𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐒. - k. yakushi.

02. | PROLOGUE.

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❝ since the creation of
the universe, everything
was destined ❞

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    FORMALLY, IT BEGINS the moment she dares to even think of another life.

    She is tending to the grounds of her shrine, eyes trained distantly on the horizon where her maiden-sisters laugh and dance, when the thought first pops up in her brain. Like the start to anything, it's an innocent curiosity, and nothing more. After all, the notion of abandoning the shrine and forgoing her training is ridiculous. It's everything she's worked for, everything her parents have wanted for her, and to give up now when she's only just begun would be sacrilege. Besides, Kumiko Saitou, an only child and heir apparent to absolutely nothing, knows better. Where she comes from, the gift of a miko's life is the greatest of all. Being able to escape the laborious destiny of her crumbling hometown should be a blessing unto itself, one that provides for her each and every day by way of a new future. She should want for nothing, ache for nothing. Her life, now regimented and closely monitored, should leave her feeling secure - enough so that she should not even have to daydream.

    Still - as she watches the other miko giggle and point amongst themselves as they trip over each other's feet, she allows herself to entertain the thought.

    If I could leave, where would I go?

    At first, she imagines a shrine - a shrine bigger and more vast than anything she has ever witnessed in her own life. It's the kind with a grand haiden, spacious and filled with light, the hall permanently alive with laughter and prayer. Mid-afternoon sunbeams dance in halos around the sandō, casting long shadows off the guardian komainu that are posted outside of the haiden - and Kumiko, along with her maiden-sisters, offers a thankful prayer as she basks in the shade. Her bangs tickle her forehead as the breeze sweeps through them, and along with it comes the musky scent of a foreboding rain. It's peaceful, and comfortingly familiar. Attainable.

    But there's another image that creeps into her mind - slowly, then all at once, like an invasive cloud come to choke out the sun. She finds herself picturing a village that is starkly different from the one she was raised in - a village with high walls and open gates, the streets bustling with vendors and shoppers, mothers and children. Preteens run aimlessly past the stalls, shouldering each other around and bickering, while lackadaisical adults stand around with street food and drinks, their faces warmed by smiles. The air seems like it should smell of fresh flowers or baking bread, but she imagines it smells like dirt after a storm and sweets on display. It's beautiful - so beautiful - but such a figment of her imagination. In all her life, she's never known a place like that - never even heard of one, no such names scrawled on the archaic maps kept within her home village. In fact, she's scarcely even caught word of anywhere outside the forest her shrine is tucked away in. The world is vast, she knows - certainly, it must be - but how vast? How travelable?

    How attainable?

    Of course, it's just a curiosity. A morbid fascination, sprouted in the mind of a young miko struggling with her studies. She shakes her head and blinks the fog out of her eyes, her arms moving on their own as they dutifully resume sweeping the crumbling path underfoot. There's no time to be spent dithering on such unrealistic dreams, even if they are somewhat appealing. Her life, her obligation - it's here, within the confines of this shrine. Few are privileged enough to be chosen to serve the kami; fewer yet rise to the top and complete their training. She's already falling behind as it is - something she has been ignoring perhaps too much of late. In truth, she can't afford to have any more distractions or obstacles crop up, lest she falter more and risk losing her place at the shrine.