Sunset ^beta

A chasm opens up in a field of flowers, mere meters from where Hanamaru is sitting. Too tired to give much of a reaction, she merely blinks at it. Clumps of dirt fall from the edge of the chasm into the abyss below. Dimly, she think about how long it’ll take to get this field back to normal when the chasm closes.

Two black horses with flaming manes emerge from the chasm, pulling a black chariot behind them. The light around the chariot is dimmer than that which surrounds it, as if the sunlight can’t quite reach it. Even so, it seems to glow with its own peculiar sort of light, giving it an unsettling glow.

Standing in the chariot is a slender figure wearing a shimmering black cloak with the hood pulled down. Her hair is dark as well, glinting ominously in the eerie light of the chariot. A part of it is pulled up into a bun with what seems to be the feather of a crow or raven stuck into it. Her skin is pale, made even more so by the absence of the flushes of color usually caused by blood circulation. Hanamaru experiences a heart-stopping moment where she thinks that this figure isn’t alive, but—

Then she notices the figures eyes. They’re a startling pink, burning with a sort of inner fire. And, most importantly, they’re staring right at her, unwavering.

When the chariot sets down, the flowers around it wilt and die immediately, leaving behind barren and scorched earth. Hanamaru stares at it in despair. There’s no way she’ll get the field back to normal now.

“My sweet, my delicate beauty!” The figure in the chariot says, sweeping her arm to the side in some grand gesture. Her voice is deep and soothing. “Be honored, for the great fallen angel Yohane has chosen you to be worthy of being her bride.”

Hanamaru looks from the circle of barren ground around the chariot to its rider and says: “You killed my flowers.”

The figure—a woman or a girl, Hanamaru isn’t sure; she has a sort of timeless appearance that makes it difficult to guess her age—falters. Her arm falls limply to her side. “W-why are you focussing on that?” Her voice is a lot higher now, more like that of a young girl. “You should be focussing on Yohane!”

“But,” Hanamaru argues, “You ruined my flowers. It took me ages to get all these flowers to grow.” She slides her hand over the sun-warmed dirt, through the grass and the flowers, which bend towards her and caress her skin in something akin to longing.

The figure calling herself Yohane stomps her foot petulantly. “They’ll grow back!”

Even at a glance, Hanamaru can see that the ground around the chariot is barren. Growing something in it is going to take a lot of effort. She’s about to say just that when the figure speaks up again.

“A-anyway,” Yohane clears her throat and her voice drops, “the flowers aren’t important. What’s important is that I, Yohane, have chosen you to be my bride. If you so wish, I will grow you the most magnificent garden ever beheld by mortal—or immortal eyes.” She flings her cloak open in a dramatic gesture, revealing a gray dress with a wide skirt and long, long legs beneath it. “Just say the word, my love, and I will move heaven and earth for you.”

While she’s certainly flattered by this, Hanamaru has several problems with this, most chief among them: “You don’t even know me.” Without giving Yohane a chance to respond, she adds: “Also, I can’t just get up and leave. I have friends here, and family. My flowers are here, and my books—”

“My palace has a quite extensive library. If it’s books you want, you certainly won’t be lacking if you come with me.”

This is enough to make Hanamaru pause. “How extensive?”

Yohane chuckles. The sound sends shivers down Hanamaru’s spine, but not necessarily in a bad way. “Extremely.”

Thoughts of a library as big as her home float through her mind. She imagines row upon row of great wooden bookcases, filled with every book she’s ever heard of and many more she hasn’t. It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of, but—

She can’t let herself be seduced by the promise of books. She has a family to think about. “Like I said, I can’t just go with you. I have a home here, a life.”

Yohane’s expression darkens. Actually, the space around her might all have darkened, because when Hanamaru looks at her she has to strain to make out anything more than indistinct shapes in the darkness. She glances up to check and—yes, the sun is still shining. This darkness is something unnatural.

Unease settles heavy in her stomach. The flowers around her bend towards her even more, bringing some small measure of comfort.

“This was not,” Yohane says. Her voice seems to echo with a thousand voices all at once. “A request.”

Before Hanamaru has time to blink, the horses surge forward and she’s pulled onto the carriage next to Yohane. She doesn’t get the chance to pull herself free as the horses descend into the chasm. The last thing she sees before the ground closes up behind her is Yohane’s hand, firmly clasped around her wrist.

Yohane’s nails are painted black, as they always are. Hanamaru hasn’t seen her with chipped nail polish even once. Absently, she wonders if there’s a nail salon down in the underworld, or if Yohane does her own nails. Maybe she has one of the many, many souls residing in the Asphodel Meadows give her manicures. It might be nice for them; at least they’d have something to do aside from aimlessly wandering around for the rest of eternity.

Yohane drums her fingers on the large, wooden table in a show of impatience. Her nails are trimmed into an oval shape, but they still look sharp enough to pierce skin. Hanamaru doesn’t have any real desire to test that theory.

With a sigh, Yohane lifts her hand to push the goblet standing on the table between them closer to Hanamaru. It’s made of obsidian, covered in ornate decorations. A snake curls around the base, so delicately carved that every distinct scale is visible. It’s eyes are made of rubies, the only spot of color on the goblet. “Drink,” she says.

Hanamaru looks at the thick, crimson liquid inside. It reflects the light of the candles which light the dining hall, and for a moment it looks like blood. Hanamaru looks away in distaste. “I don’t drink wine.”

Yohane levels a stare at her. Flames dance in her eyes, a reflection of the candlelight or something else. While she looks at her, Hanamaru feels like she’s frozen. Her body turns to stone; she can’t look away. Yohane’s eyes draw her in, like gravity, closer and closer, until she’s finally freed when Yohane looks away. “Fine.” She snaps her fingers. At first, it seems like nothing’s happening, but then Hanamaru notices the snake at the base of the goblet move.

The snake slithers forward at a leisurely pace, moving around the stem of the goblet and up, until it can dip its head in the wine. Hanamaru does her best not to react, but in spite of her best efforts, she still shies away from the goblet. She’s never much liked snakes.

The rubies that serve as the snakes eyes light up for a moment. When the light fades, the crimson liquid has turned gold. Hanamaru stares at it in fascination.

Once again, Yohane reaches out to push the goblet across the table. As she does so, the snake leaves the glass to curl around her wrist instead. It remains there, like some sort of twisted bracelet. “Drink,” she repeats, more insistent now.

Despite her misgivings about this entire thing, Hanamaru grabs hold of the goblet. She swirls the liquid inside around; it almost seems to glitter. She’s never seen a drink like this before. “What is it?” She asks, curious.

Yohane gives a slow blink. “Nectar. It tastes better than wine, I assure you,” she says, a smile curling around her lips.

For a moment Hanamaru thinks she means the stuff honey is made of. Almost immediately she realizes that’s absurd; of course Yohane wouldn’t feed her actual nectar. The golden liquid is the nectar of the gods, ambrosia.

She sets the goblet down with a shaking hand. “I don’t want this.”

Abruptly, Yohane slams her hands on the table. Hanamaru flinches away from the sound. “You have to drink something!” Instead of sounding angry, as Hanamaru had expected, Yohane sounds worried. Her eyes are shining with an emotion Hanamaru can’t quite make out.

“It’s not like it’ll kill me if I don't,” she says, looking down at her lap. She’s still wearing the dress she was wearing when Yohane abducted her, though Yohane has offered her a fresh set of clothes multiple times since then.

Yohane stares at her; Hanamaru can’t see this, but she can feel her eyes boring into her. “It’s been days and you haven’t had anything to eat or drink. Aren’t you thirsty? Aren’t you hungry?” She stands up and moves to kneel beside Hanamaru’s chair. Their eyes meet, and Hanamaru can’t do anything to escape, can’t look anywhere except at Yohane. “Why do you hurt yourself like this?”

With some effort, Hanamaru manages to swallow. Truthfully, she is thirsty, more so than she has ever been before. Her throat feels drier than sandpaper. She longs for something to drink, something to sate the gnawing hunger in her stomach, but—

But. She knows the rules of the Underworld. If she eats or drinks anything, she’ll be forced to stay there forever. That can’t happen. She misses life on the surface; her family and friends, flowers, sunlight—these are not things she can live without.

She doesn’t answer. Heavy silence hangs between them, and Hanamaru can’t bring herself to break it. She wants Yohane to understand—thinks she does, already—but she doesn’t want to be the first to say it. Doesn’t want to say that she’ll be a prisoner the moment any sort of sustenance touches her tongue.

In the end neither of them say it. The silence is broken when Yohane sighs and straightens from her kneeling position. She takes a moment to brush the non-existent dust off her dress—dark purple, floor length, positively resplendent—before offering her hand to Hanamaru.

Hanamaru looks at the offered hand, then at the person it belongs to. She’s not sure what to do with this. Yohane hasn’t touched her since that first day. Sometimes, she thinks the cold, vice-like grip around her wrist is still there. Point is, she’s not sure if she wants to touch Yohane again.

“Come on,” Yohane shakes her hand a little, as if Hanamaru wasn’t already uncomfortably aware of its presence, “I have something to show you.”

The scary thing is: part of her yearns for Yohane’s touch. Hanamaru reaches out, but stops with her hand hovering inches from Yohane’s. “What is it?” At this distance, she can feel the cold radiating from Yohane’s skin. It reminds her once again of where she is: in the Underworld, surrounded by the souls of the dead and their overseers.

Yohane smiles at her. It’s a different smile from the ones she’s seen before. Those all had some sort of triumphant undertone, but this—this one only holds kindness. “I told you I’d build you a garden, didn’t I? Come see.”

So Hanamaru takes the offered hand, and doesn’t pull away even though it feels like she’s touching ice.

The way out of the castle is long and winding. By the time they reach the garden, Hanamaru’s hand feels like it’s frozen solid. Even so, she hasn’t let go of Yohane’s hand; who knows what might happen if she does.

After what seems like an eternity of walking, Yohane throws open the door at the end of a tunnel. Hanamaru steps through and then, finally, is outside for the first time in days. She’s still underground, but this is better than nothing. There may not be a sky above her, but there is earth at her feet instead of stone. It’s a start.

Hanamaru spends a minute revelling in the fact that she isn’t cooped up in that damned castle anymore before looking at the garden Yohane prepared for her.

Before her spreads a field of what must be hundreds of plants—not just flowers, but trees and shrubs too. They’re immaculate; not a single leaf is out of place, not a single plant looks less than perfectly healthy. All of them glitter in the strange light that seems to illuminate everything in the Underworld, though it doesn’t have any visible source. They glitter, because they aren’t real plants at all. Every single one of them is made of jewells, carved down to the finest detail to resemble all manner of vegetation.

Abruptly overcome by how wrong this is, how unnatural, Hanamaru stumbles backwards, hands pressed against her lips to keep from whimpering. Yohane makes as if to move towards her, but stops when Hanamaru shies away from her, shaking her head.

“What is it, love?” Yohane asks, looking on helplessly as Hanamaru sinks to her knees in despair. The pet name is enough to drive her over the edge, and tears start spilling from her eyes. Yohane surges forward, reaching out to touch her, but thinks better of it when Hanamaru flinches violently. Her hand stays hovering above Hanamaru’s shoulder, useless. “What’s upset you?”

Hanamaru takes her hands away from her mouth, only for a shaking sob to escape. This is all so wrong. She’s a nature goddess. She doesn’t belong down here, where everything is dead and cloaked in darkness. This isn’t where she’s supposed to be.

A frustrated scream rips out of her throat involuntarily. She rubs at her eyes furiously, attempting to stop the flow of tears which seems to be endless now that it’s begun. It’s pretty much useless; her tears keep flowing, dripping down her face and onto the soil below.

Gentle hands take hold of her wrists, prying her hands away from her face. Hanamaru tears herself free and stands up, taking several steps away from where Yohane is now kneeling on the ground.

“All of this is wrong!” Hanamaru shouts. Yohane actually flinches at this, as if she has any right to be afraid of a little godling when she rules the Underworld. A hysterical giggle makes its way out of Hanamaru at the absurdity of it all. “I never—I don’t belong here,” she continues, doing her best to push down the sobs that continue to force their way out of her. “I want to go home. Let me go.”

Yohane stares at her, hands fallen limply to the side. Her eyes are wide and swimming with emotion. “B-but,” she stutters, “I love you.”

Hanamaru rounds on her. “You don’t even know me! Do you even know my name? Anything about me at all other than what I look like?” Yohane doesn’t respond, so Hanamaru continues, voice rising even further. “You don’t love me! I’m nothing to you except the girl you took away from her family and locked up in some castle!” She takes a shuddering breath, balling her trembling hands into fists at her side. “I hate you. I really, really despise you.”

And then she picks a direction at random and sets off running, away from Yohane and her castle, away from the place where she was a prisoner, and towards the only chance at freedom she has left.

The ground farther away from the castle isn’t nearly as soft as the soil of the gardens. It’s made of rock, with jagged edged and loose pebbles scattered around. Hanamaru, barefoot, has to stop running after only a short while. Even walking is painful; running is near impossible.

Of course, the ground is the least of her problems. The Underworld is full of all sorts of monsters—monsters Hanamaru could easily run into, as she discovers after about two hours of walking.

She’s walking through a large plain of nothing but rocks and pebbles, with nothing in sight but more rock. Her feet are in agony and her lungs and throat feel like they’re burning. She’s debating sitting down to rest for just a moment when a giant serpent rises out of the earth.

The serpent’s body is large enough that Hanamaru doubts she’d be able to wrap her arms around it all the way. One end is still making its way out of the ground, dust and pebbles sliding over brown scales, and the other ends in two heads, thrashing around angrily. A detached part of Hanamaru’s mind informs her that the serpent is a drakon, while the rest screams at her to just run already.

Though her feet are bruised and bleeding, and her legs feel heavy as lead, Hanamaru sets off running again. Something splashes onto the ground behind her. Hanamaru doesn’t turn to look, but she can hear the sizzle of the drakon’s poison spit corroding the ground away. If she gets hit with that spit, she’ll be done for.

Sheer terror allows her to push her body to its limits and run even faster. Even so, the distance between her and the drakon doesn’t increase. She gets the sense that the beast is playing with her, that it could surge forward and grab her whenever it feels like it. It’s almost enough to make her give up; she’s not going to escape from this beast, and even if she does, she’s probably not going to find her way back to the surface. If it’s a choice between death and being forced to wander around the Underworld for the rest of eternity, Hanamaru doesn’t have to think about it all too long.

She slows down. The drakon gets closer and closer, until—

The ground behind her starts to tremble rhythmically, as if shaking with the footsteps of some great beast. The drakon is close enough that Hanamaru can sense it, can feel it at her back, when it’s abruptly snatched away and replaced by a much larger form. She turns around, only to come face to face with the biggest dog she’s ever seen.

Its paws alone are as large as she is, covered in coarse black fur speckled with spots of white. Two of its three heads are playing tug of war with the drakon; the other is staring right at her, tongue hanging out of its mouth and dripping saliva. Its powerful body trembles, muscles taut; it looks ready to attack again. If it could dispose of the drakon that easily, what will it do to her?

Instinct has her put up her hand for the beast to sniff, as if it’s just any normal dog. “G-good doggy,” she stutters, when the unoccupied head moves closer curiously. It sniffs her hand, then bumps his nose into it. Its nose is moist and bigger than her hand. “That’s it,” she says, and her voice barely even shakes, “Good doggy.”

She takes a step away and lowers her hand. When the beast still makes no move to attack, she forces herself to straighten her back. If this beast really is like a normal dog, maybe she does have a way out. “Sit,” she says, attempting to make her voice as authoritative as possible. The dog’s free head cocks to the side. Hanamaru steels her nerves and repeats, “Sit.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, the beast moves to sit on its haunches. Two of its heads are still playing with the drakon corpse, but the remaining head watches her attentively. “Good,” Hanamaru says, “Good dog. Now stay.”

She takes another few steps away from the beast. It makes no move to follow her, so she starts walking away with more purpose. The beast stays where it is, making no move to follow her until she’s lost sight of it, and all she can see, surrounding her on all sides, is rocky ground.

Hanamaru doesn’t think about taking a break again. She stops only once to pull pebbles from her feet, and wrap them in cloth she tears from her dress. It softens the harshness of the rocks slightly, but her progress is still slowed considerably by the pain in her feet.

She has no idea what time it is anymore. There is no sunlight in the Underworld, and what little light there is stays constant, never dimming or brightening to show the passage of time. It feels like she’s been walking for hours, but for all she knows it could be days.

After a while, she even starts missing Yohane and her castle. Much as she longed for sunshine and fresh air when she was there, it was at least better than this endless wasteland. If she could, she’d turn around and go back to the castle, but she has no way of knowing how the get her. To all sides of her is desert, with no path to guide her to where she needs to go. To all sides of her is desert, until suddenly, there’s something else.

In the distance, Hanamaru sees shapes moving. They crowd close to something in the ground that isn’t rock. She strains her eyes until she comes close enough to see what it is: a river. A river, with souls crowding around it. One the other side of the river is a group of buildings, surrounded by fields of grass with trees and bushes and flowers growing in it. The sight of it makes Hanamaru’s heart soar, and for a moment she dares to dream.

Hope makes her body feel light. All her aches and pains fade to the background while Hanamaru runs towards the river—runs towards the exit of the underworld. All she needs to do is find the ferryman, convince him to let her cross without payment, and she’ll be free to go back to the surface.

The crowd around the river is thick, and even though the souls all seem translucent, Hanamaru can’t just pass through them. Making her way through the crowd is still surprisingly easy; the souls move aside when she pushes them just a little, though they move back into place behind her.

There’s something unsettling about this crowd, and it’s not just the fact that it’s made up of dead people. It’s the way they all stare blankly ahead, eyes unfocused. They don’t move, and they don’t speak. Hanamaru may not know much about souls of the dead, but from the stories she’s heard they usually shuffle around and mumble a bit. This unnatural stillness can’t mean anything good.

She learns the reason for the soul’s strange behavior once she reaches the riverbank. A little ways away a soul kneels at the edge of the water. Not only is it the only one moving, but one glimpse at its eyes reveals that it’s also much more alert than the other souls. It cups some of the river water in its hands and moves it towards its mouth. Hanamaru shouts out to get it’s attention, but the soul gives no indication it’s even heard her, and drinks the water gathered in its hands. Immediately, his eyes go blank and the muscles—or whatever the ghostly equivalent of muscles are—in its face go slack. It stand up and joins the crowd of souls around it, before it stops moving altogether.

Slowly, the realization comes to Hanamaru that this isn’t the river Styx at all; it’s the river Lethe. Which means the village across the water isn’t the exit to the Underworld, but Elysium. Her only chance of escape after so long trapped in the underworld, and now it’s gone.

Hanamaru stares at the island across from her with unseeing eyes. She could turn around and find another way, but that’d probably end in her walking around in circles. However, she can’t exactly stay here, either. That’d just be waiting until she’s either discovered, or attacked by some new horrible creature. She can’t stay here, and she has nowhere else to go. Except, maybe…

Hanamaru takes a long look at the river, then at the island on the other side of it. Drinking the water will make her lose her memories, but that doesn’t mean she can’t swim across it. She only has to make sure she doesn’t let any water get into her mouth. It’s a risk, but one she’s willing to take. On the other side of the river is Elysium; it’s not way out, but at least it’s a place to rest without having to worry about being attacked by some creature.

Standing here hesitaitng will get her nowhere. Mind made up, Hanamaru takes a deep breath and dives into the river.

The first thing she notices is that the water is absolutely freezing. It feels like a thousand knives are stabbing into every part of her body. The shock and pain is almost enough to make her open her mouth, but she manages to clamp her jaws together just in time.

The next thing she notices is that the current is much stronger than it had seemed from the shore. The river had looked like a gentle stream, but as Hanamaru comes up to take in a deep breath of air, she notices herself getting swept away by the current. Already she’s drifting further away from the island of Elysium and towards whatever lays further down this river. With no time to lose, Hanamaru starts swimming.

Only a few seconds later, she’s absolutely exhausted. While she isn’t exactly the most athletic person, she should be able to swim for longer than a few second without getting this tired, even in a river with a current this strong. Already, her limbs feel heavy as lead. Breathing is becoming more and more difficult, as is holding her head above the water. Every part of her body is screaming at her to just give up, let herself sink beneath the surface of the water and drink from the river. It’ll be peaceful—she’ll barely feel any pain as her memories are erased, and soon after that she’ll be born again in a new body. She’ll have a chance to live a new life above ground, in the sun. Isn’t that what she wanted? Isn’t that why she’s trying to cross this damned river in the first place?

Logically, she knows this is some sort of compulsion speaking. All she has to do is make it across the river and these thoughts will stop. She’ll be able to rest, and find her way back to the surface at her leisure. That’s easier said than done, however. Realizing that she’s being compelled to think these things doesn’t make her think them any less, doesn’t make her body any less exhausted. She tries to fight it, she really does, but she’s barely reached the halfway point of the river when she feels herself starting to be pulled under.

She struggles against the current, kicking her arms and legs furiously in an attempt to stay afloat. In the process she swallows some water, but she doesn’t have time to think about it; she’s too busy trying not to drown. Eventually, though, her exhaustion gets the better of her. Taking one last gulp of air, Hanamaru allows herself to sink under the water.

Now that she’s no longer struggling, the water around her seems much calmer. It’s almost peaceful, in a way. She’s floating, weightless, in this seemingly endless darkness, and it feels like freedom. It almost seems like she can hear music in the water. It sounds, almost, like the songs her mother used to sing to her when she was younger. Just like back then, it calms her and starts to lull her to sleep. She’s ready to close her eyes and let the water take her. A new life, after all, should be better than this eternal struggle to escape.

A hand grasps her wrist. If she were any less exhausted, Hanamaru’s eyes might have flown open. As it is, she only manages to open them slowly, with a lot of effort. The last thing she sees before she blacks out is a hand, firmly clasped around her wrist.

When she first wakes up, she’s lying in a large, unbelievably soft bed. It’s the most comfortable Hanamaru can remember ever being, and for a long moment she doesn’t want to open her eyes. All she wants is to roll over and go back to sleep. Only when she feels the bed behind her dip does she open her eyes.

The sheets and pillows are made of a shimmering black material that almost seems like silk but, somehow, is even softer. The material seems familiar, but at the moment Hanamaru can’t quite place it. Deciding to forget it for now, she cranes her head to look over her shoulder at the figure behind her.

A slender, pale-skinned woman sits on the bed with her legs folded beneath her. Like the fabric of the sheets, she seems familiar, like Hanamaru should know who she is. It feels like the woman’s identity is at the edge of her mind, just barely out of reach. She thinks she’ll be able to figure out who this woman is and how she knows her if she just focuses, but doing that makes her head hurt and her vision blur.

The woman reaches out a hand to push Hanamaru’s hair away from her forehead, then keeps stroking her head in a soothing rhythm. Her skin is cold, and it makes Hanamaru realize that her own skin is almost unbearably hot. She smells good, like earth in the summer sun. It reminds Hanamaru of… something. Something comforting, though she can’t remember what.

“Rest,” says the woman. A smile plays at her lips, but doesn’t reach her eyes, which are filled with so many emotions they might just spill over into tears soon. “You shouldn’t strain yourself right now.”

There are questions Hanamaru wants to ask: things like where am I and who are you, but sleep tugs at her so that all she can do is nod and burrow herself deeper into the covers. Moments later, she falls once again into a deep sleep.

It feels, when she next wakes up, as if no time at all has passed. For all she knows that’s true; the bedroom she’s in has no windows, and even if it did she wouldn’t be able to see the sun in order to tell the time. The woman—and she seems, now, more familiar than ever—is gone. Hanamaru is all alone in a bedroom thrice the size of her own, most of which is taken up by the large bed she’s lying on.

For a moment, Hanamaru sits up in the unfamiliar bed and waits for the woman to return. It seems rude, after all, to walk around somebody’s home unaccompanied and, for all she knows, uninvited. Soon her restlessness gets the rest of her, though. She doesn’t know how long she was asleep, but it’s clear that it was more than long enough; she feels more well rested than she has in a long time. It seems like a waste to spend all that energy sitting in bed.

Hanamaru throws the sheets off and looks down at herself. She’s wearing a simple, knee-length white dress. It seems like something she’d own, but she thinks she’s fairly certain she was wearing something else when she came here—wherever here is. The woman must have changed her clothing while she was sleeping. Or maybe she changed into it herself before she got into the bed? She’s can’t be sure.

Slowly, she makes her way over to the edge of the bed. Though she has an abundance of energy now, her limbs feel shaky, and it takes her a while to find her balance. Eventually she’s able the set her feet on the cool marble floor. It hurts, just a little, and when Hanamaru inspects the underside of her feet she finds them full of freshly healed wounds. It doesn’t hurt enough to stop her from getting out of bed, though; she has this urge to walk around that she can’t really explain, but which doesn’t seem to be dampened by anything.

At first she walks around the bedroom, but soon even that, despite the sheer size of it, starts to feel cramped, so Hanamaru opens the heavy wooden doors and ventures into the hallway beyond. She wanders around with no clear destination in mind, but starts to feel a pull in her gut which leads her in a certain direction. After several minutes of navigation through winding hallways lit by torches with green flames on the walls, she comes to a stop before iron double at least two times as tall as her. The doors are closed, and they looks way too heavy for her to push open, but the pull in her gut is insistent that she needs to go in there, so Hanamaru does the only thing she can think to do: she knocks.

Nothing happens for several seconds. Then the doors start to swing open, seemingly of their own accord. A large throne room is revealed, walls lined with more torches—regular orange flames, this time. The room is mostly bare, but at the far side is a stone platform with steps leading up to it. On the platform stands an ebony throne, precious stones embedded here and there. Slightly behind it and to the side sits a smaller throne, nearly identical but for the size. The woman from before sits on the larger throne. She seems distracted, but when she looks up and sees Hanamaru standing at the entrance through the throne room she immediately stands up and walks towards her.

Hanamaru, too starts walking forward. That strange pull hasn’t stopped yet, and it doesn’t until she’s face to face with the pale woman. She seems as if she wants to pull Hanamaru into a hug, but thinks better of it and grabs her hands instead. “My love,” she says, relief palpable in her voice, “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“I—” Hanamaru starts, only to realize her throat is much too dry for her to speak. She pauses to wet her throat some. It takes some time, but the woman waits patiently for her. “I’m fine. I—sorry, where am I? Who are you?”

The woman’s face falls. Her hands slacken around Hanamaru’s. “Do you not remember?” When Hanamaru shakes her head, her face falls even further. “I thought—I was sure I got there in time.”

“What?” Hanamaru asks, confused. She could easily pull out of the woman’s grip now, but finds she doesn’t want to. It’s a very strange feeling, wanting to hold hands with somebody you don’t know, and it only adds to her confusion.

“What?” the woman repeats. Hanamaru realizes she must have simply been talking to herself before. Before she can dwell on that too long, the woman plasters an obviously fake smile on her face. “No matter. You are in the underworld, and I—”

Hanamaru doesn’t hear the rest of what the woman has to say. In a rush, all her memories come back to her. With a gasp, she tears herself away from the woman, taking a few extra steps away for good measure. “You!” she says, pointing furiously. “You—you kidnapped me!”

Yohane—and Hanamaru remembers her name now—takes a hesitant step forward. In that moment she doesn’t look at all like the queen of the underworld; she looks like a scared child speaking to an enraged adult. “I did, but—”

“There is no ‘but’!” Hanamaru exclaims, “You kidnapped me, and I want to leave!”

“Please, love, calm d—”

Enraged, Hanamaru interrupts her again. “My name is Hanamaru! I’m not your love, I’m not your anything and I have. A. Name.” Her outburst leaves her panting, chest heaving.

At this point, Hanamaru hardly expects Yohane to show any sort of appropriate response, but to her surprise the goddess lowers her head in a show of humility. “I’m sorry, Hanamaru.” Her lips tilt up into a small, sad smile. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Yoha—” she coughs into her hand, delicately— “Yoshiko. It’s nice to meet you.”

Words fail Hanamaru. How can this woman pretend everything is alright? How can she just introduce herself like that, as if nothing has happened and this is the first time they’re meeting? What gives her the right? “I can’t say I feel the same,” she replies, eventually, “since I’m here against my will.”

Yoshiko’s smile turns even more sombre. “I know,” she says. Hanamaru must be imagining things, because it almost sounds like there is genuine remorse in her voice. “You’ll be able to go home soon, but not yet.”

“Why not?” Hanamaru demands.

“You are still unwell. Do you—” Yoshiko takes a halting step forwards. For a moment it seems like she wants to grab hold of Hanamaru’s hands again, but she aborts the movement as soon as it starts. “You fell in the river Lethe. Do you remember?”

Hanamaru hadn’t realized part of her memory was still missing until Yoshiko pointed it out, but now that she knows what to focus on she can remember flashes: cold water, the feeling of extreme exhaustion, and Yoshiko’s hand, reaching for her in the darkness. But—that can’t be right. If she really did nearly drown, if she really did swallow the water of the Lethe, then she shouldn’t remember anything. She’d be nothing more than an empty husk right now, with all her memories erased and her soul on it’s way to being born into a new body. “I—how—”

Even though she can barely force the words out, Yoshiko seems to understand what she’s trying to ask. “I managed to get to you just in time. You’ve been here in the castle ever since, resting. However, I…” She casts her eyes down to look at the floor. Unconsciously, Hanamaru follows her gaze. There is less space between them than she though—a meter, at most, separates her feet from Yoshiko’s. “You were very weak. You hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in several days. I had to do something to get you back to health, so I…”

Instantly, Hanamaru’s blood turns to ice in her veins. If Yoshiko’s implying what she thinks she is, then Hanamaru could be trapped here forever. “You made me eat?” Her voice comes out shaky and thin with horror.

“No!” Yoshiko hurries to reassure her. “No, I wouldn’t—I’d never—” Her face is flushed. She seems to notice, and takes a moment to compose herself before continuing. “I didn’t feed you. But, as I said, I had to do something to ensure your survival.”

“So?” Hanamaru asks, though she isn’t sure she really wants to hear the answer.

Yoshiko takes a deep breath to steel herself, or maybe to delay the inevitable. Her voice shakes, just a little, when she says: “I gave you some of my blood.”

Hanamaru takes a moment to digest that. Yoshiko gave her blood. So, that means… She crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very naked in only a white dress.

“That’s why you can’t leave yet,” Yoshiko explains. “No living being can take something that belongs in the underworld with them to the mortal realms, and you…” She trails off, a blush staining her ears, likely too embarrassed to finish the thought.

“I have a part of you inside me,” Hanamaru finishes for her.

“Yes,” Yoshiko mumbles. “B-but it should take only a few months before my blood is flushed out of your system! And I promise, I promise, I promise, you’ll be able to go home after.”

All in all, a couple of months aren’t that long for an immortal being. Hanamaru supposes she could stand being here for a little while longer. That, and Yoshiko promised thrice over that she’d let her go after that, which means she’ll never have to return to this wretched place ever again once this whole ordeal is done.

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” she says, after thinking about it for a moment.

Yoshiko’s face practically lights up. It seems strange, Hanamaru thinks, that she’d be so excited, considering Hanamaru didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. It’s not like she chose to stay here of her own accord. “That’s great!” Yoshiko excliams. “If you want, I can have one of my servants—”

“I think,” Hanamaru interjects, “that I’d like to go back to sleep.” Truthfully, she isn’t tired in the slightest, but she needs some sort of excuse not to spend time with her abductor.

Yoshiko’s excitement dims immediately, though she does her best to hide it. “I understand. I’ll have a servant lead you back to your room.”

The first few weeks, Hanamaru doesn’t do much of anything. She spends most of her time in her bedroom, sleeping or lazing around. The only time she really leaves the room is to take a bath in the bathroom attached to her room. It’s as lavish as everything else in the castle, and Hanamaru spends hours luxuriating in the hot water, trying out different scented oils and creams in the room.

At some point, after she’s grown bored of seeing the same two rooms over and over, she seeks out Yoshiko to lead her to the library. She does, and doesn’t even offer to stay and keep Hanamaru company, even though she clearly wants to.

The library is as extensive as Yoshiko had promised that first night. There are books on every subject: maths, history, language, and so much more. Hanamaru tears through them like a woman possessed, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. Whenever she thinks she’s run out of things to read, one of Yohane’s servants—more stone snakes, the occasional fury or, very rarely, a ghost—will lead her to a part of the library she’d overlooked before, and her reading frenzy will start up all over again.

Eventually, though, even that becomes boring. Much as Hanamaru enjoys reading, she needs some variety in her life. It’s this that has her finding her way to the throne room again, a little over a month after the first time she’s there.

Yoshiko stands up when she sees Hanamaru enter, but lowers back into her seat when Hanamaru waves her down. “What is it?” she asks, “Is something wrong, love?” A beat passes, then Yoshiko realizes what she said and blushes. “Ah, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Hanamaru assures her. To her surprise, she finds she means it. Maybe a month of separation has made her more tolerant to Yoshiko’s pet names, or maybe it’s the promise of returning to the surface in a few short months. “Nothing’s wrong either. I guess I’m just a little bored.”

“W-well,” Yoshiko’s voice lowers back into the smooth timbre Hanamaru remembered from their first meeting, “I suppose, if you insist, the great Yohane can entertain you. Come, little demon, and—”

In spite of herself, the corner of Hanamaru’s mouth quirk up. She hadn’t found anything about Yoshiko’s personality particularly amusing before, but now that she’s seen how flustered she can get, this cool and dangerous persona just seems ridiculous. “Why do you do that?” she asks, interrupting Yoshiko mid-tangent. “Call yourself Yohane, and act like—” she waves her hand vaguely in Yoshiko’s direction— “that.”

Yoshiko falters. She glares at Hanamaru where she’s standing by the foot of the stone steps leading up to Yoshiko’s throne, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I’m not very impressive otherwise, am I? And I need to inspire fear if I want to keep souls from attempting to escape.”

“Is that what you do in here all day? Make sure nobody escapes?” Hanamaru isn’t sure if Yoshiko is in the throne room all day, but she’s never seen her around the castle either. For all she knows, Yoshiko really does spend days on end here, working.

“That’s not all I do,” Yoshiko insists, as if she knows exactly what Hanamaru is thinking. “I do other stuff, too.”

“Like what?”

“I decide on appropriate punishments for those who have violated the laws of this land.” Yoshiko sounds almost proud of this. It sounds a little gruesome to Hanamaru, and she says as much to Yoshiko. “I suppose it’s not the most—” a pause— “pleasant job, but it’s one that needs to be done. It can be quite satisfying to punish some of the more rotten souls that come through.”

Hanamaru hadn’t thought about this before, but now she supposes that something had to happen to murderers and their ilk, and she’d rather they be punished than anything else. As unpleasant as the job may be, somebody has to do it. And, she figures, this could be just the solution to her boredom she’s been looking for. A few hours observing cruel and unusual punishments being doled out is sure to have her running back to the safety of the library in no time. “Would you mind if I stayed here for a little bit? To watch you work, I guess.”

A bright smile appears on Yoshiko’s face. She looks very young when she smiles—more like a teenager than an immortal goddess. “Of course!” She gestures towards the second, smaller throne to her right. “I’ve prepared a seat for you—”

“No, thank you,” Hanamaru says, a sweet smile plastered on her face, “I’d prefer to just sit on the steps.” And with that, still smiling serenely, she turns her back to Yoshiko and takes her place on the lowest step.

Though Yoshiko is clearly upset by the easy dismissal. She doesn’t dwell on it for long. After a mere half minute or so of pouting, she calls out, “Next!” and a fury appears in a rush of flame, escorting the spirit of an elderly woman.

She looks like your typical grandmother. Kind. Innocent. Hanamaru can’t imagine she’s done anything deserving of eternal punishment. That’s why she’s surprised when Yoshiko huffs and proclaims she’ll be forced to drown,every morning, afternoon and evening, for the rest of eternity.

“What?!” Hanamaru demands, turning around to look at Yoshiko. Just when she’d started to think that maybe Yoshiko wasn’t so bad… “She just an old lady, she’s harmless! What could she possibly have done to deserve that?”

Yoshiko stares back at her, gaze impossibly cold. There is a sort of fury in her eyes that makes Hanamaru shrink in on herself instinctively. It’s almost easy to believe, now, that Yoshiko rules over the dead. “This woman,” Yoshiko says, voice as cold as the rest of her, “has murdered over twenty women and their newborn children.”

Shock makes Hanamaru’s tongue feel like it’s stuck to the underside of her mouth, but she still manages to get a single word out. “W-what?”

“During her work as a midwife she killed over twenty women with poison. Then she took the babies she just delivered, and drowned them in the river behind her house.” A wry smile crosses Yoshiko’s face. It does nothing to soften the sharp fury in her eyes. “But, sure, she’s only an old lady.” In Hanamaru’s dumbstruck silence, she turns away from her to address the fury. “Next.”

It’s a young man, likely not even twenty yet, next. Before Yoshiko can say anything, Hanamaru turns around to look at her. Yoshiko is holding some sort of scroll; that must be how she knows what crimes these people have committed. “Would you mind—reading aloud, what these people have done?” Hanamaru requests.

Yoshiko gazes at her impassively for a long moment. Part of Hanamaru wants to feel indignant at the way she’s being treated, but another part of her remembers what Yoshiko said before. These souls must fear her, if she’s to keep them from escaping. She can’t appear weak. “If that’s what you wish,” Yoshiko concedes, eventually. Hanamaru releases a shuddering breath, and turns back around to watch the proceedings.

“Patricide and matricide,” Yoshiko says, voice ringing out through the massive throne room. “Let’s see…” She stays silent for a moment, during which Hanamaru doesn’t dare even breathe. The bond between a parent and child is supposed to be one of love and mutual trust—it is for her. For this mere boy to have murdered his own parents…

“Every morning,” Yoshiko eventually settles on, “your nails will be ripped from your fingers. During the days, you shall work on weaving a cloth depicting your parents’ murder. Next.”

As the spirit disappears in a rush of flame, weakly struggling against the fury’s grip, Hanamaru surprises herself by feeling a vindictive sort of pleasure rush through her. It’s not, she tells herself, that she enjoys seeing pain and suffering inflicted on others; she merely thinks the punishment fits the crime.

Things continue like that for a while. A spirit will appear, Yoshiko will announce what crimes they have committed, and think up an appropriate punishment for them. Some crimes are less severe than others, and the punishments are adjusted accordingly. The influx of souls never seems to end. Yoshiko, when Hanamaru asks her why this is, explains that these souls could already have been judged several months ago, had she been faster.

“People commit crimes every second,” she says, “and every second, people die. Some of those people will have committed some of those crimes. Sometimes I can’t keep up with it all, and souls will be placed in a sort of waiting room. But, really,” she bares her teeth in a sharp smile, aimed at the fidgeting woman standing before her, “what do a few months of waiting time matter, compared to an eternity of suffering?”

After several hours of this non-stop stream of souls, Yoshiko rises from her throne. “That’s enough for today,” she says to the fury, before it can leave to fetch another soul. The fury nods and disappears, taking with it the last judged soul of the day.

With both the fury and the souls gone, it’s like a switch has been flipped in Yoshiko. Gone is the cold, emotionless ruler of the underworld, replaced by the woman Hanamaru has started to become familiar with. She walks down the steps to strike a pose in front of Hanamaru. “Well? What did you think? Was watching Yohane at work as awe-inspiring as you were expecting?”

Muffling a snicker behind her hand, Hanamaru stands up. She’d been able to ignore it until now, but sitting on a wooden stair isn’t exactly what most people would call comfortable. “You were very intimidating,” she says, honestly.

“O-of course! I am a powerful fallen angel, after all!” Though she hides it well, a blush is rising on Yoshiko’s too-pale skin. Hanamaru hides another giggle. “Anyway,” Yoshiko says, loudly, “now that all that unpleasant business is out of the way, would you care to join me for dinner?”

The smile slides from Hanamaru’s face like water. Is this Yoshiko trying to get her to stay again? “I don’t—”

“You wouldn’t have to eat anything, of course.” Yoshiko hurries to assure her. “I was simply wondering if you’d like to keep me company.”

Hanamaru hesitates for a long moment. She doesn’t know if she can trust Yoshiko’s motives, but, honestly, she could do with some company. Somebody to talk to after a month of near solitude.

“Only if you want to, of course,” Yoshiko adds. There’s something in her voice, something vulnerable, and it’s that which sways her mind.

“Okay,” Hanamaru says. She reaches her arm out and hooks it through Yoshiko’s, hiding another smile when the other woman blushes madly. “Lead the way.”

The dining hall looks different when the table is laden with food. Though Yoshiko is the only person eating, a veritable feast is piled onto the table. Yoshiko sits at the head of it, Hanamaru to her right. She has to work hard to control herself, to keep from taking some of that meal for herself. It all looks absolutely delicious, and it’s been so long since Hanamaru has eaten.

Luckily, she can keep her mind off the food with conversation.

“Does it ever bother you?” she asks.

Yoshiko finishes chewing a bite of food before responding. “Does what bother me?”

“That whole eternal punishment business.” She waves her hand carelessly to indicate Yoshiko’s work. “What these people have done is horrible, yes, but do they really deserve all that? They only spent one lifetime being bad, and now they have to suffer for the rest of eternity. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” No matter how good it may make her feel to know that these people are being punished for what they’ve done.

“It’s not really eternal,” Yoshiko says, “unless they’ve done something particularly heinous. Or if they’ve angered one of the gods. They come down here, sometimes, demanding a certain punishment for a certain soul.” She lets out a tired sigh. It reminds Hanamaru of nothing so much as a mother speaking of the mischief her children get up to.

“When you say it’s not forever,” Hanamaru asks, “what do you mean?”

Yoshiko takes a sip of wine before answering. The sight of it reminds Hanamaru of how dry her own throat it, and she swallows thickly. “Eventually, they’ll get the chance to drink from the river Lethe. They get the chance to forget the sins of their past and start over as a new person. After they’ve served the appropriate amount of time, of course.”

“But what if they do these awful things again when they’re reborn? Their memories may be gone, but their soul is still…” She trails off, unsure of what she was going to say. Their soul is still evil? It seems silly, to think that a person is born evil, that it’s a part of them, but it’s also the only way she can rationalize what these people have done. Such horribly violent acts can’t be the result of their experiences, can they? If that’s the case, anybody could turn evil at any time, for any reason.

Yoshiko pulls her away from that dreary line of reasoning by saying, “Then they’ll be punished again, until they learn. As many times as it takes.”

Hanamaru casts her gaze down to where her hands are folded in her lap. “That seems unpleasant.”

“It is,” Yoshiko agrees, “and not a particularly great subject to discuss at the dinner table, is it?”

Startled, Hanamaru looks up. Yoshiko is smiling at her, not unkindly. Even so, Hanamaru feels herself blush. “I’m sorry. We should talk about something less… Well. Something more cheerful.”

Yoshiko nods. “We should.”

A silence falls between them. It’s not a comfortable silence by any means, but it’s also not as awkward as Hanamaru had guessed it would be. Yoshiko is likely waiting for her to breach a new subject, but she has no idea what to say. What is there to talk about with your kidnapper?

In the end, Yoshiko breaks the silence. “Did you enjoy the library?”

“Of course! It really is wonderful,” Hanamaru sighs. She can already feel herself start to fantasize about even more book. Stacks from ceiling to floor, stocked with books as far as the eye can see… “There are so many books! Some that I’ve been trying to find for ages now. I really enjoyed reading those; they were even better than I imagined.”

Yoshiko chuckles. “I’m glad. I did my best to find books I thought you’d enjoy before I brought you here, but—”

Hanamaru silences her by putting a hand up, brow furrowed in confusion. “Before you brought me here?” She’s certain the time when Yoshiko abducted her was the first time they met; she would have remembered somebody as striking as Yoshiko.

At her words, Yoshiko freezes with a bite of food halfway to her mouth. Ever so slowly, she lowers her fork to her plate, setting it down with a click. “I-I… I didn’t mean- of course, I’d never—I—” She stutters, struggling to find words. Hanamaru watches her, more amused than truly angry. After kidnapping, whatever this is can’t possibly be worse in comparison.

Finally, Yoshiko regains some of the composure she lost. “Yohane is a great and powerful being. She—I can’t just pick my wife at random.” She looks at Hanamaru out of the corner of her eyes, but looks away as soon as she notices Hanamaru looking back. “I had to observe you, to see if you were worthy of being Yohane’s wife.”

A strange feeling spreads through Hanamaru’s stomach. Slowly, she starts to realize what it is: she’s happy. She’s happy that Yoshiko watched her before she abducted her. It’s probably just because she’s going crazy down here. Yeah, that’s it. “So, basically, you stalked me.”

“No!” Yoshiko protests. “I simply watched you from afar, while you didn’t know I was looking…” With each word, her voice lowers, until it fades out in a murmur.

Hanamaru smiles; she can’t help herself. This side of Yoshiko is especially—dare she say it—cute after watching her act so coldly these past hours. “So, stalking.”

Her smile turns into an outright laugh when Yoshiko throws her arms over her head in embarrassment. “Don’t worry, I’m actually sort of happy,” she admits. Yoshiko lowers one arm to peek at her through the crack between her arms. Though Hanamaru can only see one eye, Yoshiko’s expression is clearly one of doubt. “Not really about the stalking, but in combination with everything else… At least you knew something about me before you took me. It’s better than if you’d taken me just because you thought I looked pretty.”

Yoshiko lowers her arms and clears her throat. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a factor as well.” Her eyes roam over Hanamaru’s face, down to her shoulders and the neckline of her dress—yellow, this time. Down even further, to her waist, the hem of her dress, the bare flesh of her legs. It lasts only a second, if that, but Hanamaru suddenly feels very exposed.

She fidgets in place for a moment before standing. “I’m—going to go. To bed. I’m going to sleep.”

“Hanamaru,” Yoshiko stops her before she can walk away, “Will you be coming to watch me work tomorrow as well?”

That wasn’t the plan. She was supposed to watch those punishments being doled out only once, before retreating back to the library. But Yoshiko looks so hopeful, and, truthfully, she’d found watching her work fascinating, so—

“Maybe,” she ducks her head to avoid Yoshiko’s piercing gaze, “I’ll think about it.”

That night, before falling asleep, all Hanamaru can think about is that Yoshiko finds her pretty. Yoshiko, who is so striking, finds somebody as plain-looking as Hanamaru beautiful.

She must really be going insane, because the thought makes her unbelievably happy.

Hanamaru spends a long time in the bath that next morning. She soaks in the hot water until her skin starts to prune, and she can hardly see anything through the water vapor hanging in the air. Even then she doesn’t leave, but rubs lavender scented oil on her body until every inch over her is covered. Then, and only then, does she exit the bathroom and pull on the dress one of Yoshiko’s servants has laid out for her. It’s a simple, patternless blue dress, with ruffles at the shoulders. Hanamaru pulls it on, then moves through the room to stand in front of the mirror.

She looks at herself. No matter how much she looks, she can’t figure out what could possibly make Yoshiko think she’s pretty. Her hair is thick, yes, but it’s a pretty dull color and a simple model. Her nose is a bit too big for her face, and she’s a little chubby—one of the drawbacks of not actually needing to eat to survive is that the amount she eats doesn’t really have any effect on her weight. She’s not ugly by any standard, she’s just sort of… plain looking.

With a sigh, Hanamaru turns away from the mirror. She’ll just have to accept that Yoshiko sees something in her she doesn’t.

She heads to the library next. A part of her wants to join Yoshiko in the throne room, but that part wars again the voice in her which reminds her that Yoshiko kidnapped her, which means she shouldn’t like her in this way. So, she goes to the library, and she spends some hours browsing, flipping through books she’d disregarded before, whose subject matters don’t really appeal to her. Somewhat unsurprisingly, they don’t interest her any more the second time around. Soon enough she’s fidgeting in her seat, doing her best to fight the urge to spend time with Yoshiko.

Her best, as it turns out, isn’t very good at all. She manages to hold out only a few minutes before she caves, and makes her way to the throne room.

The heavy doors are already open. When she enters, Yoshiko’s eyes light up, and she gestures to the throne behind her own. Hanamaru quirks one eyebrow in disbelief, though she really can’t find it in herself to be irritated. Yoshiko already promised to let her leave, which makes these attempts at convincing her to become her queen endearing more than else. She walks past the soul currently being judged—an older man, somewhere between middle aged and elderly—and takes her seat on the bottom step leading up to Yoshiko’s throne.

It’s silent for a moment. Hanamaru, though she can’t see her with her back turned to the throne, can imagine Yoshiko pouting at her refusal to sit next to her. That moment passes, and Yoshiko lists off the man’s crime before stating his punishment.

This time, Hanamaru stays mostly silent from the beginning, preferring to simply observe rather than interject her own comments. She’s learned her lesson from that first time. Besides, watching Yoshiko work is actually kind of entertaining, in a way. Most of the punishments she comes up with are very creative. They’d have to be, Hanamaru supposes, for Yoshiko to still be doing this work herself instead of simply delegating the task to somebody else. It’d be pretty boring if she had to use the same preset of punishments. There’d never be any variation. Even Hanamaru, who is content to spend days on end doing exactly the same thing—reading—would want some variation to keep from going mad.

That being said, she doesn’t think this is work Yoshiko particularly enjoys. Maybe there’s some amusement in thinking up particularly ironic punishments, but she still has to face the worst of humanity every day. There’s no way any of this could actually be enjoyable in any way.

Hanamaru decides not to bring these thoughts up to Yoshiko. She tells herself this is because she doesn’t want her work to be the only thing they talk about, but if she’s being honest with herself, it’s probably because she’s afraid of the answer. What if Yoshiko tells her she does enjoy what she does? Hanamaru has only just started to think of her as a somewhat good—or at least, not completely horrible—person; she doesn’t want that illusion shattered just yet.

She still learns that she was wrong some days later, though it doesn’t have anything to do with talking to Yoshiko.

They’ve settled into a routine, of a sort: Hanamaru will find some way so occupy herself in the morning and early afternoon, before making her way over to the throne room to watch Yoshiko work for a few hours, after which she'll join her for dinner. They rarely exchange words when Hanamaru enters—in fact, Yoshiko hardly acknowledges her at all in the presence of the souls, aside from announcing their crimes out loud.

After several days of this, Hanamaru’s discomfort has mostly faded. She watches the proceedings passively. So, when a large wave of emotion rises up in her when the crime of one particular soul is announced, her first reaction is to be surprised.

The second is to let the rush of anger overtake her.

She stands up and glares at the soul—no, the man, the monster who murdered his own wife and raped every on of his eleven children before they even turned ten, who’d punish them whenever they acted in a way he found unsatisfactory in the most cruel ways—

“You,” Hanamaru spits, voice shaking with rage, “made life agony for those children.” The man merely stares at her impassively, though Hanamaru knows his soul can still speak. His face shows not even a trace of regret. “You deserve to be punished for the rest of eternity. You deserve to—to be flayed, or eaten alive by rats and flies, or to have your body turned inside-out and rolled through salt, or—”

“That’s enough.”

Yoshiko’s voice echoes through the hall, much louder than Hanamaru’s, even though she’d nearly been screaming. With no small amount of effort, Hanamaru manages to close her mouth. She doesn’t turn to Yoshiko, choosing instead to glare at the dead man with narrowed eyes, shaking hands balled into fists.

“I think we’re done for the day.”

Now, Hanamaru does turn around, focussing her furious stare on Yoshiko instead. “That—that thing needs to be punished right now. How can you do nothing and let—”

“Your last suggestion, then,” Yoshiko says, and Hanamaru’s mouth shuts with an audible click. Yoshiko holds her gaze just a moment longer before turning it to the fury, but it’s long enough for Hanamaru to tell that there is none of the expected anger visible in them. She’d expected Yoshiko to be angry at her impudence, but she seemed almost—proud, maybe.

“Have him turned inside out and bathe in saltwater,” Yoshiko orders. Heat flares behind Hanamaru before fading abruptly, signaling the departure of the fury—and the soul with it. In their absence there is silence, quickly filled up by the sound of blood rushing in Hanamaru’s ears.

Her heart beats louder than it ever has before. She wouldn’t be surprised if it beat right out of her chest. Her entire body feels on edge, and she rubs her upper arms in an attempt to regain control of herself. It’s then that she notices how hard she’s shaking, almost vibrating in place—and it scares her. Because she’s not shaking because of fear, or guilt, or anything like that. Just adrenaline.

And it doesn’t feel bad. She doesn’t feel bad at all.

Maybe she even feels a little satisfied.

Slowly, Hanamaru sinks to her knees. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registers Yoshiko getting up from her throne to hurry to her side, but it doesn’t seem real. She doesn’t notice at all when Yoshiko starts rubbing her back, though if she had, she’d have realized she doesn’t even feel it.

Her body feels like it’s not her own, like she doesn’t belong in it. This is the body of somebody who’d come up with such horrific forms of torture, and enjoy it. That’s not her. That can’t be her.

Except, she remembers the feeling she had when she heard the man’s crimes, remembers feeling it before, though not nearly as intense. Whenever she sees people burning down forests, entire fields of flowers; when people pollute the earth, her earth, and don’t even feel the slightest bit of remorse, she feels that way as well. She wants to punish them, wants to hurt them, so maybe—

Maybe that is the kind of person she is. Maybe she’s just horrible like this. Maybe she’s no better than that man who raped all those children, because she thought up forms of torture as well and if the only difference is that she didn’t act on those thought, that means she’s no better, she’s just as sick, just as twisted, just as—

“—maru! Hanamaru! Hanamaru!”

Abruptly, Hanamaru snaps back to the here and now. She's still kneeling on the stone floor of the throne room. Yoshiko is across from her, staring at her face with a sort of desperation that doesn’t go away even when they lock eyes together. She’s holding Hanamaru’s hands with her own, which means she must have pried them away from where they were gripping her own arms, and she’s close, so close—

“Hanamaru,” Yoshiko says, her voice as steady and unwavering as her gaze, “breathe with me, okay?”

It’s only then that Hanamaru really registers that she’s hyperventilating. With some effort, she nods.

“Alright. Breathe in,” Yoshiko demonstrates by breathing in deeply herself. Hanamaru does her best to match her breathing, tough her breath hitches and rushes out of her too quickly. Yoshiko isn’t deterred by this, though she does adjust some. “and out. Breathe in—and out.”

This continues for several minutes, until Hanamaru’s breathing has steadied and then a few more breaths. When she’s convinced Hanamaru won’t start hyperventilating again, Yoshiko finally relaxes some.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Yoshiko asks. Her voice is very gentle, but there’s something sharp in her eyes—like she already knows exactly what happened, without having to be told.

Hanamaru opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. She closes her mouth and simply shakes her head. She does want to talk about it, but not now. Not yet. Maybe when she’s had more time to think about her actions.

“Okay,” Yoshiko says. She moves to pull away, her hands slipping from Hanamaru’s. The moment she feels this happening, Hanamaru tightens her grip, clutching at Yoshiko’s hands like a lifeline. She doesn’t want to talk, but she wants to be alone even less.

Yoshiko looks at her in confusion, but doesn’t try to pull her hands away again.

“Don’t,” Hanamaru manages to get out, though it feels like forcing a large ball up her throat. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I’ll stay with you as long as you need,” Yoshiko assures her. Briefly, Hanamaru thinks about how abnormal it is for anything her kidnapper says to be reassuring, but she soon dismisses the thought. Yoshiko is the only real person she’s had contact with in over a month; it’s only natural she’d start relying on her for emotional support.

“Thank you,” Hanamaru whispers. Already, speaking is a little easier.

A small smile appears on Yoshiko’s face. “Anything for you.” She pulls on Hanamaru’s hands. For a moment, Hanamaru panics, thinking she’s going to let go of her, but then she realizes the tugging is much too gentle for that.

“Come on,” Yoshiko says, tugging on her hands again, “I’ll stay with you, but you shouldn’t keep sitting on the floor. It’s not very comfortable.”

Hanamaru nods, and allows Yoshiko to pull her up from the floor. Very reluctantly, she lets go of one of Yoshiko’s hands so she can be led out of the throne room.

They’ve been walking for a while when Hanamaru thinks to ask, “Where are we going?”

“To your bedroom,” Yoshiko says. She shoots a glance at Hanamaru from the corner of her eyes, but focuses on the hallway in front of them once she notices Hanamaru looking back. “I find a good, long nap helps me when I’m upset.”

And that, Hanamaru realizes, is something she hadn’t thought about. She’d been so focused on her own loneliness, on how Yoshiko was the only other person for her to talk to, that she’d completely forgotten the reverse was true as well. Yoshiko was usually all alone down here, and she had been for centuries.

“Does that happen a lot?” she asks.

“Not really. But,” Yoshiko casts her gaze to the floor, “it gets lonely sometimes. It’s not exactly lively here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” A laugh falls from Yoshiko’s lips, though Hanamaru can’t tell whether it’s because of her pun, or an attempt at bringing some levity to the conversation. “At least in my dreams there are other people. Live ones.”

Hanamaru doesn’t know what to say to that. To fill the absence of her words, she squeezes Yoshiko’s hand in hers, and is rewarded when Yoshiko squeezes back.

They walk in silence for a while, before Hanamaru asks, “Does that really work? Do you really feel better when you wake up?” Yoshiko looks at her with raised eyebrows, and Hanamaru averts her gaze in embarrassment. “No offence meant. It’s just… It seems like it may feel worse to be all alone, after a couple of hours dreaming about other people.”

Yoshiko’s lip twitches. “Ha, um. I guess it’s different when you only sleep a couple of hours.” She lifts the hand that isn’t currently occupied to scratch at her face sheepishly. “My naps are closer to years than hours.”

This is shocking enough that Hanamaru stops dead in her tracks. She stares at Yoshiko, dumbfounded, while the other does her damndest to avoid meeting her eyes. Then she starts laughing, and once she starts, she can’t get herself to stop. Her laughter gets louder and more wild, until it’s bordering on hysterical, then crosses that line with a cheerful wave back at the still somewhat sane part of her mind.

It takes her some time to calm down. When she does, she notices that she’s let go of Yoshiko’s hand to clutch at her stomach. Her hand aches to reach out and grab Yoshiko’s again, but she resists. No matter how comfortable she feels with her, Yoshiko still kidnapped her. She can’t just ignore that.

“Feel a little better?” Yoshiko asks.

“A little.” Hanamaru smiles a shaky smile at Yoshiko.

Yoshiko smiles back. “That’s good.”

The two of them stand like that for a moment, before Yoshiko turns to lead her down the hallway again. Hanamaru falls into step beside her, close enough that their fingers occasionally brush, but still resisting the temptation to take hold of her hand. “Do you, uh, have any other tips? For things to do when you’re upset.” She reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ears. “No offense, but I don’t really feel like taking a year long nap. I’m not tired, anyway.”

Yoshiko hums in thought. “Well, what do you usually do?”

“Oh,” Hanamaru says, mood falling, “I usually drink a cup of tea, but…” She’s embarrassed, though she has no reason to be. A quick glance to her side reveals that Yoshiko feels the same; she’s scratching at her cheek again.

“W-well,” she starts, before pausing to clear her throat. When she continues, her voice is much more steady. “You could take a bath. It’s not the same, but it’s warm water, too.”

It’s such an absurd connection to draw that Hanamaru has to laugh. She should have expected something like this from somebody like Yoshiko. Then again, she remembers reading something about how baths work to relieve stress once, so it may not be that crazy an idea. “Maybe. The bath here is very nice,” she admits.

“It really is,” Yoshiko agrees, with a sort of dreamy quality to her voice. “Much better than the baths attached to the guest bedrooms.”

Hanamaru’s brain screeches to a halt. “The—the what? I thought I was sleeping in a guest bedroom.”

“Of course not!” Yoshiko sounds genuinely scandalized at the mere thought of having Hanamaru sleep in a guest bedroom. “You’re sleeping in my bedroom.”

“B-but,” Hanamaru splutters, “why?”

“I’d planned for us to sleep there together once we got married, but, well…” Yoshiko ducks her head and looks at Hanamaru from under her lashes. Hanamaru has just enough time to think about how long Yoshiko’s lashes really are—extraordinarily so—before Yoshiko shakes herself and adds, “Anyway. I didn’t prepare any other sleeping arrangements, but I didn’t want to put you in a guest bedroom while you were recovering, and once you were in my bedroom I didn’t want to kick you out.”

“You mean I’ve been sleeping in your bed this entire time?” For some reason, the thought makes heat pool in Hanamaru’s lower abdomen. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. She’s slept in other people’s beds before, and she’s didn’t feel like this when she did.

A blush creeps up Yoshiko’s neck, and it makes Hanamaru feel a little better, because at least she isn’t the only one embarrassed by this. Looking off to the side to avoid meeting eyes, Yoshiko mumbles, “It’s not such a big deal.”

“Oh, but—” Hanamaru starts, because it really kind of is a big deal—and not only because it means she’s been sleeping in Yoshiko’s bed this entire time—but gets interrupted when Yoshiko stops. A quick look around reveals that they’ve reached her bedroom—really, Yoshiko’s bedroom.

Yoshiko fidgets in place. “We’re here,” she says, unnecessarily. Hanamaru nods in agreement. So they are. “I should—probably let you get to it.” Yoshiko coughs awkwardly into her hand, then makes to leave.

While the prospect of being alone doesn’t make her feel as panicked as it did only a couple of minutes ago, it’s still not something Hanamaru really wants. Without giving it much thought, she reaches out to grab Yoshiko’s wrist.

Yoshiko stops and looks at the place where their bodies connect. Hanamaru stares at her hand around Yoshiko’s wrist intently for a moment. Then she realizes what she’s done and let’s go as if she’s been burned.

It’s her turn to fidget now, as Yoshiko observes her curiously. “I thought…” She trails off, purses her lips, exhales sharply through her nose, and starts over. “You said you’d stay with me.”

It’s so embarrassing, but now that she’s said it, she can’t take it back. Not that she even wants to.

“Um, uh.” Yoshiko waves her hands around, clearly flustered, before placing them against her cheeks. “Um. D-do you really want me to stay with you w-while you’re… bathing?”

And Hanamaru knows, they both know, that the real question here is whether Hanamaru is okay with Yoshiko seeing her naked. But, Hanamaru has taken baths with her girl friends before, has been naked around plenty of women, so it’s not a big deal. It’s not. Even though she wouldn’t exactly call Yoshiko a friend. Even though Yoshiko is a bit more—attractive than most of the other people she’s bathed with. It’s really, really, really not that big of a deal.

So Hanamaru takes a deep breath and says, “Yes.”

The bath is more like a pond than anything else. It’s six meters across in each direction, at the very least—large enough that it’d take Hanamaru a couple of strokes to swim across. And she could, because the water is deep enough that it almost reaches up to her shoulders. It’s also wonderfully hot. Hanamaru has yet to discover the source of the heat, though she figures that heating may be easier in the underworld—this land of fire and stone—than it is up in the mortal realm.

It’s this heat that Hanamaru blames her flush on when Yoshiko asks her for help undoing her dress.

Hanamaru’s fingers twitch at her side. “Yeah, sure.” Her voice wavers, but only a little.

Yoshiko has her back turned to her, long hair slung over her shoulder to expose the buttons on the back of her dress, from her neck down to the small of her back. It’s a floor-length black piece, one that covers everything up to her neck but leaves the shoulders and arms bare. The skirt is embroidered with a delicate golden pattern. It’s well done; if this dress were for sale in the mortal realm, it’d surely be very expensive.

“Your dress is nice,” Hanamaru says as she slowly, cautiously, approaches Yoshiko.

“Thank you,” Yoshiko responds, as if she isn’t at all affected by Hanamaru standing mere centimeters from her. “It was made by somebody very talented. It’s a shame she didn’t get the chance to show her talent more when she was still alive.”

Hanamaru swallows thickly. She reaches out to undo the first button, careful not to damage the dress, and does her best to keep her mind on the conversation instead of the pale skin of Yoshiko’s back that is revealed every time she undoes a button. “What happened?”

“She was prideful. Arrogant.” Yoshiko’s voice takes on a thoughtful quality. “Or maybe she was simply honest about her talents. So few people are, anymore.”

Most of the dress is undone now. Hanamaru’s fingers brush against Yoshiko’s skin occasionally. Her skin is cold even in this heat, but Hanamaru’s fingers feel like they’re on fire wherever they touched.

“Either way, she made the mistake of claiming her skills were divine. She said she was more talented than all the goddesses in the divine realm,” Yoshiko continues, “and it lead, inevitably, to her undoing. The gods are prideful beings. Powerful, but often foolish. They take rather extreme actions when insulted.” Yoshiko looks over her shoulder at Hanamaru. Their eyes meet. The way she looks at her, into her, almost, makes Hanamaru feel like she’s the one being undressed. “Or when they see something they want.”

Face burning, Hanamaru looks down at where she’s fumbling to open the last button. “I do understand,” she starts, hesitantly, “that gods make mistakes, just like humans. We’re not perfect, even though we like to pretend we are.”

Finally, the last button comes undone. Hanamaru steps away. She chances a glance up at Yoshiko, and her smile is so blinding she has to look away again immediately.

It’s a mistake. The rustling of fabric drawn her attention back to Yoshiko, and when she looks at her this time, Yoshiko has pushed her dress from her shoulders and let it pool around her feet on the ground. And she’s naked.

And so, so, beautiful.

For a long moment, all Hanamaru can do is stare. Yoshiko’s skin is unblemished, not a mark or scar in sight. In this candlelight, reflected by the surface of the water, her unnatural paleness seems almost human, like it’s the result of a pale complexion rather than multiple lifetimes spent underground. Her neck is long and elegant, her collar bones protrude from her body in two elegant lines, and the swell of her breasts is the most alluring thing Hanamaru has ever seen. At least the plane of her stomach isn’t completely flat; there is some fat there, and it makes Hanamaru feel only marginally better about her own body.

Her eyes travel further downward, lingering only briefly on the mound of Yoshiko’s womanhood, covered in curly black hair, before she abruptly forces herself to look elsewhere. Unfortunately, that elsewhere turns out to be Yoshiko’s long, muscles legs. They’re shaped like dancer’s legs, and conjure the image of Yoshiko dancing in Hanamaru’s mind. Dancing is the throne room during a party; dancing there alone, surrounded by nothing but death; dancing in her bedroom before going to sleep, a smile on her face; dancing in her bedroom while Hanamaru is there, the smile now a smirk as she comes closer, closer—

“Um.”

Abruptly, the fantasy ends. Hanamaru’s attention snaps back to the real world. She realizes she’s been staring at Yoshiko for an awfully long time now, and covers her eyes with her hands in sheer mortification.

“I’m getting in now,” Yoshiko announces, voice soft. Hanamaru makes a muffled noise of embarrassed assent, and doesn’t look up when she hears water slosh as Yoshiko, presumably, gets into the bath.

Hanamaru takes a long moment to calm herself down before she divests herself of her own dress. It’s white and knee-length, much simpler than Yoshiko’s and without the buttons; she can simply pull it over her head and be done with it. Her body feels painfully inadequate in comparison to Yoshiko’s, and she doesn’t want to reveal it for long. Almost before she’s taken the dress off, she gets into the water, a few meters away from Yoshiko. If she sits any closer she might combust. She wants to; she doesn’t. Her heart is beating wildly, and she’s more confused than she’s ever been.

On the one hand, she definitely feels a strong physical connection towards Yoshiko. And, despite all her misgivings, she enjoys her company. But on the other hand, Yoshiko did kidnap her, which is something she can’t just forget about, nor forgive. And they’ve been together, only the two of them, for months now. Hanamaru can’t be sure that these feelings she’s been having aren’t simply the result of being around each other for so long. It makes it so she can’t trust her own emotions, and that’s absolutely terrifying.

Then again, she’ll only be in the underworld for a few more weeks before she won’t come back ever again, so what does it matter if she gives in to her desires? Once she gets back up to the mortal realm, it’ll be like none of this ever happened. And it’s not like, if she does engage in—sexual activities with Yoshiko, she’ll have to stay in the underworld any longer than she already does.

“What’s wrong?” Yoshiko asks, and Hanamaru finally dares to look at her. She’s reclining against the edge of the bath. The water comes up to just below her shoulders, her body obscured by the soapy water. Her hair is twisted up into a knot on top of her head to keep from getting wet, revealing the entire column of her neck.

Hanamaru schools her face into a neutral expression. “What do you mean?”

Yoshiko shifts, looking at Hanamaru from the corner of her eyes. A slight smile curls her lips. “You seem to be thinking about something pretty hard. Did you forget that the whole point of this is to relax?”

“I didn’t forget…” Hanamaru swallows. Her throat feels very dry all of a sudden. “I’m just a bit—preoccupied. With other things.”

Yoshiko laughs a deep throaty laugh and leans her head back. “That’s not what we’re here for, Hanamaru. You should just...” She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh. “Sit back and relax. Stop thinking.”

“Alright,” Hanamaru says, and moves towards where Yoshiko is reclining.

When she feels the water move, Yoshiko frowns and opens her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Not thinking,” Hanamaru admits, before surging forward and closing the gap between them to press their lips together.

It lasts barely a second, before Yoshiko raises her hand, places them against Hanamaru’s shoulders, and gently pushes her away. “You don’t want this,” she says, as if she has any idea what Hanamaru wants.

“But I do,” Hanamaru assures her, and moves in to kiss her again.

Yoshiko puts a hand up between them to stop her advance. “No.” She shakes her head. “No, you don’t. You’re upset, and confused, and it’s making you irrational.”

“You said you thought I was beautiful,” Hanamaru chokes out, voice cracking on the last word.

“I did,” Yoshiko agrees, smiling sadly, “and I still think that. But I also watched you have a panic attack a few minutes ago, and I know that you aren’t completely in control of yourself right now. I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re like this.”

Hanamaru slumps backwards. She understands, she does, but she can’t help feeling betrayed. Yoshiko kidnapped her, took her from her family and friends and the sunlight to be her wife, and now she doesn’t even want her. It stings.

“I don’t think it’s good for me to be here right now,” Yoshiko admits.

“No,” Hanamaru agrees, a bitter edge to her voice, “I guess not.” She turns her gaze downward to glare at the water instead of Yoshiko. As a result, the only indication she gets of Yoshiko’s departure is the movement of the water and the sound of her getting out of the bath.

“I’m leaving,” Yoshiko announces, voice soft like she’s afraid something will shatter if she’s too loud. “I’ll check on you tomorrow to see how you’re doing. And—I’m sorry.”

Hanamaru doesn’t look up, not even when she hears the sound of footsteps, followed by that of a door opening and closing. She stays in the bath for a long time after that, mulling things over.

When she finally gets out to go to sleep, the wet footprints Yoshiko left behind have long since dried up.

True to her word, Yoshiko comes to check on Hanamaru the next day.

Hanamaru is still in bed when she hears her come in, and immediately pulls the covers over her head. She’s ashamed of the way she acted the day before—she should have just told Yoshiko what was bothering her, instead of trying to jump her like some sort of maniac. It’s more than that, though. Even after she calmed down, she still found herself wanting to kiss Yoshiko, which would mean it was more than an urge brought on by emotional instability. She doesn’t want to face Yoshiko until she has her feelings figured out.

Through the covers, she can hear the muffled sound of footsteps approaching the bed, followed by a sigh. Then Yoshiko’s voice, asking, “Are you still asleep?”

Hanamaru holds her breath and attempts to remain completely still, so as not to give away that she’s awake.

A beat of silence passes before Yoshiko speaks up again. “Just in case you’re really awake and just hiding to avoid me,” she says. Hanamaru’s heart skips several beats at once. “I should tell you that I’m not angry, and you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Easier said than done. It’s not like Hanamaru can just turn her emotions off at will.

“Anyway,” Yoshiko continues. “I have a book here you might enjoy. I’ll just—leave it here.” The sheets move a fraction when Yoshiko sets the book on the bed. “Um. I guess I’ll leave now, but, um. I’ll come back in the evening.”

Yoshiko leaves, muttering something about talking to sleeping people as she goes. Only once several minutes have passed in silence does Hanamaru dare to come out from her hiding place under the covers.

The book Yoshiko has left her is about botany. It’s very thick. Hanamaru is sure it wasn’t in the library; she went through every book on those shelves, and she certainly would have remembered coming across something on botany, since it’s a subject she enjoys. Did Yoshiko always have this and simply keep it hidden? Or did she get it specifically for Hanamaru? She doesn’t know, doesn’t dare hope.

Going around in circles in her head like this isn’t going to help her any. She doesn’t want to leave the room, for fear of running into Yoshiko—or, and she doesn’t understand why this upsets her so much, not being here when Yoshiko comes back. So, for lack of anything better to do, she picks up the book and starts to read.

Visually, the book is stunning. There are many descriptions of plants, all of them accompanied by beautiful illustrations. Though the subject of the text is interesting, Hanamaru ends up spending more time trailing her fingers over the delicately inked lines of the illustrated flowers than she does actually reading.

She hasn’t seen a plant in over a month, now.

A drop of water falls onto one of the pages of the book. Hanamaru lifts her hand to her face, only realizing after she’s already started that she’s doing it to wipe away tears. She wants to focus on the book—crying over this is stupid, it’s stupid, she’ll be back on the surface in less than two months—and yet, the tears won’t stop falling.

Hanamaru manages to keep herself together just long enough to gently close the book and set it on the floor beside the bed before she breaks down completely. Her entire body shakes with sobs violent enough that she can’t do anything except curl into herself and hold on as a tidal wave of emotion sweeps through her.

Several hours later finds her laying on top of the covers of Yoshiko’s bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. She hasn’t moved at all since she first laid down. Even now, though the damp sheets beneath her head make her slightly uncomfortable, she can’t bring herself to move.

This is, she realizes, the first time she has let herself realize how horrible this entire situation is. Of course she’d acknowledged it before, but that was with strange sort of emotional disconnect; no matter how bad she knew she should be feeling, she didn’t let herself feel the full weight of it. And now all those emotions she’s held back have rushed into her at the same time. Really, it’s no wonder she cried as much as she did. It’s more surprising that she didn’t do it until now.

At least she has the chance to work through it, now—as much as she is capable of working through it, anyway. She’s alone, so she doesn’t have to worry about Yoshiko seeing her this vulnerable, this shaken up and broken—

The door opens. Hanamaru doesn’t have the energy to look up, let alone to crawl under the covers and hide, so all she does is lay there and think this seems about right, as Yoshiko walks over to sit next to her on the bed.

Yoshiko must be able to see how red-rimmed her eyes are but, mercifully, she doesn’t comment on it. She lifts one hand and pushes Hanamaru’s hair away from her head, a gentle smile on her face.

Her nail polish, Hanamaru notices, is chipped.

“Hello,” Yoshiko says. She drags her nails over the top of Hanamaru’s head. It feels nice enough that Hanamaru involuntarily leans into the touch. “How are you feeling?”

If she had the energy, Hanamaru would have laughed. As it is, all she manages is an amused huff of breath. “I’ve been better,” she admits. Her voice sounds rough around the edges, and she winces when she hears it.

Yoshiko hums, and continues her ministrations of Hanamaru’s scalp.

After a few long moments of silence, during which Hanamaru has to fight not to doze of, she admits, “I miss the surface.” Yoshiko’s hand stills in her hair. “I miss the sun, too, and the flowers,” Hanamaru continues. Now that she’s started, she can’t seem to stop. It’s like some wild force has taken possession of her and has forced her chest open, so that all the feelings she’s been keeping in her heart come spilling out at once. “I miss laying in the grass and watching the sun rise. I miss reading aloud to my flowers. I miss drinking tea beneath the willow tree new the lake, and talking to my mother late at night, and visiting the village during harvest time, and, and—” Her throat seizes up, making it suddenly difficult to talk. Tears are prickling at the back of her eyes, even though Hanamaru had been convinced she’s used them all up.

A single tear escapes from the corner of her eye. It starts rolling down to join the small puddle already beneath her head, until it’s caught by Yoshiko pressing a single finger against Hanamaru’s cheek.

They lock eyes, and Hanamaru can swear she sees some of her own pain reflected there.

“I miss home,” she finishes, voice nearly inaudible even in the quiet of Yoshiko’s bedroom.

She hears a soft, keening noise. For a moment, she thinks she’s the one making it, but then Yoshiko lays her head down beside her and Hanamaru can see her face; it’s so unbearably sad, and all at once she realizes that tortured noise came from Yoshiko.

“I’m sorry,” Yoshiko whispers. She links her hands with Hanamaru’s, twining their fingers together, and scoots closer until their knees are touching and they’re breathing in the same air. “I’m so sorry for taking you from your home. I should have known—” Tears slip from the corners of her eyes, trailing down to the sheets beneath her with no one to stop them from doing so.

A wet laugh slips from between Hanamaru’s lips. This entire situation is so absurd. “Why are you crying? I’m the one who’s sad. You shouldn’t…” She trails off, sniffling softly.

“I am sad,” Yoshiko says, “and I’m angry at myself for doing this to you. I should have known better. I think I did know better, but I still took you and now you’re stuck here and I—I—” She heaves in a breath and steadies her voice to say, “I am deeply sorry for taking you from your home against your will. It was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

A weight seems to lift from Hanamaru’s chest, and suddenly she can breathe again.

Yoshiko moves even closer to her. Their noses are almost touching now. Her eyes, this close up, are even more intense than Hanamaru remembers. There is a fire burning behind them, she’s sure of it. “You don’t have to forgive me. I won’t expect you to,” Yoshiko whispers, “Just know that I’ll do whatever it takes, whatever you need, to make it right.”

Some part of Hanamaru wants to tell her she can’t. The only thing Yoshiko could do to make this better is find a way for her to leave right now, instead of having to wait another month and a half. But of course, she knows that’s impossible. Yoshiko may be a goddess, but even the divine has limits. It would be unfair—or, not unfair, but certainly impractical of her to expect that.

“Then,” she starts, moving to lean her head against against Yoshiko’s collarbone, in the crook between her shoulder and neck, “can you just stay with me for a while?”

Long arms wrap around her shoulders. “Of course,” Yoshiko says, breath huffing against the top of Hanamaru’s hair and making her shiver. “Of course I will.”

When Hanamaru wakes up, she feels safe and warm for the first time in recent memory. She’s pressed up against another body, every possible inch of skin touching. She using one arm as a pillow; another is slung around her waist. Hair tickles against the side of her face. She wants to push it away, but she doesn’t want to move.

She lets herself bask in the comfort of being held for a moment longer before she finally gathers the resolve to move away. Yoshiko’s arm slips from her waist. Hanamaru feels the loss of that last bit of contact like a piece of herself has been lost.

Quietly, so as not to wake Yoshiko up, Hanamaru moves towards the edge of the bed. At the foot of the bed lies a dress for her to wear, like it always does, though this time there is another, much more elaborate gown beside it. Even laid out on the bed like this, nearly formless, it’s beautiful. The fabric is the color of wine and the top of the dress is inlaid with different colored gems and jewels. If it is this beautiful already, Hanamaru knows it will look even more stunning when Yoshiko is wearing it.

She glances over at Yoshiko to make sure she’s still asleep—she is, her hair hanging partly over her face, moving gently up and down with her breathing—then picks up her own dress from the foot of the bed and takes it with her to the bathroom.

When she emerges from her bath about half an hour later, Yoshiko is awake and struggling to button up her dress in front of a floor to ceiling mirror. “Here,” Hanamaru offers, walking towards Yoshiko, “I’ll help.”

Yoshiko releases a grateful sigh and slings her hair over her shoulder to give Hanamaru access to her back. Her sleeves, made of a different, transparent fabric from the rest of her dress and widening at the wrists, sway with the movement. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Hanamaru assures her. Her hands are steady, and she manages to button up the dress in only a few swift movements. When she’s done, she leans to the side to look at their reflection from past Yoshiko’s shoulder. “You look amazing.”

“It’s all the dress, I assure you,” she says. Before Hanamaru can argue the point, Yoshiko turns around and places a hand against her cheek, tilting her head up so their eyes meet. “How are you feeling?”

Hanamaru contemplates the question for a moment. “Better,” she eventually settles on. “Not... Of course nothing is solved, and I’m not doing good, exactly, but I’m—I’m better.”

“I’m glad,” Yoshiko says. She sways forward, but before Hanamaru can even fully process the movement, she takes a step back and lets her arm fall to her side. Hanamaru resists the urge to step closer and recover the space they lost.

Silence falls between them. Hanamaru doesn’t know how to fill it, but she doesn’t feel like she has to, either. It seems to her that Yoshiko has something to say, and until she does Hanamaru is content to stay in silence.

“I have—” Yoshiko starts, but immediately stops herself, looking off to the side. Her mouth draws into a frown. Hanamaru takes a small step towards her and takes hold of her hand. The touch causes Yoshiko to look at her. She seems almost startled, so Hanamaru smiles at her to show it’s alright.

“You can tell me,” she says. When Yoshiko still hesitates, she adds, “I want you to. You said you’d do whatever it takes to make amends, and right now that’s telling me what you have to say.”

Yoshiko glances down at where their hands are linked, then looks back up at Hanamaru. “I have something to show you. It’s not finished yet,” she admits, “but it might make you feel better.”

“What is it?”

Yoshiko hesitates. Finally, in a small voice, she says, “A garden.”

Immediately, Hanamaru starts to draw back. She remembers the last time Yoshiko tried to make a garden for her, and she doesn’t want a repeat of that debacle. Before she can let go completely, Yoshiko tightens her hold and says, “It won’t be like the last time, I promise. I’ve got it right this time.”

Hanamaru bites her lip, but doesn’t try to pull away again.

“Please,” Yoshiko urges, ducking her head to look Hanamaru in the eyes, “just let me show you.”

Yoshiko makes her wear shoes: sandals with elaborate straps that reach all the way to mid-calf. “Just in case you run off again,” she teases, but it only makes the both of them remember what happened the last time she tried to do this, and puts them in a somber mood.

Anticipation hangs thick in the air as she stands next to Yoshiko in her carriage. She can’t shake the feeling that something will go horribly wrong, and she’ll end up right where she was last night: homesick and miserable. Yoshiko seems to sense her discomfort, and occasionally reaches over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

They come to a halt at the mouth of a cave only a few minutes later. Hanamaru climbs from the carriage and peers into the cavern and sees—

She sees light. It’s dim, and far away, but it is unmistakably daylight.

Without waiting for Yoshiko, Hanamaru runs into the cave. At first she’s only running towards a dim glow, but as she gets closer the light starts to illuminate the space around her. The tunnel around her widens and widens, until she steps into a large cavern with daylight streaming from a massive hole in the ceiling of the cave. It isn’t nearly as bright as she might have wanted, but it’s there; sunlight on the bare skin of her arms and shoulders.

But that’s not even the best part. There, right in front of her, illuminated by the sunlight, is a garden. Plants fill the space around her. It’s mostly plants that do well in the shade—Hanamaru recognizes the patches of hakone grass, bushes of lavender mist, and the unmistakable purple and silver of Persian shield scattered here and there, along with many other plants. There is one exception, though. On the top of a small hill in the center of the cavern, directly beneath the opening at the top, stands a single pomegranate tree.

Her body moves without her instructions, and before she knows it she’s running towards the hill. Plants bend towards her as she runs, curling around her calves for a brief moment as she passes by. The touch offers her comfort, but she doesn’t slow down until she’s standing in what passes for direct sunlight, only being filtered through the leaves of the tree. She collapses against it, letting out a breathless laugh as she clings to it. The feeling of rough bark against her skin is suddenly the best feeling in the world.

She doesn’t know how long she stays there—on her knees beside the tree with her arms wrapped around the slender trunk of the tree, pressing as much of her body against it as she possibly can—but, eventually, Yoshiko comes to sit beside her. She kneels down on the soft dirt without so much as a moment of worry of dirtying her dress. “What do you think?”

Hanamaru doesn’t unstick herself from the tree. “This is amazing. I can’t…” She shakes her head in wonder. “How did you even do this?”

Yoshiko ducks her head and scratches at her ear. “Honestly, finding a pit cave with enough sunlight for plants to grow was the hardest part. After that it was easy.”

“B-but,” Hanamaru splutters, “how is there a pomegranate tree here? Those need a bunch of sunlight!”

“There’s a nymph who owes me a favor…” Yoshiko looks so awkward as she explains that Hanamaru can’t help but burst out laughing.

She holds onto the tree as she waits for her laughter to subside. Once she’s calmed down, she finally lets go, though she still leans her back and shoulders against it. “I can’t believe this. Thank you.” She tries to take hold of Yoshiko’s hand, only for it to be snatched away from her sharply.

“Don’t thank me,” Yoshiko orders. She places the hand she’d pulled from Hanamaru’s reach back in her lap. It’s shaking. Hanamaru doesn’t try to grab it again. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for this. I’m the reason you couldn’t see the sun in the first place, so—so, this is quite literally the least I could do.”

Hanamaru doesn’t know what to say to that. What can she say, when Yoshiko is right? She is the reason Hanamaru is here. If not for her, Hanamaru would be out in direct sunlight right now, maybe tending to her flowers or playing with the water nymphs in a stream. In a way, Yoshiko owes her this.

This, and so much more.

“Fine.” She huffs the word out together with an angry breath, and stands up to go wandering around the garden. The arrangements of the plants is clearly done by an amateur. There’s no order, no discernable pattern; it’s like somebody threw a bunch of pebbles and started planting wherever they landed. Even so, there are plants, and there is sunlight, and so Hanamaru is content.

Somewhat. Of course, that’s not all she wants.

After a while, Yoshiko gets up and walks over to join her. “You’re angry,” she observes. Hanamaru doesn’t deny it, simply leaning down to inspect a bush of Bleeding Heart. It needs different fertilizer to grow properly. “Do you want to tell me why?”

Hanamaru straightens up and turns to face Yoshiko. “It's because you’re being selfish,” she says. At Yoshiko’s astonished look, she adds, “You are! You think you’re doing this to make me feel better, when really you’re doing it to alleviate your own guilt.”

Yoshiko shakes her head. “I’m not—”

“Yes. You. Are,” Hanamaru interrupts her, coming in close to jab a finger into Yoshiko’s shoulder with every word. “You said you’d do whatever you needed to in order to make up for freaking kidnapping me, but that isn’t true at all. You’re only willing to make me feel better so long as you feel better, too.” She takes a step back, and feels the flowers of the Bleeding Heart twine around her ankles and calves. “I’ve given so much of myself to you, and you won’t do the same. You keep denying me, just because you’re afraid of what’ll happen if you let me in.”

She’s crying now, her words thick with tears, but she doesn’t care. “I’ve made it clear what I want. I want you, Yoshiko, for however long I have left. And I know you want me, too. But because you’re being so damn selfish, because you can’t handle the idea that I’ll be gone soon, you—”

She’s silenced by the rough press of lips against her own. Yoshiko kisses her with a palpable desire, that same fire that Hanamaru can see in her eyes. Her hands come up to tangle in Hanamaru’s hair, fingernails scraping over the delicate skin of her scalp. With a soft moan, Hanamaru melts into the kiss. She lets her hands roam freely over Yoshiko’s body, starting at her hips and moving to her back, her shoulders, her neck, clutching desperately at every inch of bare skin she can find.

Their kiss grows more frantic. It becomes all-consuming. The only things that seem to exist in the universe are her, Yoshiko, and the place where their bodies are connected.

Yoshiko releases her, briefly, to wipe away the tears on her cheeks, but when Hanamaru whispers her name and pulls her closer by the neck she comes willingly. She licks into Hanamaru’s mouth, and although her tongue is not especially warm, Hanamaru can taste flames.

Hanamaru lets out a wanton moan when Yoshiko drags her nails down from her head, across her neck and back. It seems to fan the flames inside of Yoshiko, because she presses even closer, removing her lips from Hanamaru’s, only to press open-mouthed kisses against her collar-bone. It’s enough to make Hanamaru week in the knees, but instead of fighting to keep standing she lets herself fall, using her grip on Yoshiko’s neck to drag her down on top of her.

They land with a soft thump. Hanamaru spares a brief moment of thought for the Bleeding Heart they must be crushing, but doesn’t dwell on it for long. Yoshiko’s draws her attention away by trailing her fingers up and down Hanamaru’s legs, stopping just below the hem of her dress each time.

“Yoshiko,” Hanamaru moans—pleads, really—but most of the word is swallowed by Yoshiko’s mouth, returning in a kiss even more furious than the last. Desperately, she claws at Yoshiko’s back, tearing open the buttons there to get at her skin. Yoshiko must get the hint, because she sits up and pushes the dress of her shoulders.

While Yoshiko struggles to get her dress all the way off, Hanamaru takes the momentary reprieve to say, “Yoshiko, please, I need—”

“Okay,” Yoshiko says, finally divested of her clothing. She leans over to press a quick, chaste kiss against Hanamaru’s mouth, before moving back and tugging at the hem of her dress. “Okay, okay.”

Hanamaru lifts her hips from the ground to allow Yoshiko to pull the dress up, then sits up to pull it over her head herself. Almost immediately Yoshiko’s mouth is back on her, biting and sucking at her neck as her hands roam across Hanamaru’s chest. It feels amazing, but Hanamaru wants more, so she grabs one of Yoshiko’s hands and guides it to the wetness between her legs. “Here,” she whispers, “I need you to touch me here.”

Yoshiko pauses for just a moment to look her in the eyes. Her pupils are blown beyond belief, and Hanamaru shivers in anticipation at the look of desire she sees there. Then, finally, Yoshiko presses a finger against her, and it’s like she can see stars, planets, the entire universe laid bare before her, expanding inside of her mind but coming back, always, to her and Yoshiko and this single moment of pleasure they share.

Afterwards, they lie together on the ground, surrounded by flowers, covered in sweat and dirt and an almost tangible layer of content. It’s just the two of them, alone in this moment outside of time. Hanamaru wishes it could stay this way forever—but, of course, such wishes can never come through.

“I don’t suppose this changes anything?” Yoshiko asks, drawing figures on Hanamaru’s shoulder with the tip of her finger.

Hanamaru feels a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach. She doesn’t turn her head to face Yoshiko. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t changed your mind,” Yoshiko says more than asks, as if she’s already well aware of the truth of the statement. “You won’t stay with me. That hasn’t changed, has it?”

Slowly, Hanamaru shakes her head. “No.”

A silence falls after she utters that word. Yoshiko withdraws her hands from Hanamaru’s skin. Finally, Hanamaru turns onto her side to look at Yoshiko properly, to face her disappointment head on. “Yoshiko—”

“I’m going back to the castle,” Yoshiko cuts her off. She sits up and feels around for her dress. “You can stay here as long as you want. Just call for one of the furies, and they’ll come and get you.” Having found her dress, Yoshiko stands up and starts pulling it on. “If you want, you can stay here until you can go back to the surface. I’ll send a servant to notify you.”

Once the dress is on—hanging loosely, back open and unable to close due to the ripped buttons—she pauses, back to Hanamaru. Standing still like this, she almost looks like a statue. Lifeless, the way she’d seemed the first time Hanamaru saw her. Even when she speaks, the only sign of life to her is the movement of her jaw. “You won’t have to see me anymore.”

Before she can make a move to leave, Hanamaru reaches up to grab her wrist. “Wait! Just—” she scrambles to find her dress without letting go of Yoshiko, afraid that she’ll leave if she does. “Wait for a second. Let’s talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about?” Yoshiko asks, stiffly, but she does turn around. Hanamaru lets go of her and pulls her dress over her head as quickly as she can.

“I—Yoshiko. I still want to spend time with you.” Her palms are sweaty, so she wipes them on the skirt of her dress before taking hold of one of Yoshiko’s hands. “I enjoy our time together.”

Yoshiko stares blankly at her hand, clutched between two of Hanamaru’s and hanging in the air between them. “But you don’t want to stay?”

“I’m sorry,” Hanamaru says, a sad smile on her face. “I can’t.”

“And you accuse me of being selfish?” Yoshiko’s voice trembles. She looks at Hanamaru as if awaiting a response, but Hanamaru has no idea what she can say to that. After the silence stretches a handful of seconds, Yoshiko rips her hand from Hanamaru’s grip and clenches both her hands into fists at her side. “You call me selfish, but you’re the one who expects me to open up to you when I know you’ll be gone in only a few weeks! You expect me to be vulnerable even though I’m the one who’s going to be left alone after all of this, while you get to go home to your friends and family!”

Hanamaru is about to interject, to explain that she can’t stay in the Underworld with Yoshiko, doesn’t think she’ll survive it—but Yoshiko continues before she can, and her words fan at the angry fire Hanamaru had thought doused for the moment.

“You’re just using me to make yourself feel better while you’re here!”

“So what?!” Hanamaru screams back. “So what if I’m trying to make my time here a little more bearable? You put me here, so the least you can do is take responsibility for it!”

“That doesn’t mean you can just use me as you see fit!” Yoshiko argues back. “I’ve given you so much already, so why do you insist on—”

Hanamaru doesn’t let her finish. “Because being here is killing me!” She stomps a foot on the ground. The plants all throughout the cavern bow away from the force of her anger. “I can’t live down here. I need sunlight, and I need to see the people I love, because otherwise I—” All at once, the force of her anger seems to drain from her. She’s so tired of all of this; being here, arguing with Yoshiko, all of it. “I can’t go on. I’ll wither away and die, so I just—I can’t, okay?”

For a moment, Yoshiko stares at her, wide-eyed. Then, instead of apologizing the way Hanamaru had been expecting, she bites, “And you think it’s any better for me? You think I want to be here?” She takes a step forward; instinctively, Hanamaru takes a step back. “I have a family, too, you know? My sisters are up on the surface ruling over their domains, while I’m here, alone and in the dark, with only the dead to keep me company.

“You think I don’t want somebody here to make living a little more bearable?” She takes another step forward, but this time Hanamaru holds her ground. “It’s hard for me, too. And now I’ve finally found somebody I love, and she only wants to use me. And you think you’re the only one who has it hard?”

There are tears streaming from Yoshiko’s eyes, staining her cheeks and her dress. Without thinking, Hanamaru reaches out to wipe them away. “Yoshiko,” she whispers, “Yoshiko, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”

“No,” Yoshiko says, stepping away from Hanamaru, “You didn’t think.”

The words hit Hanamaru like a physical blow, one that she doesn’t recover from until Yoshiko is already halfway out the cavern. “Wait!” she calls after her. Yoshiko pauses and turns to face her, but her annoyance is visible on her face. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk any more. “Can you come back tomorrow? Please.”

Yoshiko’s face remains a blank mask. “I’ll think about it.” With that, she strides out of the cavern, leaving Hanamaru to sink to her knees in the garden and cry all alone.

Hanamaru spends the rest of that day, as well as the next, basking in the proximity of plants and the sunlight on her skin and thinking about her options. What she said about needing to go back to the surface was true—she doesn’t think she could survive staying here for more than a few months, let alone the rest of eternity. However, it’s also true that she has a… connection with Yoshiko. She likes her. A lot. Maybe she even lo—

She cuts that thought off at the pass. Can’t have such things impede her judgement.

So, she needs to go back to the surface, but she wants to stay with Yoshiko as well. She can’t bring Yoshiko to the surface with her; she has duties to fulfil in the Underworld that Hanamaru can’t just expect her to abandon. It would seem that those are her only two options if she wants to be with Yoshiko, and they’re both bad ones. However, Hanamaru refuses to believe her options are this limited, and wracks her brain for other possibilities.

When she finally finds a possible solution, she sits down on the ground beneath the pomegranate tree and waits for Yoshiko. There’s no guarantee that she’ll come, but Hanamaru is prepared to wait as long as it takes.

Her patience pays off. Yoshiko enters the cavern just as she’s starting to nod off, wearing a simple black dress that reaches only to her knees.

“I’m sorry for getting so angry,” Yoshiko starts, once they’re within hearing distance of each other, but Hanamaru interrupts.

“Don’t apologize! You were right,” she admits, shaking her head. “I was being selfish.” She takes a deep breath, smiling at Yoshiko as she closes the last few meters needed to stand across from her. “But I’m ready to stop being selfish.”

Yoshiko’s nose wrinkles in confusion. “What…?”

Still smiling, Hanamaru reaches up to pluck one of the pomegranates from the branches above her. She rolls it around in her hands contemplatively, looking down at the fruit instead of at Yoshiko. “If I eat something I’ll be stuck here forever, right?”

“Yes. Hanamaru—” Yoshiko’s voice is tense with alarm, but she still quiets when Hanamaru holds up a hand.

“If I eat something, I’ll be stuck in the Underworld forever. But,” at this, she finally looks up at Yoshiko. The panic in Yoshiko’s eyes makes her heart twist in uncomfortable ways, but she pushes on. “You can allow souls to go up to the surface for a limited amount of time. Correct?”

Wordlessly, Yoshiko nods.

“Theoretically,” Hanamaru continues, “if I were to eat something here, could you allow me to go to the surface as well? For, let’s say, about eight months a year.”

Understanding dawns in Yoshiko’s eyes. A small smile starts to curl the corners of her lips. “I could.”

Satisfied, Hanamaru pushes a thumb through the skin of the pomegranate and cracks it open. She carefully extract one of the seeds from inside and is about to pop it into her mouth when Yoshiko stops her.

“Wait!” She lurches forward to grab Hanamaru’s wrist. “You don’t have to—you don’t have to do this just because you feel guilty. You don’t have to stay here for me, if it’s that hard for you.”

“I want to,” Hanamaru says, simply. At Yoshiko’s dumbfounded look, her smile grows wider. “I like you, Yoshiko. I meant it when I said I wanted to keep seeing you.”

A pained look crosses Yoshiko’s face, gone as quickly as it came. “You can’t condemn yourself to an eternity down here just because you like me. What if you stop liking me? What if—”

Hanamaru silences her by pressing her lips to Yoshiko’s in a chaste kiss. When she moves back the words I love you slip from her mouth unbidden. After a short moment of surprise, she finds that it’s not a lie; she does love Yoshiko, and she wants to stay with her forever.

“I love you, too,” Yoshiko says, and stands back as Hanamaru eats the seed.

The pomegranate juices stain her hands, but Yoshiko doesn’t seem to mind in the least when Hanamaru places a hand on her cheek to draw her in for another kiss. It’s not nearly as dramatic as their first one. It doesn’t feel like they’re in their own private universe. Hanamaru still knows she’s in the Underworld, and she still wants to go back to the surface, but—

There is sunlight dappling her skin, there are flowers around her, and she’s here with Yoshiko. All in all, it’s enough to make her forget her troubles, at least for a little while.