The rain was little more than the soft footsteps of a thousand children upon the roof, muffled by the rafters and the insulation so that to her ears, in her room, it played the sweetest of symphonies. She could hear everything, from the bamboo splint in the lake as it filled with water and weighed down, tapping rhythmically against its base and then rising back up only to fill again. She heard the water ripple with every drop that broke its tranquil surface, she heard the golden koi as they rejoiced in the rain and splashed happily through the water, the sound brought the tiniest of smiles to her thin lips and she inhaled, breathing deep on the lingering jasmine incense that hung in the cool, humid air.

Azalea sat upon her knees, her obi loosened, her kimono partially open and her hair swept to one side, before her was the chest upon which she had cried so many tears. A forgery of silver trims upon solid polished oak, it gleamed beautifully under the dim, white light of her lantern. She reached for it with a hand that shook from womanly emotions, unrestrained and as pale as the moon, she stroked the lid as if it were a long lost friend, it was the only thing in this house that spoke to her, the only thing that was hers, and now…she was leaving it behind. She opened it, it did not creak or moan as it revealed the treasures inside. Some were recent, she lifted a belt pouch and opened it, revealing several vials of assorted colors, each one deadly down to the last drop, she placed it to one side, next to a bag she had already packed. Others were treasures of her childhood – these she could not take, it was time to move on from them. A crushed cherry blossom from the last spring festival she had spent with both her mother and her uncle and a thin, handcrafted wooden flute, these were the only two items she took with her to preserve their memories, she covered the flower in a white cotton handkerchief and slipped within the folds of her kimono, pressed to her heart, the flute she slipped into the back of her obi. She left her old kite, a small handmade new years lantern and an old fishing reel – there was no place for such trinkets where she was going. Her final treasures were those of heritage, she had already reclaimed the Ashura blades, once belonging to her grandfather and matching that was a prize from her grandmother, once a kunoichi like herself. She lifted a strange, curved shape wrapped within sleek black material and let it unfold, revealing the mask within. It was wooden and vanished, painted white with black features curling about the eyes, nose and mouth, baring the resemblance of a kitsune by the snouted shape of the nose, the curve of the forehead and the mischievous darting lines that made the eyes seem small and narrowed. She touched her fingertips to the small swirls painted within the ears and ran them down the middle of the mask, she had forgotten about it, stuffed it in a box and left it to gather dust while she wore the mask of false ideals Masato had once handed to her. No longer. She would now wear this mask with pride.

She set it in her lap and with a blue ribbon clasped in one hand, she gathered her hair into a sleek, thin ponytail and bound it back save for the shorter strands of her bangs that fell into her face and curtained her stunning cobalt blue eyes. Then, she lifted the mask, not yet prepared to wear it over her face, she affixed it off centre to the left side of her forehead without obscuring her vision.

The door slid open, she had been so wrapped in what she was doing that she had not heard the footsteps approached, the night light from outside rushed through the gap in the door and bathed her in a bordered rectangle of blue light, her eyes darted to one side and from the corner of them she could see one naked fat foot. The smell of sake crept into the room, she nearly gagged on it but showed no visible signs of movement, she simply sat – in silence.

“I’ve come to see you to bed woman,” he slurred his words heavily and hung in the doorway like an obese gargoyle, his eyes ravaged her exposed flesh and undressed mentally what her kimono still obscured. “And should I happen to find myself in the sheets with you – well…I’m sure your sensei won’t mind.”

He took one step forwards into the room and took no more, her movements were graceful and fluid, she drew both her blades with the sharp sound of metal scraping along hard wood, rose from her knees to her feet, crouched and span about. There was no second thought to her actions, no remorse or doubt of morals, she simply sliced one blade across his belly, the other across his throat in succession. Her eyes bore into his as though they were dancing flames, Nobu gargled as his split windpipe choked on his own blood and the contents of his belly spilled upon the floor. It was a silent killing and by no means a dignified one. He died watching the hatred in her eyes and drowned in a pool of himself from the inside out and with his last breath she clung to the sweet satisfaction of such a deserving murder, it was an initiation that removed her from the servitude of devoted ninja to the freedom of a mercenary rogue, it cemented her actions and broke her chains, she was no longer welcome in this house.

With one sharp flick of her blades she splattered the walls with his blood then sank them home into their scabbards as she stood, tightened her obi and closed her kimono. She fastened the belt pouch of vials about her waist with the pouch behind her, under the fold in her obi, turned sharply and slipped on a thick, warm, black long sleeved jacket, left open as finally, she lifted her bag from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.

She left the window broken so that the storm could erase all traces of anything that might have personalised the room as her own, the chest left open to decay from water rot, the lantern sliced to ribbons on the floor and a dead body, leaving a pool of blood that sank into and stained what she had once called ‘her’ bed. She took a black stallion with dark grey socks from the stables and rode into the night with the mask pulled down over her face.

They would search for her, she had no doubt of that and when they found her, her resolve would be forged of steel and her blades would claim their blood.

[Kitsune Mask]

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