone, the plump rise and fall of her round chest. She'd shoved herself into the shadows of the columns so that no man would bother her, but now that tactic had worked against her. It made her vulnerable to annoyances such as these.
He came closer yet, his hands trying to cage her against the wall in an act of submission. Her eyes darted back to her fan - hidden in the guard of her fan was a blade, which she could send flying at him with a flick of her wrist. However, that would draw suspicion, and she had no doubt his big mouth wouldn't hesitate to tell grand stories of how a wretch had tackled him to the ground like a maniac.
So instead, she glanced at the golden blades of her fan. Faint, but still visible, were inscriptions.
Hexes.
They were written in old Chinese, which none of the Japanese folk would understand should they come across it. The engravings looked, to the untrained eye, like mere patterns. If they were uttered perfectly, not a line flubbed or tripped over, they could cause severe harm.
As the nobleman leered closer, she began to move her lips. One part of casting a proper hex was that she had to have control of her tone and voice in order to reach her desired effects; and her lack of volume would greatly diminish the overall power of the spell.
That didn't matter, not now. All that did was that she got him away from her in a painless and successful manner.
She uttered the last part of the hex, allowing her voice to go up a fraction, as if she were pulling back her metaphorical fist to apply as much force to her punch as possible. He had snapped out of his hypnotic behavior now that he heard her voice, and he peered up at her, nearly stumbling back at her sharp eyes, smoldering like coals in a hearth.
Just as she was about to release the final vowel, a snarl came from her right. "Bastard. Step aside."
Momo's mouth clamped shut and she felt the growing curls of flame die inside her. Without turning her head, she eyed the tall, brooding guard that now stood beside them.
Where did he come from? She thought suspiciously. Then she saw the royal insignia on his trench coat, and it made sense. He was a knight in training, which explained how he so stealthily snuck up on them, much less heard their banter over the commotion of ballroom music.
The shorter man staggered back. "How dare you-"
"No," the knight cut him off rudely, pulling out a thin sliver épée from his scabbard. It was bizarre; knights did not primarily use swords such as these. They preferred heavier blades that sunk into skin easily. A sword such as this needed an intelligent and agile user in order to truly unlock its capabilities. "How dare you, Lord Minoru, prey upon Heiress Yaoyorozu? Are you that much of an animal that you cannot restrain yourself, even in public?" The man snorted. "Shame."
Lord Minoru. Momo was familiar with the name. A nobleman who'd grown rich with his sales on wine, and one who had the disturbing pastime of sneaking his hands up the skirts of the maids who picked grapes from his sprawling vineyards.
"Who do you think you are, Katsuki?" Minoru spat, waving his hands in defiance. Katsuki .
"A man," he replied, "something you do not know of."
"I could have you killed, you know!!" The stout man shrieked, but it was hard to take him seriously when he went only to Katsuki’s waist. His cheeks were read with embarrassment and he fisted his hands like that of a child throwing a tantrum. "Drawn and quartered, in an instant!"
"Silence," Katsuki snapped, poking his sword at Minoru's pudgy chest. "I can slice you clean in half so fast it won't even be humorous. Leave us."
Minoru opened his mouth to protest, but then saw both Katsuki and Momo's searing gazes cut through him, and knew rebuttal would mean death. He carefully pried himself from the sword's sharp tip and scurried away, never looking back at them.
Katsuki sighed and faced her, slipping the sword back into its scabbard. "Idiot doesn't know when to stop," he muttered. "You are okay, yes?"
Not are you okay - you are okay. As though he knew that she wasn't in any danger to begin with.
Her arm went to her side, the fan folding in her palm. "I am," she told him. "Thank you, sir Katsuki."
He smirked. "You're very welcome. Although I'm sure you had it handled, didn't you? You're a giant compared to him. He couldn't reach your thighs if he stood on the tips of his polished boots."
Momo snorted, and then covered her mouth in haste.
How unladylike, she could hear her mother chastising her from across the ballroom. No man wants to hear the laugh of a pig erupt from your mouth.
Then Katsuki let out a cackle of his own, and she slowly let her palm drop. His own laugh wasn't like the tinkle of a bell, or the croak of a frog, or any of the other desirable comparisons that could be made.
His laughs were like explosions being set off in still silence. Loud and volatile, yet strangely charming all the same. It was during this fit of laughter that it dawned on her-
Blonde hair.
Strong build.
Good with a sword.
“Oi,” he snapped. “What are you looking at?”
She blushed at his sudden informalness. “Nothing. You just look...familiar.”
“Familiar?” he leaned in. “Maybe you know me. Take a good, long look, Yaoyorozu.”
She squeaked and yanked her fan over her eyes. “I’d rather not!”
He laughed again and gently pulled the fan from her hands. “You’re interesting.”
“Interesting?” she scoffed. “Lord Minoru certainly found me interesting.”
“He found your bodice interesting,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “Not you.”
“Not me,” she repeated. “And what makes you different?”
“Because I’m better,” he said, making it sound ever so simple. “I’m better than any smooth-talking bastard you’ll ever meet, and don’t you forget it.”
She snorted again, this time not bothering to hide her grin. She wasn’t sure why she was laughing. Usually, she despised such pride, but his felt different. She didn’t feel pushed into a corner. He hadn’t grown over her, his shadow engulfing her insignificant figure. He wasn’t humble, but his pride did not linger over her shoulder like a demon awaiting feedback. It was just...there.
He glanced back at the crowd, the musk of sweat covered in the endless spritz of perfume. The dancing was still going strong in the dark of night. A new song began to play, vibrant and vivid. It wasn’t the predictable, languid stroll of ballroom dancing. Each movement was free and powerful - a dance that was complicated and made your heart beat wildly. A noticeable chunk of the crowd, tired after hours of prancing, retired to the corners of the room, leaving plenty of space for new couples.
Katsuki’s eyes were still on the retreating crowd when he said, out of the blue, “Dance with me.”
Dance with me. He hadn’t even bothered to offer. It was rude to do such a thing. Impolite. Scornful.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m leading.”
He didn’t argue, grabbing her gloved hands and gliding her over to the center of the tiled floors. Vigorous music filled their ears: the hearty thump of drums, the thunderclap of cymbals, the sapid twang of the violin. It was chaos. It was a symphony, one that Momo instantly forgot as he pressed their chests together. She was taller than him, by only an inch, and he didn’t try to pathetically overcome that. Instead he stood, his arms around her waist, content and dignified and never breaking eye contact. She could feel curious gazes on them as they twirled and leapt. She hoped she didn’t betray her heavy pants, the sweat building on her bare neck. She was not sure if it was the dance or him causing it. All she knew, all she felt, was raw thrill.
And with one final stroke of the violin, the dance abruptly ended. He stood over her as she dipped to the ground one last time, her skirt fluttering like petals unfurling from a flower. His strong hands kept her hovering over the ground as their heaving breaths filled the silence.
“Goddamn.” A faint smell wafted between them - caramel. Strange, like everything about this man, but not unwelcome.
“Yes,” she deadpanned, but couldn’t stop the smile that spread on her cheeks, as easily as butter on toast. “Goddamn.”
Her mother would’ve pinched her if she’d heard Momo speak so obscenely. Momo herself wasn’t sure how she managed to say it, but she was dancing even though she shouldn’t be, and actually enjoying the company of her suitor, so there were a lot of things going haywire tonight.
The rest of the night was as wild as the dance they shared. They’d shared wine, laughed and leaned into each other for more dances. And on the carriage ride home, she found herself thinking of a bouquet of peonies, white gowns, and walking down the aisle.
The following day, Momo could not stop thinking about her dance with that brazen blond. His demeanor and attitude was unlike anyone she had ever met before. She was used to being surrounded by haughty, contemptuous upperclassmen who seemed more interested in one’s status than one’s character. He was nothing like how she expected. He didn’t care about one’s reputation nor did he seem to care too much manners. And honestly, it was refreshing to her. There was an allure to him that made her want to draw near him, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. She wasn’t blind to the envious gazes women threw at her as he spun her around the ballroom.
Her face grew warm at the memory. Oh, how fortunate she was to find herself in love with a man that knew how to put her at ease but also let her be herself! In one magical night, he had managed to not only capture her attention but her longing heart. Maybe an arranged marriage wasn’t as bad of an idea that she had originally made it out to be.
A blissful sigh escaped her. Picking up a brush laying on top of her vanity, she began combing her midnight hair in long strokes, trying to tame the stubborn nest that her hair had gotten itself into. It had grown much longer than before. A tell-tale sign. Her body found ways of foretelling the future: eye color, hair length, height length, and so on. All these small but noticeable signs helped her family prosper, and she desperately wished that she could tell her parents that, but again, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for the consequences. She wasn’t sure if she could handle their disappointment. It was easier to continue being the perfect daughter they saw her as.
She stopped brushing her hair when a startling thought came to her. Would he still love her? She knew of his care-free attitude and aloof behavior when it came to the emotions of others, but would he care? Would he leave her the instant that he found that she wielded abilities that weren’t normal? Was he as smitten as she was with him? Oh, she was so naïve! Maybe he was messing with her this whole time! Maybe he—
A knock sounded and she turned her attention to the door. “Come in,” she announced. Her mother walked in, graceful as ever, with a small smile on her face. “Good morning, Mother.”
“Good morning, Momo,” she clasped her hands in front of her velvet nightgown. The house had barely just awoken - though Momo was often up hours before her parents and even the servants themselves. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”
Momo’s smile tripled in size. “It was wonderful, Mother. I am very fond of my suitor. I admire his charisma and strength. And there is an interesting charm about him.” Her mother wrapped her daughter in a hug to which Momo returned. Her mother was poorly hiding her relief, and Momo did not wish to bring up her troubles at a time like this. Perhaps later.
“I’m delighted to hear it! I’ll tell his family that we’ll move the date of the wedding engagement forward. For the time being, spend all the time you can with your beloved so that you two shall grow closer.” Her mother leaned in to peck Momo’s cheek.
“I surely will, Mother.”
Momo stared up at the darkening sky as a raven flew past. The bushes rustled and she turned her attention to the blonde who was carrying a straw basket. Her eyes lit up and she dashed towards him, engulfing him in a hug. “Princess,” his muffled voice began, “can you let go of me? Your boobs are in my face.”
Her face burst in a bright shade of red as she darted back from her soon-to-be husband. She profusely apologized but he thought nothing of it. “I didn’t mind it, Princess. I’m just saying...” He leaned close to her ear. “The forest is not as private as you think it is.”
A cheeky smile appeared on his face as her cheeks bloomed an even darker red. He took a seat on the blanket beside her, placing the basket full of food between them. “I brought you some of Sato’s cake,” he mumbled, pushing the basket towards her and looking away. She was well aware that he pretended not to enjoy doing good gestures.
She eagerly clapped her hands together before peering into the basket. This particular cake was small in size, circular and covered in swirls of sweet buttercream. Half of the cake was a rich, velvety chocolate, and the other half was a light vanilla. Dried, tart cherries were dotted onto the surface like the spots of a ladybird. In public, she couldn’t have displayed such rabid hunger in front of anyone, but there was no one to chastise her here. She reached for a slice, but Katsuki seized her hand.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He raised an eyebrow at her. She sighed dramatically, but daintily took hold of his cheek and placed a kiss on it.
“There, are you satisfied?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t really feel it. What ‘bout—” He grabbed her cheeks and pressed his lips on hers. Her eyes slipped close as Momo wrapped her arms around his neck; he did so around her waist. He pressed her chest closer to his until she was sitting on his lap. His mouth began to wander as it moved from her full, pink lips to the side of her neck. He began nipping at it, causing pleased gasps to leave Momo. Breathless, Katsuki retreated from her neck, a smirk taking form as he watched his lover’s dazed face. “I think that even beats the cake.”
Momo took some deep breaths as she tried to regain her composure. Her lips still felt a bit swollen from the impromptu makeout session and she felt tipsy as if she’d drunk too many cups of alcohol. The forest spun like a carousel and everything around her appeared blurry—everything but him. When her eyes made contact with his, she felt drunk again. A drunkenness that she never wanted to stop feeling. She rested her head against his shoulder, a small grin appearing on her face. If this was what it was like to be in love, then she never wanted to stop. She wasn’t sure if she could.
“Aren’t you hungry, Princess?”
“I’m not hungry when I have you with me.” The unintentional flirt caught Katsuki off-guard and he started to wheeze uncontrollably. Momo turned her face to admire his, which had now turned cherry red. She giggled at his expression and pressed a soft kiss under his jaw. He groaned softly as she peppered his skin and neck with kisses. Even as he fell flat on his back, she didn’t cease until his skin was colored red and pink with kiss imprints from her smudged lipstick. “What a sight to behold. The great Katsuki has fallen victim to a lady’s lips.”
“Not just any lady’s,” he hoarsely replied. “A ravishing princess.” Momo blushed at the compliment and laid her head against his chest as he played around with the ends of her hair, twirling them around his fingers and watching them fall from his fingers. “Fuck.”
Momo sputtered. “Fuck? Katsuki-”
“Fuck,” he repeated, his voice strangely soft. “I never imagined this would happen.”
Momo lifted her head and pressed another kiss onto his lips, warmth blossoming in her chest. “Neither did I, but I’m glad it did.”
Weeks passed, and eventually time came for the wedding dinner party to celebrate the two lovers. Momo and Katsuki had arrived in style. His mother was the reputable seamstress Mitsuki, who the royal family called in to commission gowns for their daughter. Katsuki himself had tact and good taste, despite dressing foolishly; leaving out his tie in several instances.
Tonight he dressed well, most likely to leave a decent impression on her parents, which surprised Momo, considering how little he cared for anyone’s opinion. He wore a deep crimson cut-off coat that matched his fiery eyes. Underneath the frock was a dress shirt fashioned with rayon viscose that held an elegant drape. His sleeves were loose and frilly, and a lace-accented jabot was attached to his neck, smelling of caramel.
Momo’s dress was also a deep garnet, made from authentic velvet. A special, sparkly fabric had been added, shaped like ice that climbed up the sides of her waist and up to the shoulderless top. A leather belt wrapped tightly around her waist, securing the skirt as she moved. Her black hair was pinned in a ponytail, and Katsuki had massaged glitter dust through it, giving her locks a constant glimmer. Red kohl lined her thick eyelashes and an elaborate silver head garment of weaved, golden twigs and gleaming sapphires framed her face. She had never felt so elegant in her life.
Momo held his hand as he led the two of them to the dinner hall. A smile spread across her face as she spotted her parents. She waved at them and their eyes shot wide open, confusion written over their faces. Momo began to feel insecure about herself. Was her outfit not nice enough? Had she forgotten to bring something? Katsuki gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as her parents approached them.
“Darling,” her mother’s voice was soft, “who is that?”
Momo frowned at her mother’s question. “What do you mean Mother? Is this not the suitor you were referring to? Blond hair and a strong build?” Her father patted her mother on her back and stepped towards Katsuki, a scowl prominent on his face.
“Who are you, young man? And what are you to my daughter?”
Katsuki glared at the older man, prepared to curse him out when Momo’s grip tightened around his hand. His eyes darted to the side as she noticed the uneasiness spilling out from her. He gently squeezed her hand back. Taking a breath to calm down, he answered the man’s question in the best neutral tone he could muster.
“I am Katsuki Bakugou, son of Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou, and I am the soon-to-be husband of Momo Yaoyorozu.”
Indignant gasps reverberated as hushed voices were heard around them. Momo buried her face into Katsuki’s left arm as he used both arms to wrap around her torso, rubbing circles into her back. Her mind ran this way and that. This was not going the way she had expected. Why was her mother confused? Why did her father look ready to strike something? What had she possibly done to upset them?
“Momo,” her father began, then faltered.
“Yes?” she asked, quietly. She wished she hadn’t. Blissful ignorance was better than the truth. She was not ready for the truth, but he placed it upon her like a bag of barley.
“This man is not the suitor you were arranged to marry.” No. No. No. “Your mother and I had planned for you to marry the heir from the Monoma family.” Please no. Please no. “I do not know who this man you met, but I am afraid he is not your suitor.” She stumbled backwards, and Katsuki caught her.
“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s alright. We can still…” She couldn’t hear the rest of his sentence. All her mind kept reiterating to her was that Katsuki was not the person who she was to marry. Katsuki was not going to be her future husband. Katsuki wasn’t going to be in her future. Her heart thumped louder and the room chilled. Was there a window open? A draft, perhaps? She wanted to cry, and then berated herself for wanting to do that. She had lost so much warmth, any tears would turn into ice shards and shatter on the cold tiles of the room.
“Momo?”
Everyone’s eyes were turned to her, but she couldn't—she wouldn’t see them. Her eyes were glued to the figure with smooth blonde hair and periwinkle eyes standing on top of the staircase, watching the whole scene unfold with a pompous expression. The one she was set to marry. He smirked at her before a laugh bubbled out of his throat.
“Bastard,” she heard Katsuki growl. Her mind, bright as it was, struggled to catch up. It grasped to her last hopes, which shriveled in her arms as the man’s cold eyes met hers . His irises were churning seas, not at all like the smoldering flames in Katsuki’s eyes. Their hair only shared the same blonde color, but his was smooth and pristine, expected of nobility, whereas Katsuki’s hair sprung up every which way, even more so when she combed her fingers through it.
A single word didn’t need to be spoken for her to immediately know that she could never love him. It was not a question or idea to be left in the air. It was solid as ink on parchment, as the hot wax of a seal on mail. She couldn’t love anyone other than Katsuki. Her heart would not allow it.
Please Mother, Father! She turned her gaze to her parents, who were now gesturing for the man to come down the staircase. Her feet stepped back while Katsuki’s hands protectively wrapped around her waist, scowling at the heir. She knew him. He was from the Monoma family, who specialized in exporting foreign goods. She’d never been particularly fond of him - he poked fun at those who were grim and strict. Even then, at least he’d had decency. He never harassed others, never ridiculed the poor.
“Mother…” she let go of Katsuki’s hands and approached her parents, “please... please don’t make me do this.”
“Momo, we can’t debate about this—”
“Please, Mother!"
“Momo, listen to your mother. You have to. It’s for the good—”
“The good?” she echoed. “The good of what? Have you ever considered what I thought was good for me? You are taking the one good thing away—”
“Silence.” Her father’s face turned stony. “We have gone over this. We can’t reverse such actions now. Bygones are bygones.”
“No,” she whispered, clutching the front of her chest. Her heart beat erratically, but not from the whimsical rush of love that she felt when Katsuki neared her lips.
She’d never been so afraid in her life. Blades, poisonous concoctions, severed limbs, none of them could be compared to the horror of not being able to choose who she wanted to love. It was a stark realization - when had she ever been able to choose?
“I WON’T DO IT!” she screamed. “YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!” Flames engulfed her, dark purple and writhing around her figure. They were cold, like the touch of winter on her pale skin. The windows in the mansion shattered, glass crashing as every carefully made panel combusted. The guests screeched, scattering like a horde of frightened mice. Insignificant, a part of her seethed. Every last one of them. I’ll destroy them all.
A thud sounded, quieting the screams for a moment until the screams returned with a fervor when blood was seen strewed across the ground. Momo nearly tripped over herself, her black hair unfurling from the ruby brooch that had kept it in place and frantically whipping around her head. No. No, stop. Stop!
Her pupils vanished, her eyes turning an unseemingly white. A crack of thunder split the sky and then the forest, causing it to go up in flames. Dammit, no, no! What’s happening? She was not in control. Not over her life, or who she chose to love. Not even over her own thoughts. A familiar hand grabbed her arm and she turned back to see Katsuki in such a state that she had never seen him in: fear. It was heart-wrenching. Her pupils reappeared, changing back to their onyx color as her hair settled back down.
“Do you...not love me anymore…?”
Momo clutched the front of her skirt, threatening to rip the expensive fabric to shreds. She hated herself for asking this when there were clearly other issues to prioritize - such as the fact that she had revealed herself to everyone on awful terms. And yet, this was the question she cared most about. More than she cared about the damage around her, more than the horrified reactions she was sure to receive from her parents. Perhaps it was trivial and irrational. Momo from before the ball would never have done such a thing.
But love does strange things to people, and Momo, for all her magic and sorcery, was no exception.
She watched as his fear melted away, like wax dripping from a candle. “Bullshit. You’re still Momo, and you’re still that fucking amazing woman that I met at the ball. Whether you’re a witch or not won’t change that.” His arms wrapped around her torso, bringing her in for a hug. She dug her face into his chest, feeling warmth melt the ice of her skin and kill the flames. His frilly white dress shirt engulfed her in a bubble of solace she never wanted to retreat from. It was selfish not to face consequences, she’d been taught. But she was being selfish even now, digging herself further into his embrace, hoping that she could be whisked away for just a moment, to escape reality.
A shriek broke Momo and Katsuki out of their trance and they turned their attention to the source of the cry. Momo’s heart stuttered.
Monoma had fallen. His eyes were blank, glowing black as tar. Blood pooled out from his body, though there was no wound. It soaked through his crisp, beige shirt, and dyed the white tiles a crimson red. With a soundless groan, he fell limp in the arms of the broken-hearted princess, tears pouring out of her eyes like an endless waterfall. He was dead.
He was dead, and she had killed him.
Her eyes darted to her parents. Her father’s face was contorted in shock. He held the shoulders of her mother, who looked ready to vomit on the blood-stained tiles.
Then the three of them made eye contact and she felt something burning in their gazes. Fear she’d expected. Disappointment was inevitable.
But this - this was rage . It tore ruthlessly through her heart like a sword, chopping up her chambers and tearing apart the flesh until there was nothing but a heap of red death lying in her chest, pulling her down. She stood up and ran, ran out of Katsuki’s arms, blocked out his calls, bolted through the crowd of people, but a hand pulled her back. It was not a palm she recognized; it was cold and dragged her back into the main room. She held her gown up, racing through the corridors, parts of the skirt ripping as she tripped over the carpets to avoid capture. And then a guest latched onto her wrist like a leech and yanked her away from the double-doored entrance. She heard someone yell out her name, but wasn’t sure who. All the voices sounded the same, syncing into a horrible chorus that made her want to rip hair from her scalp. Tears came to her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they lingered, clinging to her lashes like deadweights.
As she was dragged through the hallways like cargo, she saw a pair of crimson eyes chase after her, pushing through the crowd before being held back by the guards. She heard him scream, curse, kick the guests aside to reach her, but the more he ran towards her, the smaller he became, until he was nothing but a bushel of blonde hair in a sea of people.
She’d been so naïve, to think that what she had with him would last. At least she’d been right about something - he would never leave her. It would be her leaving him, and she knew it would be in the most painful way possible.
Darkness swarmed her vision as her eyes fell shut and her knees buckled underneath her.
Momo had always watched from a distance as the nooses slipped over the witches’ necks. It made her stomach churn to see it, especially when she knew that none of the victims were real witches like her. They were merely society’s scapegoats and outcasts, disposed of once they overstayed their strain on others.
She was always aware that these public hangings were happening, but never supposed it would happen to her. She was always careful and precise. Kyouka was the only one who had known before Katsuki, and any slip ups that did occur were always covered up by magic. What had happened just a day earlier could not be covered up. There were hundreds of eye witnesses, and she hadn’t even been given a trial, not that she assumed it would be fair regardless.
She had heard the rumors about the walk. The angry mob marched the witch through the village as people taunted and jeered, throwing rotten tomatoes and other foul vegetables. It was still unreal to her that it existed, but as her feet stumbled against an uneven piece of cobblestone, she was made fully aware that she was indeed walking. Her head rose, black and tangled locks drifting over her face, and stared expressionlessly at the circular rope in the distance. She was walking to her death, mocked by how the size of the rope got bigger and bigger as she walked, poked in the back with swords when she slowed down.
This was The Witch’s Walk, the path that she’d hoped to avoid, and failed.
After several grueling hours, she arrived at her final destination. They walked her forward to the rope, her hands bound as they placed the noose around her neck. She spotted her parents in the crowd but turned her gaze away. It hurt too much to look at them. They wore their finest clothing, bright and splendid, as if they were not about to spectate their daughter’s death. Her mother had the decency to cover her face with a dark shawl, though it did nothing to hide her unearthly pallor and the silver strands in her midnight hair.
Her eyes caught sight of him. He was tied up, struggling to break out of his restraints but to no avail. It was likely to teach him and future generations a lesson. Tears rolled from her eyes one by one and she let them fall. She let them see how hurt she was. It scared her that she didn’t feel afraid.
Maybe this was true strength and bravery. She beamed at him as he screeched at them to let her go. “I don’t regret a thing,” she whispered. And the trapdoor beneath her gave way.