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They used to play in the meadow together.
She made a crown for him once, of wildflowers and clover leaves. She crowned him with the prettiest things she could find and smiled when he flushed. The memories are still fresh in her mind, the way his hair caught in the wind, fine, dark strands dancing in the afternoon breeze. The pink of his cheeks after she pulled him along to chase after butterflies, dragonflies, whatever caught their fancy. The delicate curve of his smile, shy and hesitant.
She misses him even now, years later.
He had understood, even when she told him he was the prettiest thing in the world to her. And that’s what made him special, unforgettable.
He told her they would leave –they would find a place together and they could be happy. The childish promise of a six year old who had the world figured out. They would find that place, he’d said as they huddled together under an apple tree one autumn, fingers sticky with blackberry jam, watching the leaves turn red and fall, fluttering like monarch butterflies in flight.
“We’ll find a nice little cottage,” he said. “We’ll raise our own cattle, grow our own crops. It’ll just be the two of us, no one else.”
She loved the little promise in his words, the promise of a place where she would be accepted.
But now, he is gone, summoned away, never to return, and years have passed and she can only look at how big her hands have become, how thick her arms are. She looks into the stream where she used to play with him and sees a stranger staring back at her, all broad shoulders and strong jawline and thinks, If he saw me now, the promise in his words would be gone.
Still, she holds his words precious, a beautiful dream she never wants to forget.
–
On the other side of the village, past the dense forest, on the highest point of the far hill, lives a witch.
They say she’s lived for hundreds of years, that she lures travelers with her beauty and, with a kiss, steals their youth. Those that fall prey to her charms wander out of the woods, frail and half-dead, terrified and confused. What is left of their life is spent in pain, fear.
Never go farther than the woods, the villagers caution all their young, or you will fall prey to the evil witch. She will take your soul and you will be left nothing but a shell.
“But that’s not true,” Ken had told her once. “My father says magic has rules, and the strongest magic requires consent.”
“What’s consent?” she had asked, curious, because Ken always knew everything. Unlike most of the villagers, his father had taught him how to read. More often than not, when Hide was too busy to play, Ken would sit under their tree and read, and, sometimes, if Hide arrived just before the sun set, he would read to her, his voice her favorite lullaby.
“I don’t really know,” he had admitted, and that had just made her like him more, his simple honesty, his humility. “I’ll ask my dad.”
–
“Do you still think of him?” Yoriko asks one day.
She knows some of it. She knows that Hide had loved him, maybe as deeply and truly as an eight year old could before he had left. She doesn’t know all of it; how every morning is another performance and every night is waiting for the salvation of dreams, where everything is right –where Hide is the person she wishes she was.
Both their fathers are convinced they will marry one day, but Yoriko knows that will never come to pass and Hide knows she is only partially right in her assumptions.
“I do, on occasion,” she lies, because even to her ears ‘all the time’ sounds too desperate, too needy. “He was my best friend,” which isn’t a lie, even if it rings false to the other girl’s ears. “It’s hard not to think of him sometimes. I’ll get blackberry jam on my fingers and I’ll remember climbing trees together under the hot summer sun.”
It’s impossible to forget him, are the words that she wishes she could say.
Yoriko smiles softly, and asks for two legs of venison in exchange for half a basket of eggs and three apples. Hide tries to coax her into parting with some fruit preserves, too, when Takeomi enters, bowing slightly in apology for interrupting.
Hide smiles as she watches the picture the two make. She wonders, if she was like Yoriko, small and delicate, with small wrists and slender feet, if she would be allowed to have her dreams, free of guilt and shame. If she too was as beautiful and soft; if she was born a woman and not a man, with big hands and big feet, with thick, corded muscles instead of soft curves.
“So, when will you ask Mr. Kosaka for permission to court his daughter?” Hide asks, elbowing Takeomi once Yoriko has left, hard won venison in tow. She smiles and cocks her head, feels properly manly with her words and her carriage, she is performing well, today.
Takeomi colors, red high in his cheeks as he slowly shakes his head. “You’re mistaken,” he says, pausing to clear his throat. “The word is you had a good haul this morning?”
“We did,” she says cheerily. “We’ve got some venison today, two quails, and a pheasant.”
–
It’s a long time in coming, really, but it still takes her by surprise.
Her mother remarries.
The man is from old money, and while his family has lost a greater part of their wealth over the years, what he brings with him is enough to settle most of their debt and save the house. Her mother smiles as she calls Hide over, sleeves pulled over dark bruises, a sickly mottled yellow peeking over the collar of her shirt. We’re so blessed, her mother says with shaking voice. With his kindness, we can see another year. Come, welcome your new father, Hide.
Hide looks at the man, thinks his face looks as cruel as twisted he is, and smiles, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, step-father.”
Oomori smiles, all dark promises and darker threats. “A pleasure,” he says. “You’ll be a good boy, won’t you?”
Nothing in this world is free, is what he means. You and your mother will pay me back, every last cent.
–
Once, her family had been fairly well off. They owned large tracts of land, they had a herd of sheep. They were never without.
But disease had destroyed their herd and then it had taken her father. All their money had gone to easing his pain, to keeping the inevitable end at bay, and before long, she and her mother had found themselves promising things they couldn’t to people that didn’t take kindly to empty words. Hide hunted what she could, learning a little more each day, and her mother took what jobs she could, her fingers perpetually raw.
Things could be different, they know.
It would be easy to sell their land, to take the money and start anew someplace else, to rebuild what they lost.
But this was the house Hide’s father grew up in, the house that Hide was born in. The grand oak tree behind the house has marks for every year, charts of the progress of Hide’s childhood, of her father’s, of her grandfather’s, of her grandfather’s father. The small cliff is where Hide’s father had proposed, the place where her mother’s dreams began.
This is where Hide’s memory of Ken rests, in the heart of the meadow where they once played.
This land has far too many memories, and neither are willing to give it up.
So they get up every morning and carry on, dark bruises and sprains hidden under cloth and disarming smiles.
Because this is how they protect what is important.
–
In her dreams, she is reminded of the day he left.
“I’m sorry,” he always says in the dreams. “Mother is sick.”
They are eight and sitting, high in their favorite tree, legs dangling. She remembers the vertigo of it, the feeling of falling and flying at the same time, like her feet could touch the ground if she just stretched her legs a bit more.
“I understand,” she says in her dreams, just like she said back then. “They’re your family. Besides, it’ll be a better life. You’ll be a prince! You’ll have a wonderful life.” She puts on her biggest smile, the one Ken used to tell her reminded him of the sun and laces their fingers together. “It’s like a fairy tale, isn’t it? In your darkest hour, long-forgotten relatives come find you and you learn –you’re royalty. And then,” she leans against him, tries to sing the last part without her voice catching, without tears falling, “you have your happy ending.”
She is always reminded with the taste of salt in her mouth when she wakes, the dried trails on her cheeks, the wetness of her pillow:
Ken Kaneki’s happily ever after does not include her.
–
She hears the news of the neighboring kingdom’s prince coming of age.
“I had thought that was supposed to be Ken,” Yoriko says when she comes to barter for two quails. “But they say the prince is named Haise.”
“I’ve heard,” Hide says as mildly as she can. “Prince Haise Sasaki is of age. The country is to have a grand ball in which all eligible women of good standing are invited, so he can choose a bride.”
“Such a silly thing, isn’t it? Holding a ball to decide who the next queen will be.”
“Yes…” Hide agrees, blinking back tears. “I understand their worry, though. He is the only heir to the throne.”
Yoriko hands over a jar of peach preserves and a basket of eggs, smile wry when she says, “Ah, yes. The eldest son running away for true love and dying of illness. The second son drowned, a sudden storm claiming his ship for the sea. Are they that worried their grandson will die, unwed and without an heir of his own?”
“It’s for the good of their people, the stability of their country,” Hide says, shrugging.
She thinks she has put up a strong face, but Yoriko leans up to kiss her cheek before leaving.
“Stay strong, Hide,” she murmurs before stepping back.
–
“I don’t want to go,” she remembers him whispering, a secret he would only share with her. “They’ll make me change.”
Then don’t go, she didn’t say, even as her chest tightened. Stay here, I would never ask you to change.
Even then, she had known.
He had to go.
And she let him.
–
The day before the grand ball, Hide’s mother falls down the stairs.
That is what Oomori tells her to say when the doctor arrives, her mother’s limbs strewn across the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
No one questions the ugly fingerprints on her mother’s wrists, the dark marks that match her stepfather’s fists that decorate her body.
“Her breathing is unsteady, her pulse thready. Only time will tell,” the doctor says after examining her. “Try to keep her hydrated. If her fever breaks, call me.”
Oomori leaves not long after the doctor and Hide is left alone, sitting by her mother’s bedside, delicate hand in her own large ones.
“You’ll wake up, won’t you?” she asks wetly, even as she knows. “You’ll wake up and we’ll carry on, like we always have.”
–
Her mother stops breathing for nearly a minute that night.
Gently, she kisses her mother’s hand. “I’ll be back,” she promises as she smooths back sweat damp hair. “You’ll get better, I promise.”
–
She follows the path up the hill to the witch’s house while the moon still hangs high in the sky.
The house, when she finds it, looks nothing like what she would expect an evil witch’s house to look like. Instead of overgrown bushes of thorn, she finds carefully tended azaleas and irises, a patch of perfect pansies and a small grove of fruit trees –lemon, orange, apple, fig. The shutters are happy sunflower yellow, the roof, a bright apple red, the windows and the door are white with cute ivy patterns thoughtfully carved into its wood.
“Hello?” she asks, knocking on the door. “I know it’s late, but I need your help. Please,” she begs, forehead against the door. “My mother is dying –I’ll do anything.”
“What’s with all this racket so late in the night?” the witch asks as she opens the door. She too looks nothing like an evil witch, not with her gentle smile and kind face, and Hide thinks she understands how travelers are lured by her sweet words. “Are you from the village, lad? So few of you come to visit –it’s really very lonely here. Oh, what am I saying, come in, come in! Would you like some tea?”
“Oh, yes –thank you.” She follows the witch into the house, marvels at how normal it looks with its crackling fireplace and skull-free kitchen.
“I am Rize Kamishiro,” the witch says as she sips her tea. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Hideyoshi Nagachika,” she says, chewing her lip. “I… I have a request to make. I am willing to pay whatever price you ask, but please –save my mother!”
Rize smiles thinly, the illusion of neighborliness fading. “Ah, but you must understand my dear, there is only one price you could pay and that is your life. You have no power,” she eyes Hide’s threadbare clothes, “no money, and I have no interest in land or the material wealth you villagers barter.” She sits back and regards Hide with a searching look, “Furthermore, youth has a price, you must understand, and I so rarely get visitors.”
Hide thinks of her mother, Oomori, of her future, and grins, when she realizes –this was why she was born.
“I was born so I could sacrifice myself for my mother,” she says, heart light. Because why else would she be born in the wrong body? Surely the gods wouldn’t make her suffer so, wouldn’t sentence her to a life in which she performed a part she wanted no part in. Without her mother, there is nothing for her in this world. Perhaps, in another life, she will born in the right body. “This was what I was meant to do.”
“Is that so?” Rize asks, unimpressed. “Is there anything else you wish for? Anything at all? You are, after all, dying rather soon.”
“Anything else? Do you mean I’m allowed a certain number of wishes in exchange for my life?”
The witch rolls her eyes, “Oh, the non-magical folk. Fools, the lot of you. Listen here, a soul is a powerful thing. To say a soul is worth more than the weight of two solid gold cows is underestimate how valuable it is. As long as your mother is not dead, a simple tonic is all that she will need to heal whatever ails her, provided no other magic is involved. Though your village likes to label me evil, I am by no means an unscrupulous woman. A trade must be fair or else it is for naught.”
“My mother’s happiness, then. My life for my mother’s health and happiness.”
“Is that really all your heart desires?” Rize leans on a perfectly manicured hand, laughter falling from her painted lips. “You villagers are really so boring.”
Hide chews on her bottom lip. There is one thing that she wishes for but has never dared to say. She looks to the floor, voice shaking, she says instead, “There is someone I wish to see. A childhood friend I have not seen for many, many years.”
“Dear child, you should know better than to lie to a witch. Have your village elders not told you that every one of my kind can see your deepest, darkest wishes? Tell me,” she insists, leaning over the table, grasping Hide’s chin with strong fingers, red lips twisted into a dangerous grin, “what is your truest wish?”
“I wish,” she says, voice faltering, tears falling. “I wish I was who I see in my dreams. I wish I was as small and delicate as Yoriko, as beautiful. I wish I was a woman. Maybe,” she continues, unable to stop. “Maybe then I could have my happy ending.”
“Well then!” Rize rises from her seat, straightens the skirt of her dress, and motions for Hide to follow her. “In exchange for that pretty little soul you have, I am giving you this tonic,” she drops a vial into Hide’s hands, clear and shimmering, “and a chance for your dreams to come true. Go home, have your mother drink everything in that vial, every last drop. So long as she still lives when you reach her, she will recover in three days time. Return once you have done so –it will take awhile for me to prepare the rest of what I owe you.”
Hide hesitates at the doorway, “But my payment…”
“Go –we will speak of that later.”
–
“Mother,” Hide says as she uncorks the vial. “Please, drink this. It will help you.”
Slowly, she dribbles a tiny portion of the concoction into her mother’s parted mouth. Her hand shakes with every drop, her heart stills every time until her mother swallows. “You can do it, mother,” she whispers when the vial is nearly gone. “Just a little bit more and then we’re done. You’ll be better in three days, and then –
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs as she brushes back dark, thick locks. “I don’t know if you can hear me. This is… I love you, mother. Please don’t worry about me when I’m gone. I…” She straightens, wipes away her tears. “Be happy, mother.”
She leans forward, presses her lips against her mother’s forehead.
“This is goodbye.”
–
When Hide returns to the witch’s house, Rize hands her a flask.
It smells of death and she tells Hide, “Drink it, drink it all. It will fail otherwise.”
And Hide thinks she has already gotten what she had came for, will accept this flask, even if it is poison, because the rest of it doesn’t matter, not at all. Her mother will live, and that is all she needs. She tips back the flask, drinks it all even as it burns her throat, her stomach.
“Oh, I should’ve told you to strip first,” the witch laughs when she is curled with pain on the floor. “It works either way, I suppose. I have the perfect dress for you to change into once you recover –you will surely win any heart with it.”
Hide thinks she nods, but somewhere between the pain and the nausea, she passes out.
–
“You have until midnight,” Rize says as she helps her into the prepared gown. “That’s when I’ll be taking my payment. Which is, in this case, your soul. So make sure not to be in the middle of the ballroom when that happens –collapsing maidens tend to cause quite a fuss, you see.”
“I understand,” Hide says, unable to look away from the mirror before her. She marvels at the soft curves she never had before, the soft swell of her cheeks, and is unable to blink back tears. She looks at her small, dainty hands and breathes, “Thank you.”
“Don’t cry,” Rize orders, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I won’t paint your face for you again, so unless you want to greet your dear ‘childhood friend’ looking like a raccoon, you’ll dry those eyes immediately.”
“Of course, immediately,” she says, laughing even as tears of happiness threaten to spill.
–
“Just step through the mirror,” Rize had said. “You’ll find yourself outside the castle gates. Oh, don’t forget the invitation. Don’t worry about the guards, no one will wonder how you got there.”
And even as her reflection changed to that of the neighboring country’s castle, she had found herself convinced she would walk into glass. Instead, she feels cool evening air against her cheeks.
“I said, where is your invitation,” a guard demands, tall and broad of shoulder. “If you do not have an invitation I cannot allow you inside.”
“I… I have an invitation,” she says, fumbling. “Here, here it is.”
She stands –tries to remember to carry herself as a lady, no slouching, feet together, shoulders back –and waits for either entry or dismissal when the man says, “Welcome, my lady. Please enjoy the ball.”
My lady, he had said.
Hide thinks she’ll ruin the all of Rize’s hard work, the wetness has already returned to her eyes.
–
She first catches sight of Ken –no, Prince Haise –in the center of the ballroom, dancing with an impeccably dressed girl, the train of her periwinkle gown floating with every twirl.
He looks so dashing, she thinks, the very picture of a prince.
Life has treated him well, his cheeks full, shoulders more square than she had ever thought they would be. He had been such a thin child, but he has grown up sturdy and strong. He may not be as tall as the guard she had seen, or as solid as Takeomi, but he has filled out well, and she feels relief, relief that he is well, hale and healthy. She had often worried about him, silly, ridiculous, worries –he was a prince.
But he was also her Ken, the little boy who cried whenever he skinned his knees, who could not climb a tree without her hand held out for him.
It was selfishness, she realizes now, the thought that he couldn’t adjust without her, that she was the anchor of his universe.
She moves away from the dance floor, awkwardly navigating the ebb and flow of the elite of the elite in delicate, heeled shoes she has no experience with. Slowly, she makes her way to the gardens, breathes in the crisp night air, and laughs.
“He’s fine. He’s fine,” she presses the heel of her palm to her eyes, wills the tears away. “I’m so silly.”
She wanders the grounds, marvels at the perfectly trimmed roses, the white gardenias, resplendent under the moonlight, the magnificent willow trees. Such a garden she has never seen before and it’s a wonder that this is a sight that Ken would have seen every day. Their worlds are so different, now. They don’t belong in each other’s worlds, she definitely doesn’t belong in his.
At the edge of the pond, far away from the ball and the festivities, is a large apple tree, old and sturdy. So like their tree, she thinks as she lowers herself to the ground, creates a place for herself in the cradle of its sturdy roots. She sits and remembers better times, her favorite times. Of sticky, pudgy fingers and laughter, jam stuck to the corners of their lips, nothing but sweetness in their mouths and their future before them.
Time passes, she drifts off, and she is woken up by a voice, just barely recognizable, “I didn’t expect anyone out here, let alone under my favorite tree.”
And she flushes deeply as she wipes furiously at her dried drool, thinks of the mossy stains that must be on the back of her gown. Of all the ways for Ken to see her, she despairs.
“I’m afraid I’m not…” She looks for a better word, finds herself woefully unprepared; uneducated, without grace or class or experience, so she stops trying at all. “I’m not used to such a large ball, Your Highness –Your Royal Highness.”
“I don’t recognize you, my lady. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
She has no idea what to say –she cannot use her name, cannot think of a convincing name, so she says, “Kamishiro. I’m Rize Kamishiro. I’m from the neighboring country by the sea.”
Ken, no, Prince Haise smiles so charmingly she feels her flush deepen. Oh, Ken, Hide thinks as she accepts his hand, You will break many hearts. You probably have already broken a fleet of them.
“Lady Rize, I do believe I have yet had the pleasure to dance with you. May I?”
Her heart is stuck in her throat. “I…” She realizes she can’t say she doesn’t know how, every proper lady knows how, so she tries to reign in her stuttering as she wills herself to think fast. “I’m afraid I’m not very good, that’s part of the reason why I wandered away, really. It’s really embarrassing, stepping on everyone’s toes.”
Prince Haise chuckles and Hide can hear the boy she fell in love with it hidden in the rich notes of his laughter. “There’s no one to embarrass yourself in front of, just me. These shoes are also well tailored; they are more than enough protection from your feet.”
“The heels, you see…”
The prince bows, low and gentlemanly, hand outstretched. “My lady, it would be an honor if you would dance with me.”
“Don’t blame me if I put holes in your feet, then,” she acquiesces, relaxing into his lead. “The heels are sharper than knives, I am told.”
“I will take care to avoid your heels,” he assures, smile light.
“Oh, sorry, I think I got your foot there,” she apologizes after trodding on his toes a third time. “Here I am, maiming the crown prince. I’m going to be known as the one who crippled you for life. I’ll be exiled for eternity.”
He laughs again and Hide’s heart flutters. Ken. “You realize the whole point of this ball is so I can dance with all the available bachelorettes?”
“I thought it was so you could pick a bride,” she manages while he twirls her. How do proper ladies keep their balance, she wonders, unsteady on her feet.
“Yes, well, that too,” he allows. “One might as well enjoy the party meanwhile, yes?”
“But you left the party to come here.”
He twirls her again and she suspects he knows how it disorients her. You’ve become so sly, Ken.
“Well, sometimes things get a bit overwhelming, even for the crown prince.”
“Is that so?” she murmurs as they lapse into silence.
The moon hangs, breathtaking, against the dark expanse of the sky, cloaks the prince so perfectly in a shroud of silver. Time will be up soon, she knows. Midnight will be upon them.
“Your Royal Highness,” Hide starts, unsure of how one was supposed to excuse themself from a dance with royalty. “I… my father said he would send a coach for me at midnight and I’m afraid I must meet it on time or else he will throw a fit…”
“I understand,” he says graciously. He bows low again, all chivalry and gallantry, crowned by the moonlight. “It was a pleasure, my lady.”
What she means to say is, “The pleasure is all mine, Your Royal Highness.”
What she does say is, “You’re still the most beautiful thing in the world to me, even without a crown of flowers.”
“Pardon?”
“N-nothing,” she insists as she picks up the train of her gown and makes a break for it, heart thundering in her chest. You fool! You enormous fool!
She makes it to the edge of the garden, the glass double doors to the ballroom a scant three feet away, when she hears the chimes.
Midnight.
The last thing she sees before she crumples to the ground is Prince Haise, her Ken, the surprise and anxiety clouding his eyes.
–
–
–
“It took awhile, but I remembered. There was a witch who lived on the crest of a hill, near the village where I used to live. She offered her services at steep prices –political influence, rare magical artifacts, a king’s ransom. She even traded in souls,” the prince frowns, hands clasped in his lap. “Her name, if memory serves, is Rize. Rize Kamishiro.”
“That is me,” the witch agrees, smiling.
“Which is surprising, because I am rather sure Rize Kamishiro died three months ago, while attending my ball. I am quite certain of it, in fact, since I held her hand as the life left her body.” He regards the woman in front of him, her cool smile and the way she lounges in her chair, languid and relaxed, and feels frustration rise within him. “If I remember my lessons correctly, magic cannot violate the realm of the gods. The dead cannot return. Regardless of your ability to change your appearance, you could not have died in my arms that day, which means someone else used your name.”
“Oh my, your country is quite lucky, isn’t it? Their prince is clearly no fool,” she says, smile hidden as she sips her tea.
“Which brings me to the question: Who was it?”
You’re still the most beautiful thing in the world to me, she had said, even without a crown of flowers.
“There is only one person who would have said those words to me,” he says as he tries to steel his heart. “Tell me: Was it Hideyoshi Nagachika? Was that who died in my arms that day?”
“Congratulations, you’ve hit the jackpot.” Rize recrosses her legs, regards the man broken by her words and asks, “Will that be all, Your Highness?”
“Where…Where is…?”
“Where is she?” She beckons him as she gracefully rises from her chair. “Follow me.”
He follows her to the back of the house, where a large cauldron sits in the center, the first room to ooze of magic and witchery. Shelves and cupboards line the walls, endless vials, flasks, and glass jars decorating them.
“She wished for such simple things,” the witch says as she pulls a vial from a high cupboard. “Her mother’s health, her mother’s happiness. To see her childhood love one last time, to dance with him, just once. To be herself in the eyes of the world.” She turns the glass flask thoughtfully in her hands, marveling at its beautiful golden hues. “Such simple wishes in exchange for something priceless.
“A foolish, foolish child, wouldn’t you agree?”