Chapter Text
She was a human among monsters and spirits. Born of flesh and blood.
Her coming to the alley was complete happenstance. Stumbling-upon the strange world when she ran from home—far from her father and his shackling presence. She ran as far away as her blistered feet could take her. Before she, essentially, was spirited away.
She never tried to leave. In fact, she settled in a cabin in the woods: a quaint house by a creek. She thought it to be vacant. She believed it to be a haven where she could lie low and wait out her short remaining years.
She never planned to be caught in her web.
The tsuchigumo was a deceptive monster. Legends said it, like its other youkai kin, was a master of trickery and deceit: illusory forms to pull you into its trap.
But this one was kind. Funny. Charming. (Perhaps she was foolish to think that.)
The spider, enamored by her humanity and likeness, showered her in various gifts. Sometimes, she'd give her food. She quite liked the pancakes the youko made for that ginger-haired gubin. Others… trinkets, bits, and baubles from relic auctions. She never asked how she procured them despite not living lavishly. The tsuchigumo merely hinted assistance from a certain nurarihyon.
But most of the time, she'd make her clothing. Clothes expertly woven by deft hands, and made of strong silk.
First, there were two. To replace her tattered garments when she arrived in such a disheveled state.
Then, five. To give her options, or so she was told.
Ten.
That became twenty, and more.
She became the tsuchigumo's pride and joy: her model… her muse.
Seasons passed, and the years went by—more years than she initially anticipated. She grew to enjoy the eccentricities of Ayakashi Yokocho. She grew to love the quirks of its many residents: snacking on the kappa's abundance of cucumbers, sketching the amabie's form in the water, being thoroughly surprised by the kasa-obake, and, at times, offering cheese to the kyuuso.
She grew not to be wary of the gashadokuro and the yuki-onna by her side, despite their towering and chilling presence. The skeletal giant was timid, loved music, and was extremely fond of milk, to which the snow woman would keep cool with her breath.
Indeed, she grew to love living among the youkai.
No longer did she sit diligently in her room, wishing that the lantern fire would spark and spread from wicker to parchment, with her body engulfed by flames along with it. Gone were the days of turmoil under her father's ruling thumb.
Because she lived; long enough to care for the tsuchigumo, and her colorful silken threads. Fabrics that brought her warmth and comfort, settled on her shoulders—wrapped around her chest. Bound and tied.
White, the color of purity.
Clouds, embroidered at the hem and sleeves.
"You are the sun. Rising over easterly clouds," the tsuchigumo said plainly.
She didn't have to say much more. She knew what it meant.
Shinonome. Her father's name…
To reclaim as her own.
The spider left home that day to gather ingredients for their food stock as the winter's chill grew ever closer. Eager and giddy for spring's embrace, she decided to sneak into the tsuchigumo's workplace. She twirled and danced in the kimono her would-be wife had woven just for her. She admired the intricate lining. She reveled in its weight, despite the unfinished seams.
Human as she was, she couldn't help but feel excitement for the coming spring; of blooming blossoms and beaming sun, and with it: the day of their union. Why she couldn't wait for a few months was beyond her. She simply spun and sang and twisted and turned.
…Unbeknownst to her, the spools of silk had already begun to unravel.
The tsuchigumo's strings were much stronger and fine in quality than the average web of an ordinary spider. After all, it was made not to fray or tatter. Only the youkai's claw could pierce or cut it free.
And so, she struggled—choking against the thread around her frail, human neck. Her fingers clawed desperately at the filament, trying to ease its hold even a little. Just enough for her to breathe. But it persisted.
Tears welled up as she gasped to no avail. Black spots blinked at the edges of her vision, as she was slowly strangled by the tsuchigumo's own silk.
Selfishly, her last thoughts were not of worry for her own life. Instead, it was of the tsuchigumo's. Her dying breath entangled among the strings she herself wove would surely break her. She already had the tendency to feel guilt over things to which she has no control over. Oh, how she wished she could say this wasn't her fault—that it was only a stupid, silly accident born from a human's carelessness.
If she could have one regret…