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—Angels do exist.
Since childhood, you have heard the tales whispered through hearth-lit nights and quiet evenings. Stories of eings who dwell deep within the cursed forests, far beyond the reach of prying human eyes and wandering feet.
Your mother was particularly fond of such stories.
When you were small and when she was still alive, she would sit beside your bed and weave those legends into the darkness like threads of silver.
In her voice lived the angels of old, beings said to grant the deepest wish of any mortal who encountered them… though only if that mortal possessed the impossible strength to resist their charm.
Charm
A gift and a curse bound inseparably to their existence.
It is said that angels were blessed and condemned with beauty so profound that it ensnared the hearts and minds of all who looked upon them. That very charm shields them from the greed of mankind, for the moment a human beholds one, reason itself dissolves into helpless awe.
The mortal mind falters beneath such ethereal grace, leaving them unable to form any desire other than the angel before them.
Their features, according to the stories, are absurdly captivating so much so that a single glance may steal the breath from your lungs and the strength from your body.
Consciousness slips away beneath the weight of their beauty, and when you awaken hours later, the memory lingers like a lingering haze, the charm refusing to release its hold until time itself erodes its spell.
They say that no one blessed with sight has ever managed to resist it. Not once.
Even after the angel disappears, the charm remains suspended in the air like invisible threads, holding the unfortunate soul in a dreamlike stupor until, eventually, their senses return.
As you grew older, however, you came to realize something rather disappointing. Your mother seemed to be the only one who believed such tales.
Whenever you dared to repeat them to others, the reaction was always the same — snickers, smirks, and mocking replies tossed your way as if your words were nothing more than childish fantasies.
“Kappa exist too, you know, Saw one just the other day in Misizaki River.” and they would laugh it off with their dry humour.
After enough of those remarks, you learned to keep quiet.
Still… deep down, you were certain.
Angels exist. You simply have never been able to prove it. After all, the cursed forest is not a place meant for the living. Those who enter it rarely return, and those who do are seldom the same.
“Did you hear?”
Your steps falter at the hushed excitement in the maids’ voices. They always seem to possess the most interesting pieces of gossip, their whispers traveling through the halls like restless spirits.
“What?” the other maid asks.
“Lower your voice,” the first hisses, glancing over her shoulder before gripping the other’s sleeve and leaning closer. Though she attempts secrecy, her whisper carries far enough for your sharp ears to catch every word. “The cursed forest… the one where they say cursed and magical beings gather together.”
The second maid snickers dismissively “It’s just a tale. There are no angels or devils and certainly no monsters. If such things truly existed, wouldn’t they have devoured us by now?”
The first maid’s expression tightens, displeasure flickering across her face. For a moment she hesitates, clearly debating whether it is worth continuing.
The second maid notices the uncertainty and quickly waves a hand.
“Fine, fine, I won’t judge. Go on with your… magical tale.” she sighs dramatically.
That was enough to brighten up the mood of he first maid, her smile blooming once more.
“Right. The cursed forest. There was a man found near its edge recently. They say he looked completely possessed—rambling like a madman about someone’s beauty. He kept repeating the same thing over and over…
saying, ‘There is nothing more ethereal than her white hair and purplish irises.’”
“White hair?” The second maid knits her brows together. “Purple eyes? Yes, that man has definitely was high off of Zassō.” (n. Weed)
“But I think it might be possible that he saw a—”
Your eyes widen at the same moment the second maid does. The rest of the sentence never arrives.
A presence enters the room — sharp, unmistakable, and impossible to ignore.
A woman stands there with her hands resting lazily upon her bare hips, the thin folds of her yukata hanging loosely over her body, offering little more than a careless suggestion of modesty. Only a partial part of her breasts were hidden however everything else was on a fancy display.
For a moment the two maids simply stare, stunned into silence, before hurriedly straightening.
“My lady—!”
“I thought I asked one of you to bring me my washing soap,” she remarks, raising a brow toward the first maid. Then her gaze drifts to the other. “And you—did I not ask for herbal tea an hour ago?”
“What are you even paid for if you cannot manage a few simple tasks?”
Her voice carries a languid irritation.
At last, her gaze settles upon a familiar figure kneeling nearby, quietly scrubbing the wooden floor with a cloth.
You
She studies you for a moment longer than the others, though fortunately you had already returned to your work the instant her footsteps echoed down the hall. Your eyesight may be imperfect, but your hearing is keen enough to rival a hunting hawk’s.
“Master Yorozu, we are—”
“It’s fine.” She yawns, her attention drifting away from you as quickly as it came.
Without another word, she walks past them and disappears into the next room, the loose yukata swaying behind her.
“Just bring me my tea…”
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The sun is about to set.
Its fading light stretches long shadows across the village, painting the wooden houses and narrow paths in dull shades of amber and gray.
You have been waiting for this moment all day for the sun to retreat and for dusk to drape its quiet veil over the land.
Only then can you leave. Only then can you make your way toward the cursed forest.
Your steps are careful as you move across the room, already imagining the path that will take you beyond the village boundaries and toward the place where myths are said to breathe. But just as you near the doorway—
“Y/n.” You froze at the familiar voice ringing through your head, your breath catching sharply in your throat.
Shit. You hadn’t realized he was here.
Not a single footstep had betrayed his presence, and your attention had been too consumed by your plans to notice the faint shift in the room’s atmosphere.
Slowly, you turn toward the direction of the voice the place where the man must be standing.
“Father?” you don't have seen him to already picture the familiar scowl etched upon his face. Your heart begins to pound against your ribs, loud and frantic, fear tightening its grip around your chest. If he realizes where you intend to go—
“My stored booze is finished.”
The charged atmosphere wispers into stillness. You hear him scratch the space between his brows with his thumb, the small sound oddly casual in the quiet room.
“Can you… on your way—”
“Okay!” The word leaves your mouth before he can even finish the sentence.
You agree so quickly it nearly sounds desperate, already retreating as your feet scrape hurriedly against the wooden floor.
In the next moment you slip out through the doorway, escaping the house before any further questions can follow.
That is what your father has become.
He works.
He drinks.
He sleeps.
He eats very little.
And then the cycle begins again.
Everything changed after the tragedy that shattered your family.
After your mother's death....
Despite the marriage being arranged by their families, he had loved her deeply, more deeply than anyone had expected.
Your mother had simply been that kind of woman. Gentle, warm, and impossible not to adore. You have never truly known what she looked like, yet in your mind you imagine her beauty without hesitation.
Surely she must have resembled an angel.
You doubt you inherited much of her appearance, however. No gentleman has ever shown the slightest interest in you, nor offered even a passing compliment. But that is perfectly fine.
You have no need for any gentleman in your life.
Outside, the sun sinks lower still, its final light slipping away from the village little by little.
The golden glow that once bathed the rooftops fades into a dim, fragile dusk, and soon the world will surrender entirely to the night.
Cruel darkness will follow but that hardly matters to you.
After all... Your world has been dark since the moment you were born.
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