Karai's pic up above
It has been well over four days since the night of the unholy. Truthfully, the horrors of the ordeal still shake me down to my very core, still send unpleasant chills of ice clinging so mercilessly to my peace of mind. On the morning after, Karai was by my side, resting tray of foods and beverage by the little mahogany-wood table.
She had worked to evade any form of eye contact and I simply sat and ate. Then, in her abruptness, she was by the carpeted grounds, forehead, palms and knees kissing the floors as she pleaded that I forgave her iniquities.
"I have always been loyal to the master, an oath of blood that I per took. I, so desperately, yearned to assist in any and all manners possible, but my family should have been in grave danger. Forgive me, miss," are the words she had chanted like a mantra as she knelt by the bed.
I chose the peace, the understanding that indeed, her hands had been tied, that she was without option; forgave her as best as I could. And as the hours of day and night continued to tick by, the aching of muscles and joints significantly diminished to simple numbness; I could move again without much lamentation.
Now, having laundered kimonos and silk, suits and training gear, folded and delivered, I tread towards the massive doors of the libraries, slipping right in.
Because Karai suddenly came down with something only a few hours ago, she'd excused herself to take her rest.
It is now four thirty in the eve, and the sun spears its rays down upon the marble floors of the vast space of the room, lengthening shadows of smooth tables and leather benches and ceiling-to-floor shelves.
I strut down the narrow aisles between shelves, the tips of my fingers gliding against edges of thick books until I stumble upon one that piques my interest. The Silver Sparrow, it reads, and I retrieve it, padding softly to where tables and benches rest.
That is until I take a corner and my eyes come upon the figure of the sat shirtless man, light sterile gauze wrapped around his torso, head buried deep in pages, eyes concealed behind clear glass lenses. Stealthily, with as much caution and quiet as I can possibly master, I turn to walk away. But if wishes were horses, they'd said.
"Rosa, come, sit. Do not let me be your hindrance."
I halt dead in my movements, blow out a long heavy breath before I turn back and weigh my options, contemplate my choices. I make my way in quiet humility, sitting myself three tables further from where he sits. Still, I remain hyper aware of the man's presence even as I peruse through pages.
"How do you feel now?" He speaks so lowly without so much as lifting gaze.
I keep silent momentarily, watch him with arched brows until he lifts his eyes to fixate on mine.
"Better," a coerced response.
"Mhmm, good," he speaks so calmly whilst he nods before turning back to book.
Taking in one long breathe and exhaling sharply, I let myself drown in fantasia, let myself ravish beautiful minutes completely taken captive by the words of book, let myself dream wide awake. And time continues to fleet so serenely.
"Who is your favorite character so far?" Voice inquires in a deep baritone, dragging me back to harsh reality.
I lift head, look upon speaker whilst my brain works to conjure a response.
"Question not coherent enough, perhaps?"
"What exactly do you want from me?" I snap.
He falls mute, eyes me for short minutes, scrutinizes silently.
"Just to know your favorite character," tranquil is the tone he employs.
I stare, simply stare at him whilst I try to decipher his intent. Still, I decide to play along in hopes the response should shut him up.
"Hadoram."
He nods with coolness, adjusts the specs at the bridge of his nose, threads fingers through strands of loose hairs. I avert my gaze, return focus back to sheets of paper and he is quick to mimick my movements. More minutes of comforting silence, more blissful minutes of the muteness.
"Why Hadoram?"
I sigh, I keep silent for a second or a couple simply questioning the man's true intent.
"An innocent query, Rosa. Calm yourself."
I arch a brow at the lad.
"So far, I have managed to go through chapters one through four. He, despite being prince, is one with a kind heart, his words are of genuineness and truth. That and, despite falling so deeply for Salah, still grants her the open option of choosing between he and his twin."
He leans in slightly as I voice, chin held by palm supported by elbow atop table. Again, he moves to adjust the glasses, sits perfectly still as I continue to speak. Then, I dare to ask.
"Why? Have you read the book?"
The corners of his mouth tilt upwards in a subtle smile, his only response being a gentle nod.
"I have had the chance to read most in this room."
That piece of information both fascinates as well as perplexes my understanding. The libraries are like an endless desert of intriguing books of different genres. And for him to so confidently state that he has perused through pages of most...
"Which should be your favorite character?"
"Hadoram's twin, Eber."
I furrow brows, but still, I let him speak his thought.
"Why?" I question whilst I fold arms and tilt head slightly.
"Why shouldn't I? He is the embodiment of authority, dominance, prominence, has moved both the heavens and the mountains to build his father's kingdom from shambles."
"But he has murdered, executed thousands in his strive to create empires."
"Mere casualties. To life, there is death, to love, there is war. It is the inevitable, Rosa."
And with that having been spoken so eloquently, he returns attention back to book. Yes, his statement truly confirms and solidifies the genuine hatred I feel for the man.
"Because you are the epitome of him?" I dare to test the waters as the repulsion continues to leak into my blood.
Gradually, he lifts head to face me. Those pools of honey hidden behind glass stare into my own, stare into the pits of my soul. He smiles a smile that screams danger.
"Precisely because I am the epitome of him. You have recognized that with such ease, I'm impressed," he mocks before he resumes from where he left off.
"You are so stripped of your humanity that murder is like honey upon your tongue."
"You took the words right out of my mouth, Rosa," he speaks so drily as he flips page.
And as it continues to dim and darken, I glance up at the wall clock; it reads fifteen minutes to the time appointed for dinner. Tsumibito is the first to rise on his feet, and as he turns to return book back to shelf, I take notice of the fresh markings, the multiple purpled and reddened tears and slits that also appear deep.
"Self inflicted, they'd said," I speak lowly.
The man that so faithfully looks down at the new book open and clutched in his palms -his back still towards me- maintains his quiet for long minutes. Until...
"They love to talk, do they?"
And he chuckles a humourless chuckle at his own sour statement, shaking his head as he does.
"Pay them no heed. Guilty pleasures, merely guilty pleasures. Still, it shouldn't be a thing of your concern, Obal, now should it?"
I swallow the lump in my throat, just swallow.
"And you are indeed right, it is none of my concern whether or not you end up being your very death."
He turns head ever so slightly, affords me a smile, a feigned smile.
"Dinner should be ready in a moment. Let us get going, shall we, Rosa?"
He snaps book shut, returns it back atop the shelves, turns to face me. As he watches me, observes from his position, I fixate eyes on only him with just as much intensity. There on his face, is a battle of emotions -from blazing rage to a hint of sadness down to a sprinkle of fake tranquility.
Slowly, painfully slowly, he treads in my direction and stands directly opposite from where I sit with all traces of coolness having dissipated. The voidness, the stoicism, the clenched jaws and glassy eyes all have me on high alert.
"By four in the morning be in the dojo. By four in the eve be in the fields. Of course, you must continue to tend to your commissions, no exemption. That being said, I'll see you down at the dining arena. Enjoy your meal."
And just like that, the man turns and pads away, palms shoved deep inside pockets...
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Red As Snow...(BWAM, Yakuza Romance, 18+)
Romance"Growing up, my mama always told me one thing; bad company did corrupt good morals. I did not believe her, did not believe those words she'd said to me with such conviction. That was until I crossed paths with a man so lethal, a man so utterly consu...
