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From the very creation of the world, everything in it has been interconnected. The gods arranged it with wisdom, and nothing in it can exist on its own, separated from the great circle of life—even the tiniest blade of grass plays its part and is necessary for something larger and more important to exist. Therefore, it is not surprising that even among people there is a special, predestined bond.
This bond is embodied in the red thread.
Since her earliest childhood, Moko had heard legends about the red thread of fate. For most of the time it remains completely hidden from all eyes; however, the moment you meet the person destined for you—your fated one—the thread reveals itself to both of you as a small knot on the pinky of your right hand. And only the two of you can see it—that is the secret bond between you.
The idea that somewhere in the world there exists a person meant for her by fate had always seemed attractive to Moko. And, if truth be told, it could not be otherwise—after all, in her own home she was certainly not needed by anyone. Otherwise, why else would she be the only one among the Fujiwara daughters who was never presented to society, the one whom no one particularly wished to see? In such an environment, dreaming of someone who would become your saving harbor in an ocean of rejection is perfectly natural.
However, things are not so simple. The legends stated that the red thread of fate is invisible most of the time—but what if it is nothing more than a sweet consolation, a beautiful fairy tale designed to sustain the illusion of something that does not really exist? After all, how can one verify the existence of that which one cannot see—except by asking others?
And so Moko asked time and again. She inquired of her older sisters whether their fiancés were their fated ones; to that, her sisters either laughed condescendingly at her with haughty pity or snorted proudly—and all of them confidently answered, “Of course! It cannot be otherwise.” Only, Moko did not quite believe them—after all, she had never been close to her sisters, so there was no reason to expect honesty from them. They, like anyone in the Fujiwara family, did not consider her someone worthy of their trust or even worthy of attention.
That is why it was all the more astonishing when, for some incredible reason, someone noticed her—and that someone was none other than the beautiful Princess Kaguya herself. No one could explain what whim led this marvelous girl to ask Moko’s father to take his youngest daughter with him on the day of her visit to Kaguya’s home, yet no one would dare oppose Princess Kaguya.
Thus, Moko found herself here—in a spacious, bright room, kneeling beside her father. It was her first appearance in society, and she had no idea how to comport herself properly, so she simply sat with her eyes lowered. In her mind a command echoed: “Do not disgrace the family!”—against which the scornful snorts of her older sisters rang. Focusing on her thoughts, Moko distinctly heard their cruel whispers, steeped in poisonous envy: “And why her, and not me?..”, “What on earth is Princess Kaguya thinking?”, “Maybe she isn’t really as beautiful as they say, which is why she summoned our wretched one instead of one of Father’s servants, so that no one can tell the world the truth?”
Moko pushed these thoughts aside and timidly lifted her gaze. Princess Kaguya was undoubtedly the very beauty spoken of. Although she had grown up in the household of a bamboo cutter, she carried herself with no less dignity than Moko’s older sisters. Her long hair flowed down her back like a dark waterfall that, even indoors by candlelight, shone with some moonlit gleam, and her voice (though Moko, no matter how hard she tried, could not grasp the meaning of the words she uttered) melodiously murmured like the tide. And when her eyes—sparkling like precious gems—glided over the figure of Moko’s father and then suddenly shifted to her, Moko…
In her mind her father’s admonition “Do not disgrace the family!” rang insistently as Moko quickly (and, frankly, rather clumsily) lowered her gaze, unable to withstand that eye contact. But what could she do when she was simply unaccustomed to the attention of such wondrous beings?
Yet it was precisely because of this that Moko noticed it—the scarlet knot that had appeared on her finger at some unknown moment. Moko stared at it in a daze for a few seconds—and then nearly flinched as she realized what it might mean. All the commands and mockery faded in an instant against the surge of emotions that burst in her heart—a mix of disbelief and timid hope, ringing like a thousand little bells. Moko walked the entire distance to Princess Kaguya’s chambers with her head bowed so low that her gaze would inevitably catch that small, bright red detail standing out on her pale hand and on her very modest, dull-colored kimono—but it did not happen. Does that mean…?
With her heart pounding, Moko finally resolved to see for herself. She silently, yet deeply, inhaled, then slowly and as inconspicuously as possible first looked at Kaguya’s face (who at that moment was explaining something to her father), and then—at her hands… The right pinky was securely hidden by a long sleeve.
Moko told no one of her discovery. And to whom could she have spoken? There was no one in the household she could rely on. Instead, she decided to figure it all out on her own.
For years, the very essence of Moko’s existence had been to behave quietly, keeping a low profile. That is why what she decided to do now seemed doubly daring. However, she did not want to miss her chance—and so, under the cover of twilight, her feet carried her toward the house she had left when the evening sun still painted its walls a copper-orange. Moko was even amazed at how well she remembered the way: it was the first time she had ventured out into the world, and she had spent the entire journey in a carriage, occasionally peeking timidly out from behind the curtains. Yet now every turn of the narrow streets seemed as familiar to her as the corners of her own home, and her heart itself guided her. Very soon, Moko found herself beyond the city limits and saw her destination—a rich house enclosed by a fence, where the former bamboo cutter lived with his wife and his beautiful daughter.
Having grown up in the Fujiwara household like an unwanted weed, Moko had little trouble finding a flowering vine along the wall and climbing it. Once she was in the inner courtyard, she looked around. The lush garden she had seen bathed in sunlight now, in the light of the full white moon, looked completely different: not merely rich, but rather… mysterious? Otherworldly. It was beautiful—far more beautiful than all the gardens of the rich houses of the empire combined. White lilies shimmered, reflecting the moonlight; on the surface of the pond, little white sparks danced like tiny stars around the bluish-silver disc of the night orb; and somewhere deep in the garden, a shishi-odoshi clattered… and were those geta slippers clicking on pebbles?
Moko blinked. For some reason, the thought immediately arose in her mind that the nocturnal visitor could be none other than Kaguya. Whether it was a mere feeling or a suspicion based on the distinctive sound of aristocratic footsteps, Moko could not say—but before she realized what she was doing, her legs were already carrying her toward the source of the sound. In her heart a timid mix of apprehension and excited premonition took root, each step weighing her down, yet Moko stubbornly moved forward until she reached a narrow path.
And at that moment, her dim brown eyes met with dark, shining eyes, like polished agate.
Yes, Moko’s heart had not deceived her: the one who walked along the paths of the moonlit garden was indeed Princess Kaguya. Now Kaguya stood on a small bridge arching over the pond, and, slightly turning her head, looked in amazement at the unexpected guest. And all that guest could do was admire the beautiful lady of the house: bathed in the bluish-white moonlight reflected off the water’s surface, Kaguya looked even more dazzling, her hair gleamed brighter, and her figure seemed to be enveloped by a radiant aura. A true moon princess.
As Moko stood there, mouth agape and unable to move, mesmerized by Kaguya’s beauty, the princess had by then regained her composure and took a closer, more attentive look at her nocturnal guest. Finally, realization appeared on her face. Stepping off the bridge, she slowly moved toward Moko and solemnly inquired:
— What are you doing in my garden, daughter of Fujiwara?
Moko flinched. Kaguya’s voice still sounded like crystalline murmuring water, but now with a tinge of sharp coolness. That, along with Kaguya addressing her directly, snapped Moko out of her stupor. Suddenly feeling utterly defenseless in her solitude before this radiant girl, Moko lowered her eyes and involuntarily clenched her fingers on the hem of her kimono. She thought she saw a hint of disdain in Kaguya’s gaze—not as strong as the disdain in her own sisters’ eyes, but enough to darken the princess’s luminous face for a moment. And, as if confirming this impression, Kaguya stopped a few steps in front of Moko and rather abruptly declared:
— If you think that your pleading will persuade me to ease your father’s trial, you are mistaken.
Moko’s eyes widened, and her fingers clenched even tighter. A burning shame spread across her face as she realized: she, the daughter of Fujiwara, had not even considered the impossible trial of her father when going to the princess’s house—the very house where he had, in her presence, sought to secure a bride. “What a disgrace to the Fujiwara family!” she scolded herself—and yet, the voice in her mind sounded painfully similar to her father’s.
Kaguya’s triumphant laugh brought her back to her senses. Quickly understanding that her reaction might be taken by the princess as proof of her own correctness, Moko hastily shook her head and blurted out:
— No, I did not come here for my father at all… I came here for you, Princess Kaguya!
Having said that, she again lifted her eyes to Kaguya—and once more met an expression of astonishment on her face, even stronger than when she had first seen her in the garden. Yet again, Kaguya swiftly regained her composure and, tucking her hands into her sleeves (Moko regretted that in her excitement she had not managed to notice her right pinky), looked at Moko with curiosity. A condescending yet playfully teasing smile spread on her lips as a new question slipped out:
— Oh? And what is it that you want from me, daughter of Fujiwara, if not to discuss your father’s trial?
Moko blushed once again; her only aim had been to learn more about the red thread of fate (if it even existed—in this moment, wisely concealed by the long sleeve of Kaguya’s kimono), but she was not at all prepared for the idea of discussing this matter with Kaguya herself. Realizing she could not ask directly, Moko averted her gaze and, after a brief hesitation, began evasively:
— In truth, the trials concerning my father are also involved… but not regarding him, — she added hastily, noticing Kaguya’s brow furrow, — rather, they concern you. All these trials… you assign them to your suitors to determine whether they are worthy, aren’t they, Princess Kaguya?
The question made Kaguya smile even more condescendingly and with a hint of self-satisfaction. Nodding, she answered proudly:
— Correct: only he who can accomplish the impossible is worthy of my hand. Only such a man can become my husband.
Moko cast an uncertain glance at her. Had such words come from her sisters, they would have only elicited a dry laugh from her, but coming from Kaguya… the princess was simply too dazzling to doubt her nobility and the fact that she deserved the very best. And yet…
— But do you not fear, Princess Kaguya, — Moko continued insistently, — that one of your suitors, to whom you always assign impossible tasks, might turn out to be your fated one? And that he might fail the trial, causing you to lose your destined love?
At this suggestion, Kaguya’s eyes widened in astonishment—and in the very next moment she burst into silvery laughter. In response to Moko’s bewilderment, she covered the lower part of her face with her sleeve and, still giggling, declared:
— By all means, I do not fear losing my fate!
Moko blinked in confusion, then immediately frowned.
— Princess Kaguya, do you mean to say… that you do not believe in the red thread of fate? — she asked uncertainly.
Kaguya’s response was another laugh. Playful, good-natured sparks in her dark eyes revealed that the conversation amused her. Since Moko’s perplexity did not lessen, Kaguya removed her hand from her face and, sighing, shook her head with a smile.
— Not at all. I believe that everyone in this world is bound to someone by fate and that the red thread exists. However…
She paused. Suddenly, she turned sharply—causing her long hair to flare up and shine in the moonlight—and headed back toward the bridge. Reaching its midpoint, she stopped with her back turned to Moko, bowed her head, and, clasping her hands together, spoke in an unexpectedly confidential tone:
— I do not believe that my fated one is here, on Earth.
Moko cast a puzzled look at Kaguya’s back. In her words she sensed a contradiction, and she did not fail to point it out cautiously:
— But you yourself said that you believe everyone in this world is bound to someone…
Kaguya did not seem at all embarrassed. Smiling wryly, she glanced over her shoulder at Moko and, with an unexpectedly sorrowful smile, explained:
— True, everyone in this world is bound to someone. However, when I spoke of the world, I meant not only the Earth. No, — she continued, turning away once more and lifting her face toward the moon hanging overhead, — I meant that other world. The world beyond this house and garden. Beyond this empire, where, although my father and mother are kind to me, I have no place. The world to which I belong…
At these words, under Moko’s mesmerized gaze, Kaguya suddenly extended her hand toward the moon—directly toward it, as if the very world she spoke of was located there. Moko swallowed—and then her breath caught.
In the moonlight, set against the deep bluish-white disc, a crimson knot was clearly visible on Kaguya’s pinky.
Moko froze, astonished by this revelation—or rather, the confirmation of her boldest suspicions. For several seconds she held her breath and stared unblinkingly at the coveted knot, trying in vain to calm the thunderous pounding of her heart. At last, she mustered the strength to lower her eyes to her own right hand and, slightly shifting the sleeve with her pinky, glanced at her finger.
The knot was once again clearly visible on her skin.
— …I believe that my fated one is exactly there, in that world, — Kaguya continued, seemingly unaware of the vivid red thread on her own finger. Running her hand through the air as if caressing the surface of the moon at a distance, she dreamily said: — He belongs to the same pure race as I do, untainted by earthly defilement. And, of course, he is noble enough to regard me as a person rather than as a treasure to be simply acquired and admired at his side—or, worse, locked away in a chest or treasury. That is why…
Suddenly, her hand trembled. Attracted by the movement, Moko quickly lifted her eyes, just in time to see Kaguya’s fingers “scratching” the moon—then the princess hastily lowered her hand and, turning toward Moko with a smile, concluded:
— …That is exactly why I give trials to my suitors. One who sees only my beauty will not risk his life for me by trying to accomplish my tasks. Such a man simply cannot be my fated one, don’t you agree?
With these words, Kaguya once again moved closer to Moko and, bowing her head, bestowed upon her a lingering look. Moko, having heard only the final part of Kaguya’s explanation, could only absentmindedly nod while looking off to the side… and then flinched, suddenly feeling a light touch on her face: Kaguya had gently placed her hand on Moko’s cheek to carefully turn her toward her and force her to look into her eyes. When their gazes met, Kaguya unexpectedly smiled tenderly (Moko felt her cheeks flush with betrayal) and, with a mischievous gleam in her voice, asked:
— And do you know, young Fujiwara, why I asked your father to take you along on this matchmaking visit today?
The sudden change of subject completely bewildered Moko. Already scattered and confused by Kaguya’s behavior (could it be that she truly did not see the red thread? But what could that then mean?), she could only slowly shake her head, wondering what Kaguya’s motives might be.
Then the princess giggled and, finally removing her hand from Moko’s face, declared:
— I heard that he has a daughter whose freedom is restricted, and I wished to show her that there is a world beyond her cage.
Moko’s heart skipped a beat: in some mysterious way, Kaguya’s simple whim had struck the very strings of her soul, touching her most daring and secret desires—the desires she had locked away. “Could it be that she is in truth my… one destined to me by fate?…” Moko thought, casting a quick glance at the hand that had just caressed her cheek—unfortunately, the left one.
For several seconds Moko remained silent—then she swallowed and managed to stammer:
— And if…
Kaguya tilted her head inquisitively, and Moko faltered. Yet Kaguya did not interrupt and waited, so Moko took a breath and, looking her directly in the eyes, continued in a serious tone:
— If one of your suitors manages to pass your impossible trial, will you keep your promise and marry him, even if you are not bound by fate?
The question visibly astonished Kaguya: her dark eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. But in the very next moment, she brought her right hand—covered by her sleeve—to her lips and, giggling innocently, replied:
— Of course I will: I am not one to break my own promises!
For some reason, hearing this, Moko felt a measure of relief. After all, it meant that her father still had a chance at the princess’s hand. And if Kaguya were to become the wife of the Fujiwara prince, she would live in their house—right next to Moko. And Moko would be able to see that beautiful girl much more often, perhaps even interact with her, receive her smile personally, just as now… and thus their fates would truly become intertwined.
And next to Moko there would finally be the one who cared enough to acknowledge her existence.
Recalling all this now, a couple of long centuries later, Moko cannot help but let out an ironic smile. First and foremost she laughs at herself: how could she have allowed herself to entertain such naive thoughts? Thoughts that this selfish, haughty beauty cared for no one but herself. In the end, Kaguya had simply laughed at them all: at every one of her suitors, at her own father in particular… and, of course, at Moko herself. And how could anyone be enchanted by this egotistic woman?
Not one century, but still Moko reproaches herself for having fallen for all this nonsense about the red thread of fate instead of simply doing what she was commanded—to preserve the honor of the family. Of course, after Kaguya brought such disgrace upon her father, Moko’s illusions finally dissipated and she remembered that she was a daughter of Fujiwara; and, as the only one among the Fujiwara daughters who could not wash away that humiliation with a fortunate marriage, she made it her aim and the meaning of her life to take revenge on Kaguya—on that cowardly Kaguya who had run away at the first opportunity rather than dirty her hands by answering for her own actions. And that coward…
Moko shakes her head fiercely, shooing away such thoughts—yet her gaze still falls on the pinky of her right hand, where on that fateful day the scarlet knot had appeared.
However, Moko now no longer knows whether there was any meaning in it all. Yes, she had defied Kaguya’s wishes and obtained the Horai Elixir instead of the emperor, becoming immortal; yes, she had lived a long, long life, outlasting not only her own family but the entire Fujiwara clan; yes, she gained power and for a time even hunted youkai, but… But in this eternal life everything gradually lost its meaning. Any taste or purpose. Old goals blurred and faded away amid a succession of identical days, and the very essence of her immortality dissolved quickly into the depths of history. Clan, honor, family—all these words eventually became nothing more than a string of sounds for Moko, having lost all their inherent depth. The fire of vitality had long since been extinguished in her soul, leaving only smoldering embers in its place.
Yet for some reason the useless legend of fate’s destiny still causes those embers to spark anew ever so slightly whenever Moko recalls Kaguya and their conversation that night… or when, during endless wanderings through the bamboo forest, her gaze falls on her right hand.
Thus pass her identical, meaningless, gray days of eternal life. They continue until an event bursts in and turns everything upside down.
One clear night, as usual, Moko wanders through the forest, with nothing hinting at any changes. Overhead, the bluish-white moon shines brightly and the bamboo shoots tap against one another; somewhere in the distance a stream murmurs, and among the dark green, rabbits flicker by in white spots—there are probably as many rabbits in the forest as there are bamboos…
And suddenly, hints of an alien presence intrude upon this familiar scene: the rustle of grass, unlike the sound of rabbits moving, rather reminiscent of human footsteps, and then—a dark silhouette among the bamboo shoots. Moko tenses: for a second she thinks that this darkness is shimmering with a silvery moonlit gleam.
Usually, when Moko sees a person, she tries to change direction and move away, but this time something forces her to break with her age-old habit. Her feet carry her closer to the mysterious silhouette, and her heart unexpectedly beats faster. “What is happening to me?” Moko wonders in perplexity and even irritation. “This is so unlike me!” Yet she seems powerless over her own body, and can only sigh heavily and, annoyed, shove her hands into the pockets of her trousers as she walks.
But barely does she do so than, in her peripheral vision, she notices the familiar knot, glowing scarlet on her finger. And before she can figure anything out, she finds herself in a clearing, face to face with the one she never expected to meet again.
And looking at her, with her hands folded in front of her, stands Kaguya—indeed, that very Princess Kaguya whose thoughts had long ago sparked a flicker of passion in her heart. A single glance into her still dark eyes was enough for Moko to feel that seemingly extinguished flame ignite with a new, hitherto unknown force. As if all those hundreds of years of wandering through dull gray days had never occurred, and as if only yesterday that very conversation between the two in the garden of the former bamboo cutter’s house had taken place.
Meanwhile, Kaguya continues to examine the unexpected guest. It does not seem that she recognized Moko, and that is not surprising. Even if by some miracle this haughty princess had kept her image in mind, Moko had changed so much since their last meeting: her hair was no longer a dull dark shade, but ashen white; her eyes no longer a dim brown, but burned scarlet like rubies… or was it that cursed red thread, searing her finger with its very presence?
At last, Kaguya—still not quite understanding with whom she was speaking—smiles enchantingly and brings her right hand to her lips.
— Oh, I did not expect to meet anyone else on my evening stroll. Could it be…
And then, out of the corner of her eye, she notices: the sleeve of her dress has slipped, revealing to the world the bright scarlet thread on her pinky. Kaguya’s eyes widen in surprise—and before words can form on her lips, she blurts out in astonishment:
— Daughter of Fujiwara?…
Moko smirks. So then—in the garden, Kaguya did see that damned red knot? That makes everything simpler. Pulling out her right hand from her pocket, Moko raises it in a greeting, almost mockingly showing off the same red thread on her pinky that now burns brightly on Kaguya’s finger, and replies:
— That’s right. I am Moko of Fujiwara, to be precise. Besides, during our last meeting, my name did not interest you much, did it, Princess Kaguya?
Kaguya’s mouth hangs open in astonishment as she tries to find some explanation for what is happening now. Moko slowly approaches her and, without the slightest shame, touches her cheek. Watching as Kaguya flushes, Moko experiences an inexplicable satisfaction—one she probably had not known since birth.
— And, of course, you never thought you would ever see me again? You thought that your earthly “fated one” had long since vanished and that there was no more danger, right? But here I am, — she says with a smirk, — all these years deep down I had hoped for a new encounter.
Kaguya frowns. For a while she remains silent, concentrating on Moko’s left hand tucked away in the pocket of her trousers, until finally she looks up and tensely, even hostilely, asserts:
— You are an ordinary human, so you could not have survived all these centuries. Did you drink the Horai Elixir?
Moko tilts her head to the side—her eyes squinting, and a satisfied smile spreading across her lips.
— That’s right. I drank the Horai Elixir, — she confirms—and with outright mockery adds: — The very one you left for the emperor. And do you know why I did it?
Kaguya continues to stare at her intently while Moko’s hand slides down Kaguya’s cheek along her slender white neck… and then suddenly tightens around her throat. Moko’s face twists in anger.
— It was to take revenge on you, Kaguya—you arrogant scum!
Moko does not even fully enunciate these words—they burst forth onto the once-haughty, now terrified face of an old enemy. And in saying them, Moko for the first time in a long time feels truly alive.
Their ensuing mortal battle is indeed fierce. And it is not only because the bamboo forest is set ablaze by Moko’s power—rather, it is that Moko herself is finally burning with something. Her blood boils, and her heart beats faster at the sight of her enemy. And when Kaguya, who had just been strangled by her hands, revives, Moko finally comes to a realization.
When Moko’s fingers clench around the neck of this haughty princess; when Kaguya’s nails dig into her hands as she struggles to break free from the deadly grip; when Moko’s vision is repeatedly filled with two red knots on their pinkies; when Kaguya finally gasps her last—and a moment later a mocking yet somehow satisfied smile returns to her lips—then Moko finally understands. The fact that she and this woman are bound by fate does not mean that they are destined to love each other—no, their red thread of fate merely compels them to give one another meaning in their dreary eternal lives.
And the meaning of their lives is to kill each other for all eternity.