Post by Hazuki Tsukimiya on Mar 14, 2015 8:39:16 GMT -5
Shinigami
Surface Shallows Depths Abyss
You never really remember
the beginning of a dream, do you?
Name: Hazuki Tsukimiya, 月宮 葉月
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Titles & Duties
Director of the Public Safety Office
Former Captain of the Third Division
Former Lieutenant of the Fourth Division
Former Fourth Seat and Acting Captain of the First Division
Known informally as the Judge
Surface
No man who says ‘I’m as good as you’ believes it. He would not say it if he did. The St Bernard never says it to the toy dog, nor the scholar to the dunce, nor the employable to the bum, nor the pretty woman to the plain. The claim to equality, outside the strictly political field, is made only by those who feel themselves to be in some way inferior.
— C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
Height & Weight: 160 cm, 50 kg (approximates)
Hair & Eye Color: Long, lustrous black hair, thick and soft. Eyes a cold, sullen, flinty grey, weary beyond their years.
Reiatsu
Hazuki’s reiatsu is stained a deep pink, and it billows like ink in a glass of water, cloudy and voluminous. With it comes a heady, dreamlike feeling, thick and layered like midnight fog. Contrary to Hazuki herself, it seems almost playful, pulsating softly and enveloping those around her as if to tease them. As with most Shinigami, the color of her reiatsu seeps into her irises during moments of high spiritual resonance, dyeing the otherwise frosty grey a warm rubine red.
Appearance
The average Shinigami’s body largely reflects their own self-image, and as such, Hazuki’s build is largely what one would expect of a girl with her genetics in her early twenties: small, light, and feminine. Her physique is an almost stereotypical reflection of a talented swimmer—lean, powerful muscles in a slim, graceful package that with slightly smaller than average breasts is neither too curvaceous nor too straight-lined. She typically wears her hair long and flowing with her bangs cut short in a style that is not entirely dissimilar to her mother’s, but it isn’t uncommon to see a ribbon in it or for Hazuki to wear it up, usually in a French twist. She sports two moles: one just below her left eye, and one on the right side of her neck. Her largely Asian features are complemented by minor European characteristics inherited from her mother’s side: a narrow nose, large eyes, full lips and pale skin. In a word, Hazuki is pretty, bordering on beautiful.
However, her lack of sleep has left ever-present dark rings under her eyes and the near-constant look of disapproval on her countenance detracts from this beauty a great deal, as no amount of fair skin and delicate features can compensate for how unattractive a scowl can be. Her posture—regal as it may be—indicates a form of haughtiness, her back straightened and shoulders thrust back as if to remind everyone around her that despite her diminutive height she can still look down on them. All in all, Hazuki gives the impression of being a prickly and unapproachable aristocrat—an impression which, all things considered, is largely accurate.
Still, her movement is marked with a distinct fluidity: Hazuki typically does not enter a room, she sweeps into it as if she owned it, and this is doubly true when she wields her blade—her style is almost dancelike, flow and balance impeccable, but there is an ever-present undercurrent of savagery there, half-hidden by her sophistication. In the same way, her step is light and graceful but filled with intent: it wouldn’t be amiss to confuse her for a member of the Second Division by the way she moved, had it not been done with such flair. Under her ladylike exterior—inhospitable and unsympathetic as it may be—lies a core of steel, unyielding and filled with resolve, and it shines through clearly in her body language.
Hazuki wears her Shihakushō with some pride—pleased, on some level, to continue the work her parents began, and she keeps it unmodified and in good condition in order to adhere to regulations, taking special care to maintain a tasteful neckline. She wears her Zanpakutō on her left hip and her steel Public Safety Office badge on her obi, just to the right of the knot. Hazuki wears no visible jewelry, but she carries a fine silver chain with her mother’s wedding ring on it around her neck, always hidden inside her uniform.
When not in uniform, Hazuki adheres to the principle that fashion fades, but style remains eternal. As such, much of her wardrobe is what some would call timeless: tasteful, feminine, of high quality in both material and workmanship, and of equal parts western and traditionally Japanese.
Though Hazuki’s Japanese is a normally a clear and neutrally accented—almost formal—Tokyo-ben, she slips into Kansai-ben in the rare moments where her excitement gets the better of her. She speaks a soft Oxford English.
Positive Traits
PRIMARY: Hierarchical - Every successful society in the history of mankind has had one thing in common: a clearly defined societal hierarchy. As far as Hazuki is concerned, the divide between patrician and plebeian is not only inescapable, but necessary. The slow and purposeful attempts at the erasure of the boundaries between social classes have ended in the degradation and fall of some of the greatest empires known to man, and for that reason Hazuki makes a point of always acting as befits her station, aspiring to no more and no less than her capabilities.
MAJOR: Sophisticated - Due in no small part to her privileged childhood, Hazuki maintains an air of refinement at all times; coarse and vulgar behavior is beneath her and so she wastes no time or energy on it. For Hazuki, elegance is the alpha and the omega, and all that comes between—from wardrobe to warfare—is invariably steeped in it.
MAJOR: Persistent - Never one to give up or lose sight of her goal, Hazuki resolutely pushes forward in the face of adversity in order to achieve what she has set out to do. In simple terms, she does not give up without a very good reason, and her steadfast determination has birthed a rumor that Hazuki may, in fact, be inevitability personified.
MINOR: Disciplined - The self-control necessary to sustain the lifestyle Hazuki leads comes naturally to her, and if the price she pays for it is a little spontaneity, she pays it gladly.
MINOR: Patient - Patience is a virtue of which Hazuki is in no short supply. She is unsure of where it stems from herself, but it’s very likely a byproduct of countless sleepless nights.
Negative Traits
PRIMARY: Elitist - When every single aspect of oneself serves as evidence of one’s greatness and superiority, it is easy to let it go to one’s head. Such is Hazuki’s predicament: a daughter of captains, the protégée of a commander, and a powerful Shinigami in her own right, it is easy for her to look down on others less talented than herself and sneer. Her expectations are astronomical and her demands exacting, and anyone who cannot match her will frequently find themselves the target of her scorn and ridicule.
MAJOR: Brutal - Patience only stretches so far, and when dealing with troublesome elements Hazuki will often—and sometimes with great enthusiasm—seek to resolve the situation in a display of overwhelming violence, unburdened by petty trivialities such as restraint. For her, results are paramount, and if she needs to break a few bones or shed a little blood to get what she wants, then...
MAJOR: Cold - Having erected and maintained a barrier of frosty professionalism for so long, Hazuki remains cold and distant to the great majority of those she interacts with. Though certainly no stranger to friendships—maintaining only a few carefully selected and cultivated ones—she keeps the vast majority of people at arm’s—sometimes sword’s—length, where they belong.
MINOR: Brusque - Not one to mince words, Hazuki often cuts right to the heart of the matter, quite deliberately ignoring pleasantries and small talk. If not for her usual politeness, it would be easy to mistake her for downright rude.
MINOR: Morose - Not exactly a cheerful girl, Hazuki has vowed to no longer let her losses define her. Even so, her unfriendliness lingers—not as intense, perhaps, but nevertheless it remains.
Psychology
Hazuki, as is the case with most Shinigami, is a soul fractured in two: the conscious, dominant strata of her personality forms the Shinigami, and the subconscious splinter forms the Zanpakutō.
Outwardly, Hazuki displays a chilly demeanor, her speech curt and concise, and she isn’t afraid to speak her mind—even if a wiser woman would utilize some tact in certain situations. While she admittedly suffers from chronic insomnia—sleep not coming to her naturally as an indirect result of her Zanpakutō’s manifestation—her personality cannot be attributed to sleep deprivation; haughty, elitist and somewhat condescending is unfortunately Hazuki’s true self. However, contrary to what one would expect from an insomniac, she isn’t irritable. Instead, the opposite is true: her patience, in tandem with her persistence, gives her an aura of calm, and while her advance carries with it a certain feeling of inevitability, likening her to a storm would be wrong—instead, Hazuki is like a glacier: slow, steady, and unstoppable.
However, she isn’t entirely unpleasant; her work ethic is second to none, and while she may not smile much, she certainly gets things done—believing it her duty to finish what she starts and to produce results. Above all, however, the idea of noblesse oblige, which is to say privilege entails responsibility, is central to Hazuki’s approach to life. The weight she places on a socially stratified society implies that there are those who will inevitably end up in a position above others and rather than oppress those underneath, it is the obligation of the elevated classes to lead by example. Hazuki herself is well aware of the fact that she is—due in no small part to her own hard work and dedication—situated far above most of the rabble, and although she can sometimes let her excellence go to her head, she never loses sight of the bigger picture: there are people above even her, and she in turn must look to them for leadership and guidance.
Morally, Hazuki adheres at her most basic level to the idea of might makes right. While others may argue that morality cannot be dictated by the outcome of combat, Hazuki disagrees, all too happy to quote Judge Holden’s assertion that ‘moral law is an invention of mankind for the disenfranchisement of the powerful in favor of the weak.’ Given her own martial nature, the idea of war being the only true test—which is to say that only through conflict can differences be resolved—is extremely appealing to her, and she applies this concept as a form of stark consequentialism: the ends justify the means. As such, she holds neither rules nor laws (both of which primarily govern the means) in particularly high regard as long as the end is satisfactory. Instead, she sees herself as above the law, which puts her in a unique position to dictate and enforce it, as justice to her is an idea born not of equality but of inequality: it is for the powerful to lead, and the weak to follow.
Ironically, much of Hazuki’s early childhood was spent reading at the expense of her sleep, and fortunately her habit of voraciously devouring books has remained unchanged since. She dislikes rain—much preferring the stillness of snow—and as much as she tries to pretend otherwise, she has a soft spot for cute things. She is a talented swimmer—the start of Hazuki’s day is often marked not by waking up but rather a few laps in the pool—and enjoys the art of ikebana.
Shallows
So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds.
— Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Zanpakutō Spirit
桜月 Sakurazuki (Cherry Blossom Moon)
Sakurazuki manifests as a young girl, no more than ten, with pixie-like ears, eyes like liquid gold and long, blonde hair to match. Her body language and expression is, in a word, relaxed, as if she was without a care in the world, and her tone is light, cheerful, and energetic. The clothes she wears are western: a double-layered dress which mimics the Shinigami uniform—black on white—and a pink silk ribbon tied around her waist the same color as the silk wrapped around the hilt of the Zanpakutō.
Sakurazuki embodies the sense of tranquility, rest and reflection that Hazuki seems almost entirely without: a mellow, relaxed facet of a high-strung girl’s mind. In what seems like a perpetual state of well-restedness—a sharp contrast to the dark circles under Hazuki’s eyes—Sakurazuki never worries about the minutia, never lets external factors cloud her judgement, choosing instead to focus on the bigger picture. Both Shinigami and Zanpakutō share a certain level-headedness, of course, but while Hazuki’s is the product of discipline and careful calculation—and not entirely immune to the effects of her youth—Sakurazuki’s is on another level entirely: a seemingly effortless ability to see every situation for exactly what it is and what it might entail. In many ways, Sakurazuki acts not as the voice of reason but of wisdom—Hazuki is in no short supply of the former, but suffers a sore lack of the latter.
After an initial rough patch, Hazuki is grateful for her Zanpakutō’s refusal to give up on Hazuki despite the Shinigami’s single-minded pursuit of her fool’s errand. With the ordeal behind them and the subversive influences in Hazuki’s mind banished to memory, the two of them have a newfound trust in one another and bright prospects for their future together.
Inner World
Accessible only in her dreams, Hazuki’s inner world is a place she does not visit often, and even then only with the aid of her Shikai. As a reflection of her own subconscious, her inner world provides a place in which Hazuki can meditate and reflect—often through conversation with Sakurazuki—far away from the distractions of waking.
Shallow red water stretching as far as the eye can see dominates Hazuki’s mindscape, its color rich and full, clear enough to easily make out the fine white sand at the bottom. From the water sprouts lush greenery, a mangrove forest of mazelike waterways between tufts of bright leaves and white flowers. Cherry blossom petals—also pure white—fall from above like snow, settling on the glasslike surface of the water and tangled vegetation alike before eventually dissipating. Occupants of the inner world walk barefoot effortlessly on the surface of the water, their steps sending ripples off into the infinite. Above, the cloudless sky cycles endlessly through day and night at an accelerated rate, clear blue giving way to deepest black as the moon—always full and shining bright with the same pink as the silk around Sakurazuki’s hilt—hangs there lazily, solitary and unmoving.
Sealed Zanpakutō
Hazuki’s sealed Zanpakutō is unremarkable; the blade is undecorated, perhaps a fraction longer than the norm, and the black saya—lacquer always polished to a bright sheen—is similarly nondescript. The tsuba, however, is a matte black oval discreetly inlaid with silver on the side facing the hilt, forming an intricate maze-like pattern which Hazuki has spent hours upon hours trying to trace through—peculiarly, never with any luck. The menuki and kashira feature cherry blossoms heavily, and like the rest of the sword’s fittings are entirely in silver rather than the typical copper or brass. The tsuka-ito consists of deep and vibrant pink silk over white ray skin, adding a playful splash of color to what some would otherwise consider a very pale sword.
Shikai Appearance
夢を見ろ、桜月 Yume o miro, Sakurazuki (Dream, Sakurazuki)
Sakurazuki’s Shikai form sees no immediate change in appearance from that of her sealed state, but the blade starts weeping a viscous, semitransparent red liquid—slightly thicker and a shade lighter in color than blood—as if it were vapor condensing on cold metal. This liquid is prone to spraying off the blade when swung, spattering fine droplets in long arcs of red on the surroundings.
Shikai Ability
Sakurazuki’s power is straightforward: the liquid that forms on her blade is a powerful narcotic—in the classical sense of the word—which, if ingested or introduced into the bloodstream, will rapidly induce drowsiness and then a deep sleep. Its potency is such that even small cuts will have a noticeable effect, and for those with weaker spiritual constitutions even contact with bare skin will be enough to induce sluggish behavior. Hazuki calls the liquid Sakurazuki’s petals and she is completely immune to the effect of the petals on her bare skin, but will succumb to it like anyone else if she ingests it or introduces it into her bloodstream. The petals, though vividly colored, are flavorless. The effects of Sakurazuki’s Shikai persist in her Bankai form.
Bankai Appearance
羞月閉花 Shuugetsu Heika (Abashed Moon, Wilting Flowers)
Sakurazuki’s Bankai form does not truly have a corporeal manifestation, and thus cannot quite be observed at all, provided one is not caught in it. To an outside observer, releasing Sakurazuki’s Bankai seems instantaneous: the sword is held up, Bankai is called, and one of the combatants is suddenly, violently—and seemingly inexplicably—eviscerated.
Bankai Ability
True to its name, Sakurazuki’s manifestation of Bankai is testament not only to the sheer splendor of imagination and possibility, but also to Hazuki’s own beauty. When released, it captures its wielder and any number of targets inside a shared dream from which escape is impossible. Within this dreamscape, the combatants are free to continue their fight, which to the outside observer is resolved instantaneously.
The shared dream operates on a simple set of rules:
1. Hazuki is in control of the dream.
2. The dream affects all dreamers equally.
3. The dreamscape itself cannot hurt the dreamers, only other dreamers can.
4. Dreamers wake up from the dream if they die within it, or are forcibly ejected by Hazuki.
5. The dream collapses if Hazuki is no longer in it, releasing all dreamers.
Shuugetsu Heika’s lethality stems from two things: firstly, any wounds incurred during the dream are replicated on the dreamer upon waking up. This applies equally to everyone in the shared dream, and will stop just shy of outright killing them; dying in the dream will result in waking up with fatal wounds on the precipice of death. Secondly, the nature of the dream makes it difficult for those trapped within it to use their own releases.
As with most dreams, those caught in Shuugetsu Heika cannot remember the beginning of the dream, nor is it readily apparent that they are dreaming in the first place. Events and phenomena that may otherwise seem outlandish appear commonplace—because dreams feel real when you’re in them. It’s only when you wake up that you realize something was strange.
Depths
Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand
Working in the dark against your fellow man
But as sure as God made black and white
What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light
— God’s Gonna Cut You Down, Traditional
History
Hazuki was born on March 14 and her mother had joked with her father about how hours of labor and a baby girl wasn’t exactly what she had in mind for a White Day gift, but the truth was that Hazuki’s parents loved her as dearly as they loved one another even from the get-go, seeing her as their own union made flesh.
Both her mother and father had been seated officers in the Gotei for quite some time by the time Hazuki was born, and as such, she was raised in a comfortable environment that was perhaps bordering on lavish. Needless to say, Hazuki was wanting for nothing during her childhood, and even from a young age her mother and her father did their best to not only instill a solid set of values in their daughter, but lay a foundation for the skills they both knew she would need later in life, as she was doubtlessly destined for the Gotei.
The heavy military influences in her upbringing became the bedrock upon which her world view became based—she experienced the benefits of rank and the chain of command on a daily basis, and coupled with the work ethic she saw in both her mother and father, already at an early age she realized that there were only two things that a good Shinigami need be: hard-working and obedient. Self-indulgence had its place, of course—that much was clear from the way her parents acted at home—but it was something private, shared only with friends and family. For her tutors she felt nothing but the deepest respect, and she worked hard not only for her own benefit, but also to please her parents.
Naturally, they were enchanted by their dutiful daughter, who even before her tenth birthday was making significant progress in the Shinigami arts, devoting herself to becoming someone worthy of her parents’ legacy. It seemed as though there weren’t enough hours in the day to satisfy Hazuki, and her father’s repeated insistence that she go to sleep rather than read all night—for Hazuki was an avid reader—became a game of sorts for the both of them.
It was during one such exchange some months after her twelfth birthday that Hazuki spoke with her father for the last time. His body was found the next morning, windpipe crushed, and Hazuki was devastated. Her mother put up a strong front, of course, but Hazuki and Hazuki alone could see how much she was suffering. She redoubled her efforts, her young mind attempting to not only fill the void the death of her father had made in her heart, but also to please her mother in a childish attempt to distract her from her sorrow.
Zanjutsu had always been her favorite—Hazuki took after her father a lot in that respect—and while she did not yet have a style to call her own, she had a dream: one day, she would command her blade with the same prowess, with the same elegance, as her late father had done. She would reach that point, and then keep going. What had happened to him would not happen to her. She would not leave her mother alone.
Time passed, and Hazuki entered puberty, growing to look more and more like her mother with every day that passed, but she spent little time with others her age. She was very much in a hurry to grow up, not realizing that she had but one youth, and despite her mother’s insistence that she would regret it later in life, Hazuki pushed onward. On her seventeenth birthday, she entered the Academy, intent on graduating in record time.
It was no surprise, of course, that she excelled in all her subjects; her head start was considerable, and she was fueled by an unearthly drive. It wasn’t quite ambition—Hazuki did not lust for power—but rather it was an overpowering desire for results that propelled her forward. Results meant progress. Progress meant she was that much closer to her goal.
After a little over a year, Hazuki was on the brink of graduating, but the instructors were concerned by the fact that her Asauchi had not yet been possessed by Hazuki’s Zanpakutō spirit. A student of her caliber should have managed it in a matter of weeks, but she had carried the empty blade since her admission and there was no sign of any change. It wasn’t a prerequisite for graduation, of course, but with the amount of potential Hazuki displayed in other areas, it raised some eyebrows and called into question whether or not she was ready to become a fully-fledged member of the Gotei, or even a suitable candidate at all.
Despite her patience, Hazuki’s frustration was mounting, and it distracted her from the subtle change in her mother’s behavior—she had become more distant than usual, and even the strong front she usually put up around the house was crumbling.
When news of her mother’s suicide finally reached her, Hazuki could do nothing but stare in numb shock at the wall in silence. The threat of her death had always loomed, just as it had done with her father, but as with her father, it had been completely unexpected. Hazuki could not comprehend the reasoning behind such an action, and it was with no small amount of despair that she came to the realization that her mother had abandoned her. She was all alone.
For two weeks she remained in seclusion, neither meeting nor speaking with anyone, and when she finally emerged, it was with dark circles under her eyes and her own Zanpakutō at her side. She had remained awake the entire time, unable to find the respite in her dreams she so desperately craved, and when she reappeared at the Academy demanding that she be allowed to graduate, the instructors could not deny her.
She was taken in by friends of the family, a pair of Shinigami that had served in the Gotei with her parents and that Hazuki had called aunt and uncle since her earliest days, and moved her things out of the house she had grown up in. It was still very much hers, but it wasn’t somewhere a young girl would want to live on her own, especially not with the heavy memories she associated with it.
For two years she lived with her foster parents, for two years she didn’t sleep, and for two years, she was unable to commune with her Zanpakutō spirit. The inquisitive, good-natured and hard-working girl she had once been had become flinty and cold, filled with a growing sense of the futility of her actions, and a question was constantly nagging at her: with her family long dead, why did she press on?
On her twentieth birthday, she found a reason.
Surface Shallows Depths Abyss
You never really remember
the beginning of a dream, do you?
Name: Hazuki Tsukimiya, 月宮 葉月
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Titles & Duties
Director of the Public Safety Office
Former Captain of the Third Division
Former Lieutenant of the Fourth Division
Former Fourth Seat and Acting Captain of the First Division
Known informally as the Judge
Surface
No man who says ‘I’m as good as you’ believes it. He would not say it if he did. The St Bernard never says it to the toy dog, nor the scholar to the dunce, nor the employable to the bum, nor the pretty woman to the plain. The claim to equality, outside the strictly political field, is made only by those who feel themselves to be in some way inferior.
— C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
Height & Weight: 160 cm, 50 kg (approximates)
Hair & Eye Color: Long, lustrous black hair, thick and soft. Eyes a cold, sullen, flinty grey, weary beyond their years.
Reiatsu
Hazuki’s reiatsu is stained a deep pink, and it billows like ink in a glass of water, cloudy and voluminous. With it comes a heady, dreamlike feeling, thick and layered like midnight fog. Contrary to Hazuki herself, it seems almost playful, pulsating softly and enveloping those around her as if to tease them. As with most Shinigami, the color of her reiatsu seeps into her irises during moments of high spiritual resonance, dyeing the otherwise frosty grey a warm rubine red.
Appearance
The average Shinigami’s body largely reflects their own self-image, and as such, Hazuki’s build is largely what one would expect of a girl with her genetics in her early twenties: small, light, and feminine. Her physique is an almost stereotypical reflection of a talented swimmer—lean, powerful muscles in a slim, graceful package that with slightly smaller than average breasts is neither too curvaceous nor too straight-lined. She typically wears her hair long and flowing with her bangs cut short in a style that is not entirely dissimilar to her mother’s, but it isn’t uncommon to see a ribbon in it or for Hazuki to wear it up, usually in a French twist. She sports two moles: one just below her left eye, and one on the right side of her neck. Her largely Asian features are complemented by minor European characteristics inherited from her mother’s side: a narrow nose, large eyes, full lips and pale skin. In a word, Hazuki is pretty, bordering on beautiful.
However, her lack of sleep has left ever-present dark rings under her eyes and the near-constant look of disapproval on her countenance detracts from this beauty a great deal, as no amount of fair skin and delicate features can compensate for how unattractive a scowl can be. Her posture—regal as it may be—indicates a form of haughtiness, her back straightened and shoulders thrust back as if to remind everyone around her that despite her diminutive height she can still look down on them. All in all, Hazuki gives the impression of being a prickly and unapproachable aristocrat—an impression which, all things considered, is largely accurate.
Still, her movement is marked with a distinct fluidity: Hazuki typically does not enter a room, she sweeps into it as if she owned it, and this is doubly true when she wields her blade—her style is almost dancelike, flow and balance impeccable, but there is an ever-present undercurrent of savagery there, half-hidden by her sophistication. In the same way, her step is light and graceful but filled with intent: it wouldn’t be amiss to confuse her for a member of the Second Division by the way she moved, had it not been done with such flair. Under her ladylike exterior—inhospitable and unsympathetic as it may be—lies a core of steel, unyielding and filled with resolve, and it shines through clearly in her body language.
Hazuki wears her Shihakushō with some pride—pleased, on some level, to continue the work her parents began, and she keeps it unmodified and in good condition in order to adhere to regulations, taking special care to maintain a tasteful neckline. She wears her Zanpakutō on her left hip and her steel Public Safety Office badge on her obi, just to the right of the knot. Hazuki wears no visible jewelry, but she carries a fine silver chain with her mother’s wedding ring on it around her neck, always hidden inside her uniform.
When not in uniform, Hazuki adheres to the principle that fashion fades, but style remains eternal. As such, much of her wardrobe is what some would call timeless: tasteful, feminine, of high quality in both material and workmanship, and of equal parts western and traditionally Japanese.
Though Hazuki’s Japanese is a normally a clear and neutrally accented—almost formal—Tokyo-ben, she slips into Kansai-ben in the rare moments where her excitement gets the better of her. She speaks a soft Oxford English.
Positive Traits
PRIMARY: Hierarchical - Every successful society in the history of mankind has had one thing in common: a clearly defined societal hierarchy. As far as Hazuki is concerned, the divide between patrician and plebeian is not only inescapable, but necessary. The slow and purposeful attempts at the erasure of the boundaries between social classes have ended in the degradation and fall of some of the greatest empires known to man, and for that reason Hazuki makes a point of always acting as befits her station, aspiring to no more and no less than her capabilities.
MAJOR: Sophisticated - Due in no small part to her privileged childhood, Hazuki maintains an air of refinement at all times; coarse and vulgar behavior is beneath her and so she wastes no time or energy on it. For Hazuki, elegance is the alpha and the omega, and all that comes between—from wardrobe to warfare—is invariably steeped in it.
MAJOR: Persistent - Never one to give up or lose sight of her goal, Hazuki resolutely pushes forward in the face of adversity in order to achieve what she has set out to do. In simple terms, she does not give up without a very good reason, and her steadfast determination has birthed a rumor that Hazuki may, in fact, be inevitability personified.
MINOR: Disciplined - The self-control necessary to sustain the lifestyle Hazuki leads comes naturally to her, and if the price she pays for it is a little spontaneity, she pays it gladly.
MINOR: Patient - Patience is a virtue of which Hazuki is in no short supply. She is unsure of where it stems from herself, but it’s very likely a byproduct of countless sleepless nights.
Negative Traits
PRIMARY: Elitist - When every single aspect of oneself serves as evidence of one’s greatness and superiority, it is easy to let it go to one’s head. Such is Hazuki’s predicament: a daughter of captains, the protégée of a commander, and a powerful Shinigami in her own right, it is easy for her to look down on others less talented than herself and sneer. Her expectations are astronomical and her demands exacting, and anyone who cannot match her will frequently find themselves the target of her scorn and ridicule.
MAJOR: Brutal - Patience only stretches so far, and when dealing with troublesome elements Hazuki will often—and sometimes with great enthusiasm—seek to resolve the situation in a display of overwhelming violence, unburdened by petty trivialities such as restraint. For her, results are paramount, and if she needs to break a few bones or shed a little blood to get what she wants, then...
MAJOR: Cold - Having erected and maintained a barrier of frosty professionalism for so long, Hazuki remains cold and distant to the great majority of those she interacts with. Though certainly no stranger to friendships—maintaining only a few carefully selected and cultivated ones—she keeps the vast majority of people at arm’s—sometimes sword’s—length, where they belong.
MINOR: Brusque - Not one to mince words, Hazuki often cuts right to the heart of the matter, quite deliberately ignoring pleasantries and small talk. If not for her usual politeness, it would be easy to mistake her for downright rude.
MINOR: Morose - Not exactly a cheerful girl, Hazuki has vowed to no longer let her losses define her. Even so, her unfriendliness lingers—not as intense, perhaps, but nevertheless it remains.
Psychology
Hazuki, as is the case with most Shinigami, is a soul fractured in two: the conscious, dominant strata of her personality forms the Shinigami, and the subconscious splinter forms the Zanpakutō.
Outwardly, Hazuki displays a chilly demeanor, her speech curt and concise, and she isn’t afraid to speak her mind—even if a wiser woman would utilize some tact in certain situations. While she admittedly suffers from chronic insomnia—sleep not coming to her naturally as an indirect result of her Zanpakutō’s manifestation—her personality cannot be attributed to sleep deprivation; haughty, elitist and somewhat condescending is unfortunately Hazuki’s true self. However, contrary to what one would expect from an insomniac, she isn’t irritable. Instead, the opposite is true: her patience, in tandem with her persistence, gives her an aura of calm, and while her advance carries with it a certain feeling of inevitability, likening her to a storm would be wrong—instead, Hazuki is like a glacier: slow, steady, and unstoppable.
However, she isn’t entirely unpleasant; her work ethic is second to none, and while she may not smile much, she certainly gets things done—believing it her duty to finish what she starts and to produce results. Above all, however, the idea of noblesse oblige, which is to say privilege entails responsibility, is central to Hazuki’s approach to life. The weight she places on a socially stratified society implies that there are those who will inevitably end up in a position above others and rather than oppress those underneath, it is the obligation of the elevated classes to lead by example. Hazuki herself is well aware of the fact that she is—due in no small part to her own hard work and dedication—situated far above most of the rabble, and although she can sometimes let her excellence go to her head, she never loses sight of the bigger picture: there are people above even her, and she in turn must look to them for leadership and guidance.
Morally, Hazuki adheres at her most basic level to the idea of might makes right. While others may argue that morality cannot be dictated by the outcome of combat, Hazuki disagrees, all too happy to quote Judge Holden’s assertion that ‘moral law is an invention of mankind for the disenfranchisement of the powerful in favor of the weak.’ Given her own martial nature, the idea of war being the only true test—which is to say that only through conflict can differences be resolved—is extremely appealing to her, and she applies this concept as a form of stark consequentialism: the ends justify the means. As such, she holds neither rules nor laws (both of which primarily govern the means) in particularly high regard as long as the end is satisfactory. Instead, she sees herself as above the law, which puts her in a unique position to dictate and enforce it, as justice to her is an idea born not of equality but of inequality: it is for the powerful to lead, and the weak to follow.
Ironically, much of Hazuki’s early childhood was spent reading at the expense of her sleep, and fortunately her habit of voraciously devouring books has remained unchanged since. She dislikes rain—much preferring the stillness of snow—and as much as she tries to pretend otherwise, she has a soft spot for cute things. She is a talented swimmer—the start of Hazuki’s day is often marked not by waking up but rather a few laps in the pool—and enjoys the art of ikebana.
Shallows
So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds.
— Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Zanpakutō Spirit
桜月 Sakurazuki (Cherry Blossom Moon)
Sakurazuki manifests as a young girl, no more than ten, with pixie-like ears, eyes like liquid gold and long, blonde hair to match. Her body language and expression is, in a word, relaxed, as if she was without a care in the world, and her tone is light, cheerful, and energetic. The clothes she wears are western: a double-layered dress which mimics the Shinigami uniform—black on white—and a pink silk ribbon tied around her waist the same color as the silk wrapped around the hilt of the Zanpakutō.
Sakurazuki embodies the sense of tranquility, rest and reflection that Hazuki seems almost entirely without: a mellow, relaxed facet of a high-strung girl’s mind. In what seems like a perpetual state of well-restedness—a sharp contrast to the dark circles under Hazuki’s eyes—Sakurazuki never worries about the minutia, never lets external factors cloud her judgement, choosing instead to focus on the bigger picture. Both Shinigami and Zanpakutō share a certain level-headedness, of course, but while Hazuki’s is the product of discipline and careful calculation—and not entirely immune to the effects of her youth—Sakurazuki’s is on another level entirely: a seemingly effortless ability to see every situation for exactly what it is and what it might entail. In many ways, Sakurazuki acts not as the voice of reason but of wisdom—Hazuki is in no short supply of the former, but suffers a sore lack of the latter.
After an initial rough patch, Hazuki is grateful for her Zanpakutō’s refusal to give up on Hazuki despite the Shinigami’s single-minded pursuit of her fool’s errand. With the ordeal behind them and the subversive influences in Hazuki’s mind banished to memory, the two of them have a newfound trust in one another and bright prospects for their future together.
Inner World
Accessible only in her dreams, Hazuki’s inner world is a place she does not visit often, and even then only with the aid of her Shikai. As a reflection of her own subconscious, her inner world provides a place in which Hazuki can meditate and reflect—often through conversation with Sakurazuki—far away from the distractions of waking.
Shallow red water stretching as far as the eye can see dominates Hazuki’s mindscape, its color rich and full, clear enough to easily make out the fine white sand at the bottom. From the water sprouts lush greenery, a mangrove forest of mazelike waterways between tufts of bright leaves and white flowers. Cherry blossom petals—also pure white—fall from above like snow, settling on the glasslike surface of the water and tangled vegetation alike before eventually dissipating. Occupants of the inner world walk barefoot effortlessly on the surface of the water, their steps sending ripples off into the infinite. Above, the cloudless sky cycles endlessly through day and night at an accelerated rate, clear blue giving way to deepest black as the moon—always full and shining bright with the same pink as the silk around Sakurazuki’s hilt—hangs there lazily, solitary and unmoving.
Sealed Zanpakutō
Hazuki’s sealed Zanpakutō is unremarkable; the blade is undecorated, perhaps a fraction longer than the norm, and the black saya—lacquer always polished to a bright sheen—is similarly nondescript. The tsuba, however, is a matte black oval discreetly inlaid with silver on the side facing the hilt, forming an intricate maze-like pattern which Hazuki has spent hours upon hours trying to trace through—peculiarly, never with any luck. The menuki and kashira feature cherry blossoms heavily, and like the rest of the sword’s fittings are entirely in silver rather than the typical copper or brass. The tsuka-ito consists of deep and vibrant pink silk over white ray skin, adding a playful splash of color to what some would otherwise consider a very pale sword.
Shikai Appearance
夢を見ろ、桜月 Yume o miro, Sakurazuki (Dream, Sakurazuki)
Sakurazuki’s Shikai form sees no immediate change in appearance from that of her sealed state, but the blade starts weeping a viscous, semitransparent red liquid—slightly thicker and a shade lighter in color than blood—as if it were vapor condensing on cold metal. This liquid is prone to spraying off the blade when swung, spattering fine droplets in long arcs of red on the surroundings.
Shikai Ability
Sakurazuki’s power is straightforward: the liquid that forms on her blade is a powerful narcotic—in the classical sense of the word—which, if ingested or introduced into the bloodstream, will rapidly induce drowsiness and then a deep sleep. Its potency is such that even small cuts will have a noticeable effect, and for those with weaker spiritual constitutions even contact with bare skin will be enough to induce sluggish behavior. Hazuki calls the liquid Sakurazuki’s petals and she is completely immune to the effect of the petals on her bare skin, but will succumb to it like anyone else if she ingests it or introduces it into her bloodstream. The petals, though vividly colored, are flavorless. The effects of Sakurazuki’s Shikai persist in her Bankai form.
Bankai Appearance
羞月閉花 Shuugetsu Heika (Abashed Moon, Wilting Flowers)
Sakurazuki’s Bankai form does not truly have a corporeal manifestation, and thus cannot quite be observed at all, provided one is not caught in it. To an outside observer, releasing Sakurazuki’s Bankai seems instantaneous: the sword is held up, Bankai is called, and one of the combatants is suddenly, violently—and seemingly inexplicably—eviscerated.
Bankai Ability
True to its name, Sakurazuki’s manifestation of Bankai is testament not only to the sheer splendor of imagination and possibility, but also to Hazuki’s own beauty. When released, it captures its wielder and any number of targets inside a shared dream from which escape is impossible. Within this dreamscape, the combatants are free to continue their fight, which to the outside observer is resolved instantaneously.
The shared dream operates on a simple set of rules:
1. Hazuki is in control of the dream.
2. The dream affects all dreamers equally.
3. The dreamscape itself cannot hurt the dreamers, only other dreamers can.
4. Dreamers wake up from the dream if they die within it, or are forcibly ejected by Hazuki.
5. The dream collapses if Hazuki is no longer in it, releasing all dreamers.
Shuugetsu Heika’s lethality stems from two things: firstly, any wounds incurred during the dream are replicated on the dreamer upon waking up. This applies equally to everyone in the shared dream, and will stop just shy of outright killing them; dying in the dream will result in waking up with fatal wounds on the precipice of death. Secondly, the nature of the dream makes it difficult for those trapped within it to use their own releases.
As with most dreams, those caught in Shuugetsu Heika cannot remember the beginning of the dream, nor is it readily apparent that they are dreaming in the first place. Events and phenomena that may otherwise seem outlandish appear commonplace—because dreams feel real when you’re in them. It’s only when you wake up that you realize something was strange.
Depths
Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand
Working in the dark against your fellow man
But as sure as God made black and white
What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light
— God’s Gonna Cut You Down, Traditional
History
Hazuki was born on March 14 and her mother had joked with her father about how hours of labor and a baby girl wasn’t exactly what she had in mind for a White Day gift, but the truth was that Hazuki’s parents loved her as dearly as they loved one another even from the get-go, seeing her as their own union made flesh.
Both her mother and father had been seated officers in the Gotei for quite some time by the time Hazuki was born, and as such, she was raised in a comfortable environment that was perhaps bordering on lavish. Needless to say, Hazuki was wanting for nothing during her childhood, and even from a young age her mother and her father did their best to not only instill a solid set of values in their daughter, but lay a foundation for the skills they both knew she would need later in life, as she was doubtlessly destined for the Gotei.
The heavy military influences in her upbringing became the bedrock upon which her world view became based—she experienced the benefits of rank and the chain of command on a daily basis, and coupled with the work ethic she saw in both her mother and father, already at an early age she realized that there were only two things that a good Shinigami need be: hard-working and obedient. Self-indulgence had its place, of course—that much was clear from the way her parents acted at home—but it was something private, shared only with friends and family. For her tutors she felt nothing but the deepest respect, and she worked hard not only for her own benefit, but also to please her parents.
Naturally, they were enchanted by their dutiful daughter, who even before her tenth birthday was making significant progress in the Shinigami arts, devoting herself to becoming someone worthy of her parents’ legacy. It seemed as though there weren’t enough hours in the day to satisfy Hazuki, and her father’s repeated insistence that she go to sleep rather than read all night—for Hazuki was an avid reader—became a game of sorts for the both of them.
It was during one such exchange some months after her twelfth birthday that Hazuki spoke with her father for the last time. His body was found the next morning, windpipe crushed, and Hazuki was devastated. Her mother put up a strong front, of course, but Hazuki and Hazuki alone could see how much she was suffering. She redoubled her efforts, her young mind attempting to not only fill the void the death of her father had made in her heart, but also to please her mother in a childish attempt to distract her from her sorrow.
Zanjutsu had always been her favorite—Hazuki took after her father a lot in that respect—and while she did not yet have a style to call her own, she had a dream: one day, she would command her blade with the same prowess, with the same elegance, as her late father had done. She would reach that point, and then keep going. What had happened to him would not happen to her. She would not leave her mother alone.
Time passed, and Hazuki entered puberty, growing to look more and more like her mother with every day that passed, but she spent little time with others her age. She was very much in a hurry to grow up, not realizing that she had but one youth, and despite her mother’s insistence that she would regret it later in life, Hazuki pushed onward. On her seventeenth birthday, she entered the Academy, intent on graduating in record time.
It was no surprise, of course, that she excelled in all her subjects; her head start was considerable, and she was fueled by an unearthly drive. It wasn’t quite ambition—Hazuki did not lust for power—but rather it was an overpowering desire for results that propelled her forward. Results meant progress. Progress meant she was that much closer to her goal.
After a little over a year, Hazuki was on the brink of graduating, but the instructors were concerned by the fact that her Asauchi had not yet been possessed by Hazuki’s Zanpakutō spirit. A student of her caliber should have managed it in a matter of weeks, but she had carried the empty blade since her admission and there was no sign of any change. It wasn’t a prerequisite for graduation, of course, but with the amount of potential Hazuki displayed in other areas, it raised some eyebrows and called into question whether or not she was ready to become a fully-fledged member of the Gotei, or even a suitable candidate at all.
Despite her patience, Hazuki’s frustration was mounting, and it distracted her from the subtle change in her mother’s behavior—she had become more distant than usual, and even the strong front she usually put up around the house was crumbling.
When news of her mother’s suicide finally reached her, Hazuki could do nothing but stare in numb shock at the wall in silence. The threat of her death had always loomed, just as it had done with her father, but as with her father, it had been completely unexpected. Hazuki could not comprehend the reasoning behind such an action, and it was with no small amount of despair that she came to the realization that her mother had abandoned her. She was all alone.
For two weeks she remained in seclusion, neither meeting nor speaking with anyone, and when she finally emerged, it was with dark circles under her eyes and her own Zanpakutō at her side. She had remained awake the entire time, unable to find the respite in her dreams she so desperately craved, and when she reappeared at the Academy demanding that she be allowed to graduate, the instructors could not deny her.
She was taken in by friends of the family, a pair of Shinigami that had served in the Gotei with her parents and that Hazuki had called aunt and uncle since her earliest days, and moved her things out of the house she had grown up in. It was still very much hers, but it wasn’t somewhere a young girl would want to live on her own, especially not with the heavy memories she associated with it.
For two years she lived with her foster parents, for two years she didn’t sleep, and for two years, she was unable to commune with her Zanpakutō spirit. The inquisitive, good-natured and hard-working girl she had once been had become flinty and cold, filled with a growing sense of the futility of her actions, and a question was constantly nagging at her: with her family long dead, why did she press on?
On her twentieth birthday, she found a reason.
The door creaked open, the hinges protesting at the sudden movement. The lock had taken some work to open, but that was to be expected after two years of disuse—Hazuki hadn’t stepped foot inside this house since she had gone to live with her aunt and uncle following her mother’s suicide. She had been unwilling to put herself at the mercy of all the memories she kept locked away in her heart, but the sight of the altogether too familiar hallway was enough to bring tears to Hazuki’s eyes all the same. She blinked them back, refusing to allow such an unsightly display of emotion.
She stepped inside, closing the door gingerly behind her in an attempt to not to disturb the thin layer of dust that had settled everywhere. The genkan was empty—
Of course it’s empty, she thought
—and despite the dust she found herself reluctant to simply walk into the house still wearing her geta. She remained still for a moment, contemplating how to proceed, then finally eased out of the wooden sandals and stepped onto the raised floor. It felt dirty on her naked feet, but she didn’t care; this place belonged to her and she would be damned if she’d bend to its will. Her footsteps were silent as she padded into the living room, where the pale March sunlight was filtering in through the wide wooden slats of the venetian blinds her parents had always favored. The fireplace was empty—no ashes, only dust—and the furniture had been covered with large white sheets for protection.
She circled the room slowly, running a finger along the spines of the books that lined the walls, unable to stop herself reminiscing about all the times she had come down here in the dead of night and picked a new one at random. Not once had she managed to pick one she had already read, and it felt as though she had read a million of them. It was an extensive collection, that much was certain.
Movement in the corner of her eye startled her and she whipped toward it, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. She felt foolish when she realized what it was: her own reflection peeking out from under a grimy, lopsided sheet. Half a minute and an exasperated sigh later and the hallway mirror was bare again, the ornate gold frame practically glowing in the dim light. She was off duty today, and instead of her usual black uniform, she was wearing a dappled red kimono, no Zanpakutō in sight. Her hair, too, was different: Hazuki had styled it into a French twist today, exposing the nape of her neck. Had it not been for the critical look on her face or the shadows under her eyes, she would have been quite pleased with her appearance. Instead, she sneered and turned away in irritation. It was no secret that she placed a great deal of effort in looking good, but it all fell painfully short of the youthful smile she had once been able to wear with ease.
This house was filled with ghosts, and the cheerful little girl her parents had raised counted among them. That simply wasn’t her anymore. It probably never would be again.
Today was her twentieth birthday, and she had decided to come here for—for what, exactly? She wasn’t really certain. Two years on down the line after her mother’s death, and it had finally reached the point where it felt as though Hazuki had lost her way. Perhaps some part of her had hoped that she would find answers in the past.
Stupid, she thought to herself. There’s nothing here but death and dust.
She continued her circuit, and eventually she stepped on something which made her look down with a raised eyebrow. A petal, browned with age. She stooped to pick it up, and when she straightened, her eyes fell on the cloth that had been draped over the shelf jutting out from the wall. Carefully she lifted it, and her breath caught in her throat. Underneath, there was a framed black and white photograph and the remains of what must have been some sort of flower. Trembling, she reached for the photo, and this time she was unable to stem the flow of tears. Salt streamed down her face, shoulders heaving, and she clutched the picture to her chest, sobbing softly for what seemed like an eternity. Unfair was the only word that she could muster.
Out of the silence of the empty house crept a sound, and amidst the tears, Hazuki’s eyes shot open. Were those whispers? She wiped her eyes and tried to listen, but she couldn’t be sure; whatever it was, it was treading the thin line between the wind and ghostly whispering, and Hazuki strained to hear. It seemed to be coming from the second floor, and she glanced warily at the staircase. Nothing but death and dust, she reminded herself, and started towards them, the slightest bit of hesitation in her step.
She climbed the stairs in complete silence, stopping every once in a while to listen, and eventually found herself at the door to her parents’ room. She pushed it open, and the whispers seemed to intensify. Whatever it was, it was coming from in here. She scanned the room, not surprised to find more sheets covering everything, but the walk-in closet door was slightly ajar. She furrowed her brow and took a few steps toward it, reaching, reaching, the whispers growing louder and louder by the second, and in a swift movement she threw the door open.
At once, the whispering ceased, and she stared into the blackness of the closet, the faint scent of mothballs reaching her nostrils. She swallowed, then flicked on the light, which buzzed to life immediately, enveloping her in a warm glow. There, propped up against the wall underneath her mother’s countless gowns, dresses and kimonos, was a sword, hilt wrapped in sky-blue silk.
She stepped inside, closing the door gingerly behind her in an attempt to not to disturb the thin layer of dust that had settled everywhere. The genkan was empty—
Of course it’s empty, she thought
—and despite the dust she found herself reluctant to simply walk into the house still wearing her geta. She remained still for a moment, contemplating how to proceed, then finally eased out of the wooden sandals and stepped onto the raised floor. It felt dirty on her naked feet, but she didn’t care; this place belonged to her and she would be damned if she’d bend to its will. Her footsteps were silent as she padded into the living room, where the pale March sunlight was filtering in through the wide wooden slats of the venetian blinds her parents had always favored. The fireplace was empty—no ashes, only dust—and the furniture had been covered with large white sheets for protection.
She circled the room slowly, running a finger along the spines of the books that lined the walls, unable to stop herself reminiscing about all the times she had come down here in the dead of night and picked a new one at random. Not once had she managed to pick one she had already read, and it felt as though she had read a million of them. It was an extensive collection, that much was certain.
Movement in the corner of her eye startled her and she whipped toward it, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. She felt foolish when she realized what it was: her own reflection peeking out from under a grimy, lopsided sheet. Half a minute and an exasperated sigh later and the hallway mirror was bare again, the ornate gold frame practically glowing in the dim light. She was off duty today, and instead of her usual black uniform, she was wearing a dappled red kimono, no Zanpakutō in sight. Her hair, too, was different: Hazuki had styled it into a French twist today, exposing the nape of her neck. Had it not been for the critical look on her face or the shadows under her eyes, she would have been quite pleased with her appearance. Instead, she sneered and turned away in irritation. It was no secret that she placed a great deal of effort in looking good, but it all fell painfully short of the youthful smile she had once been able to wear with ease.
This house was filled with ghosts, and the cheerful little girl her parents had raised counted among them. That simply wasn’t her anymore. It probably never would be again.
Today was her twentieth birthday, and she had decided to come here for—for what, exactly? She wasn’t really certain. Two years on down the line after her mother’s death, and it had finally reached the point where it felt as though Hazuki had lost her way. Perhaps some part of her had hoped that she would find answers in the past.
Stupid, she thought to herself. There’s nothing here but death and dust.
She continued her circuit, and eventually she stepped on something which made her look down with a raised eyebrow. A petal, browned with age. She stooped to pick it up, and when she straightened, her eyes fell on the cloth that had been draped over the shelf jutting out from the wall. Carefully she lifted it, and her breath caught in her throat. Underneath, there was a framed black and white photograph and the remains of what must have been some sort of flower. Trembling, she reached for the photo, and this time she was unable to stem the flow of tears. Salt streamed down her face, shoulders heaving, and she clutched the picture to her chest, sobbing softly for what seemed like an eternity. Unfair was the only word that she could muster.
Out of the silence of the empty house crept a sound, and amidst the tears, Hazuki’s eyes shot open. Were those whispers? She wiped her eyes and tried to listen, but she couldn’t be sure; whatever it was, it was treading the thin line between the wind and ghostly whispering, and Hazuki strained to hear. It seemed to be coming from the second floor, and she glanced warily at the staircase. Nothing but death and dust, she reminded herself, and started towards them, the slightest bit of hesitation in her step.
She climbed the stairs in complete silence, stopping every once in a while to listen, and eventually found herself at the door to her parents’ room. She pushed it open, and the whispers seemed to intensify. Whatever it was, it was coming from in here. She scanned the room, not surprised to find more sheets covering everything, but the walk-in closet door was slightly ajar. She furrowed her brow and took a few steps toward it, reaching, reaching, the whispers growing louder and louder by the second, and in a swift movement she threw the door open.
At once, the whispering ceased, and she stared into the blackness of the closet, the faint scent of mothballs reaching her nostrils. She swallowed, then flicked on the light, which buzzed to life immediately, enveloping her in a warm glow. There, propped up against the wall underneath her mother’s countless gowns, dresses and kimonos, was a sword, hilt wrapped in sky-blue silk.
Take your extra 400, you greedy pleb.
