How Absurd

Lady Murasaki’s fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, her knuckles white. Her voice was as cold and sharp as ice. “It would be for the best if he truly were my own flesh and blood.”

So it’s not true, Izayoi thought. The accusation had only been a barb meant to wound, a desperate shot in the dark. If Haruka were really Murasaki’s son, with her tyrannical, possessive nature, she would never have allowed him to keep another woman’s surname.

“Heh. I never knew you cared so much for the Young Master Haruka.”

“Of course I care. He is my son.”

“Are you trying to deceive even yourself now?”

“And what lie have I told?” Lady Murasaki’s brow furrowed, a flicker of genuine anger in her eyes. “Speak plainly!”

Izayoi laughed coldly, a sound that was both bitter and triumphant. “Do I need to speak plainly? You know perfectly well what you’ve done. Do you feel no disgust, having others speak of your dirty deeds? Satisfied now? Once the Old Mistress is dead, you will be the head of the house!”

“And what does that have to do with my son?”

“It has everything to do with him. You won’t let him change his name because you intend for him to be buried alongside the Old Mistress.”

Lady Murasaki couldn’t understand what nonsense she was spouting. It was both infuriating and utterly laughable. “Why would I want him to be buried?”

“Because the Young Master Haruka is supposed to ‘cure’ the Old Mistress, and you will surely interfere. When he fails to save her, you will use him as a sacrifice to appease the anger of the family,” Izayoi said with a chilling conviction. “You only want to secure your own position as the head of the house.”

“Hahahaha…”

“What… what are you laughing at?”

A wave of intoxicating, genuine pleasure washed over her. It had been a long time since Lady Murasaki had laughed so freely. “I never knew you were so humorous, Izayoi.” She was radiant, her long hair flowing around her like a dark cloud, her charm irresistible and terrifying. “Do I need to?” she asked, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. She took a step forward. “Why would I want him to die? On the contrary, I will be very good to him. I will give him whatever he wants. But he must be my son. He is destined to willingly change his surname to mine.”

Izayoi took an involuntary step back. No matter how much she despised Lady Murasaki, in this moment, she felt the other woman possessed a charm, a raw power, that could make anyone submit. Her own throat felt dry.

“You are too tyrannical,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Are you going to turn him into a copy of yourself?”

“And would that be so bad?” Lady Murasaki said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “The relationship between people… is it not simply a matter of taming and being tamed?”

“Aren’t you afraid of the ‘what if’?”

“What ‘what if’?”

“What if, one day, you are the one who is tamed by the Young Master Haruka?”

“Heh.” Lady Murasaki let out a small, dismissive laugh and did not answer, the very idea absurd to her.

Izayoi forced a calm, knowing smile. “You know, there is a saying that describes the two of us perfectly right now.”

“And what is that saying?”

“‘The stage is a chaotic mess, one actor exits as another enters, mistaking a foreign land for their home. How absurd, that in the end, they are all just making clothes for others to wear.'”

“What does that mean?”

Izayoi sneered, a flash of her old fire returning. “Perhaps the great head of the house should read more books.”

Lady Murasaki rolled the words around in her mouth for a few seconds before the recognition dawned. “‘Dream of the Red Chamber’?”

“Precisely.”

Lady Murasaki couldn’t understand Izayoi’s sudden sense of superiority. It only made her look down on her more. Always reading such sentimental, overwrought novels, she thought. No wonder she is so obsessed with love and romance.

Izayoi stared at Lady Murasaki, and a sudden, thrilling, dangerous idea came to her: I will help the Young Master Haruka tame Lady Murasaki.

A wave of heat washed over her. She instinctively reached for a fan, only to remember she had left it at the dining table.

Lady Murasaki opened a window halfway, stepping aside to let the cool, rain-scented air blow on Izayoi, a gesture that was almost kind.

Izayoi stared at her for a long moment, thinking, Since you have been unjust, do not blame me for being disloyal. An idea had already formed, a seed of rebellion planted. “I have nothing more to say to you. My lady, the fan you gave me is still in the hall. I am going back to get it.”

With that, she turned and left the room. She had to find a way to help the Young Master. She wanted to see the look on the face of this magnificent, imperious head of the house when she realized that, in the end, she was just making clothes for someone else to wear. They had been dearest sisters for so many years; it was only fitting that they should fall for the same man.

Lady Murasaki did not know what Izayoi was thinking. She watched her retreating back with a look of pity, thinking how childish, how foolishly romantic she was. If it were her, she would have used the Kurosaki family to get her revenge. Why would she care about something as trivial, as fleeting, as love?

For some reason, Lady Murasaki also felt a bit hot. She turned and pushed the window open further. The wind and rain blew in, a wild, cleansing gust, and she brushed the beaded curtain of raindrops aside, her long hair moving with her thoughts. The rain was coming down hard now, a steady, relentless drumming.

“My lady.”

She didn’t know how much time had passed. A familiar voice came from behind her, pulling her from her reverie.

Lady Murasaki turned, her voice softening. “Momozawa. Is the other party finished?”

Momozawa Ai found this strange. “My lady, the second table finished nearly two hours ago.”

“Two hours? Then how long have I been standing by the window?” Lady Murasaki finally came back to herself, realizing her hair was damp, her face beaded with rain. She looked unusually forlorn, a woman who inspired a sudden, sharp feeling of pity.

Momozawa Ai had already summoned a maid, who quickly brought a hot towel for Lady Murasaki to wipe her face.

“My lady, everything has been taken care of.”

“Good.” Lady Murasaki wiped the rain from her face and noticed Momozawa Ai’s hesitant expression. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“The little pig you were keeping outside,” Momozawa Ai said, her voice careful. “It died of old age.”

Lady Murasaki was not at all surprised. “It should have died long ago.”

“How should we handle it?” Momozawa Ai asked.

Lady Murasaki raised an eyebrow. “Do you need to ask me about such a small thing?”

Momozawa Ai opened her mouth to speak, but Lady Murasaki cut her off.

“Bury it!” she said without a moment’s hesitation, her voice sharp with impatience. “And do not bother me with such trivial matters in the future.”

“Yes, my lady.” Momozawa Ai closed her mouth, chastened.

Perhaps from standing for so long, Lady Murasaki said wearily, “Bring me a chair.”

Momozawa Ai had a servant bring a chair, but she took it herself at the doorway and personally carried it to Lady Murasaki.

Lady Murasaki sat down, but she felt uncomfortable, shifting in the seat. “This chair is too high.”

“Shall I have them bring you another one?” Momozawa Ai asked.

Lady Murasaki shook her head, leaning heavily against the back of the chair, a deep exhaustion settling over her.

“My lady, everything has been taken care of. Would you like to review it personally?” Momozawa Ai asked again, her voice gentle.

“No need. You handle it.”

“Yes, my lady.” Momozawa Ai could see that Lady Murasaki was truly, deeply exhausted. She was about to slowly withdraw when she suddenly heard her voice, small and uncertain. “Ai, do you think I am pitiful?”

Lady Murasaki rarely used her first name. Momozawa Ai was a little surprised, but she quickly recovered, assuming her mistress wanted to hear her usual praise. “How could you be pitiful, my lady? You will soon be the true head of the Fujiwara family.”

“Is that so…”

…

Haruka had a dream. He dreamed he was a baby, held tightly in his mother’s arms. He couldn’t help but look back, but his mother’s face grew blurry, indistinct, eventually twisting and reforming into the beautiful, haunting face of Lady Murasaki.

He woke with a start.

The sky outside the window was a pale, pre-dawn gray. The surroundings were unfamiliar, the air still and quiet.

“Hiss…” Haruka drew a sharp breath as a throbbing, insistent pain shot through his head. It took him a moment to remember. Yesterday, a servant had led him to this bedroom to rest, and under the heavy influence of exhaustion and alcohol, he had quickly, deeply, fallen asleep.

Perhaps because of the drinking, his head was still aching. He was about to get out of bed, but he found his body was being held in a shy, gentle embrace, a soft, living warmth pressed against his back.

Haruka was instantly, shockingly, wide awake. He slowly turned his head and saw a familiar face, her own flushed with sleep—Fujiwara Kiyohime.