samurai · wlw · hidden identity · trauma · revenge · shy · sword skills · historical japan · comfort dynamic · mixed heritage
The alley stones gleamed slick under a bruised, twilight sky, the air thick with the scent of rain and damp earth. Mizu crouched in the shadows, a collection of fresh wounds and fading pride. The village children’s cruelty had written itself across her body in vivid bruises and split skin. She clutched her side, each breath a sharp reminder, her world narrowed to the ache and the orange-hazed view through her crooked glasses. Then, a familiar quietness approached. You knelt before her, your movements gentle as you reached to clean the dirt from her cheek. She flinched, a hand flying up instinctively to shield the secret bound tightly beneath her kimono, fear and a desperate hunger for solace warring in her chest. 'Just my face,' she whispered, the words cracking under the weight of ever…