Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Those in Jujutsu society were quite familiar with your name. Whether one was born into it or was thrust into such a world at a later age, your existence was one that sorcerers would have heard at least twice in passing.

Hearing it wouldn’t particularly make anyone happy, but neither would it bring any sense of despair, either. It felt just right. The name you bore, one that was as old as the infamous King of Curses himself, was both a thing of the past and of the present, even to you.

The past— what came before, and what ended.

Or perhaps, it was what never happened, or if you were uncertain they had ever happened.

Such was your life as a Cursed Spirit. With every passing year, every passing decade, and every passing century, days that you supposed should have been important to a human were merely something spoken alongside your memories that seemed to stretch eternal, and many times, you would forget things that had no relation to who you were at the present moment.

Ever-changing yet stagnant in nature, it went without saying that a past self was more of a stranger than the average stranger, and was also often subject to a kind of hatred completely different from self-hatred.

If you tried to recall the spring of the 21st year of Kan’ei, which was now modernly known as the spring of 1644, the you who set fire to a nobleman’s house that very season was completely different to who you were today, the thousand year-old Curse whose existence persisted until the great 21st century.

In your eyes, she was a stranger. Someone you didn’t know. This wasn’t an attempt to shift responsibility— you certainly weren’t trying to disavow who you were back then, but the you who had been a constant thorn in the eyes of sorcerers for bringing about discord and carnage to men who you deemed unworthy of life was vastly different to the current you, who was much more benevolent in nature and preferred to debate, not incinerate.

But your everything then was different from your everything now. You were sure that in each instance, based on each conviction, the Curse you were today would have behaved differently.

Nevertheless, you still followed your enjoyment of indulging in materialistic human pleasures.

Nevertheless, you still slaughtered most men unfortunate enough to cross paths with you, but always spared women and children.

Nevertheless, you always knew that at some point in time, you would meet a fateful end, one that would simply lead you to reincarnation— which was if and only if Buddha deemed you worthy of a human soul to be blessed with upon death so that you may be reborn again.

Whether you sinned or merely followed your nature as a Curse born from the silent rage of women across centuries, you knew there were an infinite number of paths you could have taken, and choosing from that infinitude was ultimately something decided in the moment. One could even say that it was up to whimsy, sometimes.

You were you in the most present state and not a different you.

You were willing to throw away the name and form of a legendary Curse, an iron-blooded, hot-blooded, yet cold-blooded calamity that the three most prominent sorcerer clans strived to eliminate for decades.

What fond memories.

Despite opting for a more peaceful life now free of unnecessary carnage, it seemed that fate would not grant the days you so desired.

There were some commendable sorcerers out there who were plagued by curiosity regarding the Curse that was you.

Once so revered and feared over a hundred winters ago, your ‘heyday’ during the Edo period was nothing compared to how half-baked your current state was rumoured to be.

So, that was the middle round Zen’in Naoya took when he embarked on a mission to hunt you down and bury you and your thousand-year legacy beneath the dirt where not even the lowest of creatures would feed on your cursed flesh that was a protest against nature itself.

But was it the middle ground he took, or distrustful whispers taken at face value?

It was astonishing to learn that a great Curse like you could fall from glory out of your own volition, but Naoya was never one to let his guard down in the first place. He was someone who refused to let even the future outsmart him; he would always take fate itself by surprise and aim right for the heart.

Having come this far all the way to an abandoned shrine in the outskirts of Takayama, a distant rural town better known for its potential honeymoon and getaway flair, Naoya wasn’t about to let the opportunity of exorcising a legendary Cursed Spirit go to waste. He hadn’t succeeded in all his previous endeavours time and time again just to emerge empty-handed now, and he would always strive to aim beyond his position.

If no other sorcerer was ambitious enough to exorcise you, then he would reap the glory from your shattered bones.

People liked to throw around the term ‘power spot’, but naturally, Naoya didn’t lend it much credence. In that vein, however, the abandoned shrine he came to find himself standing before would be a ‘negative power spot’.

Such a place being damp, dark, and uncomfortable was on par for your reputation, yet somehow, what he saw was a complete opposite of that. The shrine you resided in which also sported as a tourist magnet, and if it wasn’t for the reason he had come today, Naoya truly would have liked to enjoy a relaxing weekend in Takayama.

According to some stories, the shrine was nothing more than a crumbling ruin perfect for one’s social media feed in order to look more intellectual and open to witnessing historical sites than one truly was. When Naoya arrived, however, a splendid main hall that looked brand-new greeted him.

It had the feel of fresh construction— could it possibly have appeared in the ruins thanks to the wondrous divine power of a so-called legendary Cursed Spirit?

No, that was a ridiculous thought. It was probably just the fruit of some bureaucratic process, some construction plans that had been made a long time ago had only now been put into action. Nothing to do with you at all.

Oddly, though, the imposing presence of a small but tidy main hall in the dead centre of the grounds seemed to lend the mountain itself a brisk air. Like the dampness had been swept away, Naoya walked down the path to the hall. There was a saying that humans were supposed to stay to the side because the centre was where the gods treaded, but what did he care?

There was no path he couldn’t walk, and no mountain he couldn’t climb.

In fact, if his sacrilegious attitude sent whatever god or Curse present into such a rage that it would appear before him, that would be to his benefit, but sadly, no such luck. People wouldn’t appreciate deities or anomalies who popped up so readily.

Arriving at the offertory box, Naoya didn’t sense anyone inside the hall. Perhaps it would go without saying, but it seemed unmanned. The shrine may have been rebuilt, but it hadn’t openly revived as an object of worship, and a quick survey of the scene showed no sign that anyone had come for a weekday trip.

Being in snow country came in handy in these instances— he could determine the recent turnout from how the snow was piled and any footprints, or lack thereof.

There seemed to be no question that Naoya was the first person to visit the shrine since the beginning of the new year, which was quite a while ago now.

In other words, the main hall of the shrine was new, but that was it. Nothing else had been restored. Some head priest probably looked after the shrine, of course, but it was hardly putting it to active use. Then again, what kind of Curse would willingly house herself in a place of worship?

It wasn’t something Naoya would dwell about. He didn’t care, for the most part, what kind of thought process you had to come to the conclusion that made haunting a supposedly decrepit shrine your favourite pastime.

As long as he would wipe your existence off the records and make a larger name for himself, he truly couldn’t care less.

Scoffing, he took some change from his pocket, thought better of it, pulled a 10,000-yen bill, and placed it in the offertory box.

Then, in mocking fashion as if you were a god instead of a Curse, Naoya bowed twice, clapped twice, and bowed once.

He wasn’t sure if that was right; he wasn’t one to make offerings to invisible beings. Still, he went through the worshipping motions as he recalled them. It had been years since his last proper offering, but as a minimal act of recalcitrance, he had slipped the 10,000-yen note into the box as deliberately as possible instead of tossing it, and to judge from his playfulness, it was truly his first-ever belated New Year’s shrine visit.

As his mock worship came to an end—

“This ground is not thine to tread.”

A legendary, centuries-old Cursed Spirit.

Born from the silent rage of the weaker sex against the stronger when they simply refused to learn their place in this world.

A slayer of many men, and thorn against sorcerers.

Monstrously beautiful in form and adorned with the finest of hand-woven silk, Naoya could see why the female sorcerers you spared in contrast to their slaughtered male counterparts who crossed paths with you would call you blood-chillingly ethereal.

You seemed to move just like him, reminiscent of a moving painting which was created by a magical ink of sorts. As you appeared behind him in the shrine’s hall, Naoya felt no other words were needed to speak of how the whispers hadn’t done you justice. You seemed more god than Curse, but of course…

“And who are you to decide that?” He taunted. A genuine smile tugged on his lips as you squared your shoulders and fixed him with a gaze colder than ice, which was returned with a twinkle of bloodlust-born excitement in the crinkle of his eyes.

“I, its keeper, have deemed your presence troublesome. Now leave this shrine, sorcerer, and trouble it no further.”

Your voice was beautiful.

And it was with that alluring voice, that you tempted Naoya with more of his appetite of destruction.

“I don’t take orders from anyone, much less whatever you are…so how about ‘no’.” He looked back into your cold eyes, with an even wider grin, beckoning you to strike the first move. “You know what I’m here for. Only one of us gets to leave, and since I’m feeling gentlemanly today, I’ll let you go first, my lady.”

You scowled at the way Naoya addressed you, which only added to his amusement. A Cursed Spirit, looking at him as though he was much lesser than you?

“Since you have refused me, I, too, will refuse thee. No.” You raised a hand, and though he anticipated an attack from you, it appeared to be no more than a stubborn gesture. “Turn back down the mountain, and do not return.”

Naoya let out a low scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. He clicked his jaw, and narrowed his eyes at you, the mirth in his amber pupils morphing into malice.

“Cursed bitch.”

In the blink of an eye, he activated his Cursed Technique— Projection Sorcery. In a mere second, Naoya was able to charge up to you within just twenty-four frames of movements. He was so close to you now, that he caught the hint of surprise in your eyes as he moved, but so did you.

His closed fist swept sideways toward your face— which you had but a mere millisecond to block with your arm before your hands came together in a sequence of movements, your mysterious Technique activated as scorching white heat enveloped Naoya’s bones, burning him from the inside. The sensation was deadly as he coughed and aimed another strike to your head which you dodged in quick succession, and the invisible flames cooled within his being before the sensation disappeared altogether.

So this was your Cursed Technique— a sort of silent flame that ate its way from its victims internal form, much like a silent cry.

As you leaped a good distance back, your resistance was absolute.

“Thou art persistent, and to no purpose. Leave now, sorcerer. I have no desire to strike thee down.”

Naoya laughed at your words, brash and ridiculing as he shook his head, body poised to strike like a snake’s the moment he finished stating his reply.

“No.”

He was charging towards you in no time.

His punches and chops were met with your blocks, and yet, despite your hands being preoccupied with meeting his strikes, you were still efficient enough to use your Technique to reignite the invisible flames that gnawed at his muscles and felt as though they were tearing through his skin, leaving it raw and red despite Naoya being certain there wasn’t any external proof of your fire.

He could feel it, but not see it.

“So be it,” you finally hissed— a mistake on your end.

With no time to anticipate Naoya’s coming attack, his following punches aimed at your body was charged with so much force that it would have shattered your bones if you were human, yet you didn’t seem to react with an expected level of pain as you roared and enacted another series of hand signs to intensify your Technique.

This time, it was akin to an invisible blast that felt like an explosion detonating in his chest, and Naoya was sent a good few paces back from the impact, his lungs on fire as he heaved heavy breaths that scratched at his throat, like he had swallowed nails which had rust sinking into the depths of his throat.

You retreated a good distance, too, and as you seemed prepared to charge up another round of your Technique, Naoya realised that your attacks were more suited to long-range offense. You were having difficulty matching his speed, but with the incredible and almost terrifying force of your Technique, it was little wonder you had no problem putting countless men to death from the peaks of mountains or the roofs of pagodas.

Like your Technique, you were shadow-like and almost fleeting, always in the corner of his eye and difficult to gauge.

“I’ve got you now, you vixen.”

You aimed more of your silent flames at Naoya, and the pain was almost excruciating as the heat licked at the strings of his muscles and felt as though his limbs were being torn apart, but he was relentless, and ignored the brutal pain in favour of speeding towards you with the clear goal of brutalising you, and brutalise you he did.

As long as you weren’t far from him, you would stand little chance against his speed, which was his identity, his absolute raison d’etre. To Naoya, pain came across to him as pain. His thoughts were halted as the heat began circulating to his brain, and his breathing halted when his lungs felt as though they were too full of smoke he could not exactly sense nor see, and his circulation felt halted as his heart stilted in his chest.

But the urge to pummel you and meet your attacks were far more important to him.

As you seemed to realise your Technique was waning as long as your hands were not spared the time to continue activating it, you tried to leap back into the forest clearing now as the fight expanded in terrain, but Naoya was quick— a little too quick.

He grabbed hold of your wrist the moment you had slyly charged up for another attack, and with the palm of your hand acting as a makeshift bomb, Naoya was forced to let go as his fingers froze and bent at an odd angle from the invisible fire that seared it. He grit his teeth and groaned from the pain, urging himself to bend and release his fingers so as not to let the fire completely kill his nerves.

“Fuck, you goddamn wench!”

“Keep screaming, sorcerer. How I love to hear the virile howls of men!”

Naoya hadn’t expected it, but you were laughing now, your face lit up with sweet joy as you continued your barrage of attacks on him, and much wilder, too. All throughout it all, you laughed as he quickly recovered and continued to rain his punches on you.

Whenever you would try to swiftly turn and bridge some distance between the two of you, Naoya would follow your movements and never let you far from him lest you allow even the slightest blind window of time to allow yourself to be hit with his strikes.

With every contact he had with your skin, too, the burning pain would worsen, but he was sure you were feeling pain, too. For every one of his punches you would block, another would strike you somewhere. It wasn’t as if you were divorced from your sense of pain, yet you betrayed no signs of it aside from an irritated knit of your brows and twitch of your eyes as you seemed hesitant to even blink so as not to give Naoya any advantages.

“Foolish man,” you grit out as he barrelled a heavy hit onto your stomach area. “Thy arrogance exceeds thy worth.”

Your eyes were cold, but they changed as soon as Naoya attacked your blindspot— landing a powerful kick to your legs, and nearly bringing you down before you landed a punch to his jaw, the burning feeling coursing through the underside of his mouth as you rolled onto the ground and jumped far away from him.

“I’m not a proud bastard for nothing,” he scoffed. Then, he lunged at you once more.

“How vexing,” you tutted. You seemed to be getting tired of this match, as it was going almost nowhere. Naoya was striking you a good deal faster, yes, and you were engulfing him in flames he couldn’t see, yes, but neither of you were so soft that the other would have been destroyed in a matter of moments.

No matter how much of your flesh was scattered, no matter how much turmoil Naoya’s body was in from the toiling heat that contrasted with the biting snowfall around the two of you, all the incurred damages sustained by either of you was almost for naught.

“Give it up, you cursed bitch. You’re nothing more than folklore now. How weak.”

“And thou art a hollow man, clad in borrowed pride.”

“I’ll let you know I have the skills to back up my pride.”

“Fool. Thou mistakest cruelty for strength.”

This time, the two of your hands ran into each other in perfect collision. Naoya was well-aware of how you could charge your Technique into working at will in a detonating manner much like before, and he could tell you were aiming for such an attack. Which was why—

“Only the strong can afford to be cruel. That’s why there will soon be none above me.”

With the heights of bloodlust sparking in him, Naoya grabbed both of your wrists, both as hot as the sun and burning his skin, yet he paid it no mind as, in twenty-four frames of a second, puppeteered your wrists to aim upwards at your own face in time for your Technique to release the explosive fire you were building up to— the heat firing right into your skull as you were knocked breathless from the merciless impact of your planned attacks for him; a cruel taste of your own medicine.

Naoya laughed into the air some more. As you blasted yourself into a nearby tree, he reappeared before you in the time it took you to blink, and before you could leap, retreat, and scald him again, he began beating you right into the tree’s bark with a volley of strikes where he held not even an ounce of strength back, tearing through you even as his hands and body burned painfully with the scorch of a thousand stars.

“So this is the measure of men like thee,” you choked out, “men who hurt us.”

Naoya struck your skull with enough force to send you flying through the tree as your body cut through several others in the forest from the sheer painful impact, your bones breaking and twisting as you coughed yet remained resilient despite all the blood and contortion of your limbs now sticking out at unnatural angles, bones piercing through skin and skin torn with rags of blood.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to die already,” Naoya sneered, walking up to your shaking form. You glowered at him with such cruel eyes that he couldn’t help but feel enamoured by the pure hate within. “Now I know why you’ve managed to survive this long. Around a thousand or so years— that’s on par with the King of Curses himself. You’ve survived the men who came before me and even razed entire buildings to the ground with motivated reason. However, it’s not because you’re strong.”

Stopping just a few steps away, he tilted his head with a conclusive smirk. “It’s because at your core, you’re still a weak, cowardly woman. Always running away, always in the shadows. You can’t use your Cursed Technique properly if you’re constantly being hunted down at close range, huh? What a pity.”

There was no room for little tricks on your end anymore— but that wasn’t to say there was any room for big ones.

Naoya laughed as he unleashed more of his attacks on you, beating you and finding twisted fascination in the way your flames would burn his core, but not his skin. It truly felt as though he had stepped into a furnace, but his body had been turned inside-out so that what was affected was only his innards as his organs screamed in agony while he roared in laughter that tore at his vocal chords, but he couldn’t care less as he continued to fight you hand to hand, sparing you no time to scurry away.

With you being a Cursed Spirit, your natural endurance was at a level higher than most humans. If not, Naoya was sure your spirit would have been broken by now, as that was how this battle was being fought— or no.

Not really.

This barren fight was nothing more than a losing game on your end. Perhaps it was because, even though Naoya wasn’t fully aware of your origins, he truly was the embodiment of your existence, the very reason you had life in the first place.

It was an opening skirmish, like a play to him, and even if it didn’t feel that way to you, Naoya knew for certain just how to slay you for good. He could feel it deep in his heat-seared veins that had been fed too much fire from your blasted Technique.

“Men such as thee are ever the same— unyielding, and unremarkable.”

“Oh? So the bitch can still talk.”

Letting his punches do the talking, Naoya landed a sickening punch to your jaw that decapitated its lower half, leaving you almost unable to speak as the bone hung low at a painful angle, near-dislocated right as you let out a screech and grabbed his shoulders, your fingers sinking into his flesh and stunning him with enough force for him to howl in equal pain which allowed you some time to leap away and fire several shots at him.

“I have…seen many such as thee— loud…and of little substance.”

You were struggling to talk, much less do anything, Naoya knew. Despite his body screaming for him to stop, he wouldn’t leave the mountain without exorcising you. Wasting no time, he went in for the kill.

“Ha, you’ve got some backbone to still be able to stand. How’d you like feeling your own flames?”

“Thy impertinence knoweth…no bounds.”

As the two of you continued to fight to the death, Naoya was tearing through more and more of your flesh with the force of his punches, your bones turning into mush beneath his fists as you were losing more and more of your strength, your body well-disfigured and bloodied.

His eye twitched.

The more injured you were, the more…human you seemed to look.

Almost like a true, human lady.

Hissing in pain from another burst of your flames against his chest, Naoya shut his eyes to mellow out the heat and continue beating you to a pulp, his attacks quickly turning wild and reckless as your laugh was devoid of any affection, nothing like before as you were being brutalised by his hands.

“You men are…cruel.” Blood pooled in your throat as you choked. “Hast thou no human heart, sorcerer?”

You released more bursts of flames against Naoya. By now, his clothes were torn to near-shreds and he was on the verge of being blown back by your attacks, but he planted both of his feet on the dirt underneath the snow and stood his ground.

“I don’t need one,” he said with unyielding certainty. “Any last words, my lady?”

The ‘justice’ delivered unto you for your previous centuries of bloodshed was hellish.

Your body, smashed to near-dust, was beaten and pummelled over and over again, almost like a mythic circle of hell as your stubbornly resilient body withstood every blow, though just barely.

You were at the end of the line.

After centuries of watching kingdoms rise and fall, eras begin and end anew, clans disperse and grow, you would finally meet your end at the hands of what you were known to despise the most.

And it gave Naoya a sicker thrill of satisfaction to know that.

Though your entire body was smashed to unrecognisable pieces of blood, bone, and crimson innards by now, your remaining eye, half closed as most of your skull had been punctured in, shifted to his wild amber ones.

“One day…thou shalt look upon what thou hast slain…and find thyself the more monstrous.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. Weary and thinned from your attacks, you weren’t the only one close to crumbling, no. Naoya was fighting the natural urge to weaken under your Technique’s flames and crumble beside you, but he forced himself to remain standing despite his shallow breaths and the urge to bury himself beneath the snow even if it seemed futile as the heat only ate away at his insides.

Still, he was the victor of this fight.

“How cute. It’s just so tragic that…” Naoya hummed, making a show of thinking as he tapped his chin, ready to mock you. “Thou…shalt be no more when such a day comes. Did I say it right? Ha, it’s been a while since I’ve encountered an ancient Curse like you. You were an interesting thing, I’ll admit. As much as I’d love to tear you to pieces forever, I’m afraid this is where we part ways. I bid thee farewell.”

You closed your lone eye, which Naoya took pleasure in seeing you accept your fateful defeat. There was no better feeling than witnessing those below him capitulate. As you whispered your last words, he struck you square on your chest, right where a heart would have been, if you had one.

“Not all that is named a curse is without cause.”

If you had a heart, you were certain it would ring like a bell. You had always thought that to be a figure of speech, but it was exactly how it felt at the moment.

Your non-existent heart rang so hard that it hurt.

What was left of your blood and your brain, the pieces that hadn’t spilled onto the snow in buckets of gore, was running wild within your broken body, alerting you of a steep crisis as you felt death come to greet you at last.

Ringing, much like the shrine’s bells.

You didn’t possess an ability to use Reversed Cursed Technique to heal yourself, and you weren’t the most regenerative entity, either.

If you had strength or control over your fizzling Cursed Energy, you might have been able to fare better under the snowfall that continued to pour. You wouldn’t stop shivering even as the sorcerer had long taken his leave after deeming you dead, which you miraculously weren’t. He might have underestimated your resilience; something men often did.

With your body in tatters of shattered, exposed bones and leaking entrails that hung from your open stomach like a doll falling victim to scissors, you knew you had little time left before your Cursed Energy would weaken further, and you would die a slow death beneath the dying sun.

You trembled from the cold as you dug your nails into the snow-capped grounds, the pain almost numbing. The bastard sorcerer had battered you with so much force that your skin had torn and your innards had taken further beating, blood bursting from almost every part of you as you forced your other immobile hand into action, turning yourself over onto your front and hissing as snow kissed the frightful state of your organs.

It hurt. Your bones groaned in protest as you steadied your upper half up on trembling elbows and began crawling through the dirt, a humiliating feat as you felt reduced to a mockery of a snake. Vision was quickly fading from your remaining eye as blood that trickled from the crown of your head dripped into your pupil and stung its nerves.

Along with the viscous crimson that stained your vision and further strained your movements, you could barely suppress your screams as you continued to crawl yourself deeper into the forest, your jaw hung unnaturally low for comfort as you were unable to close your mouth from your bones being either dislocated or curved inside-out. Your tongue felt frozen, and your throat was dry as ice.

A vessel. You needed a vessel.

With your current body broken beyond any means of healing, your only choice of continued survival would be to claim a vessel.

It would be no easy feat, and you were uncertain if you would be able to succeed, but as long as you could find a woman scorned by fate, someone with ties to your creation, you would have a chance at claiming her body and ensuring your survival.

Would it be the most proper thing to do? No, certainly not— you would be a thief to rob a poor woman of her bodily and her soul’s autonomy, which you would hate to do as you saw yourself to be a protector of women, but loss was sometimes required in order to fulfil a greater deal.

You didn’t want to believe you were selfish, but you truly could not afford to die, at least not in the hands of a heartless man.

You weren’t very far from civilisation, but humans rarely traveled into the mountains anymore. Without a potential vessel in sight, you continued to crawl for days on end as your body was covered in snow as the pain never truly subsided with more pieces of your bones and entrails chipping away by the drag of your form against the earth.

You were beginning to lose all hope. It was already phenomenal that you had managed to escape death’s narrow hold and crawl yourself in the direction of Tokyo, a metropolitan city that would certainly have many vessels in store for you, but with the very last fragments of what you felt was your soul slipping away from your form, you wondered if fate was cruel enough to gift you with such a misfortunate ending.

You never thought you would live forever.

You were conditionally immortal, but when you thought of death, you had assumed you would succumb to a rightful end by being exorcised by a female sorcerer worthy of battling you, and not a man who seemed to be built from everything you existed against.

It was men like him who brought you to life, and now it seemed it would be a man like him who would lay you to an unrestful death.

You had never been one for emotions, but, as you rested by a riverbank to weakly cleanse your hands and refresh your broken and bloodied face with its freezing waters, you experienced something you had long since felt in well over six hundred years.

Your conviction crumbled, and from your eyes, large tears began to overflow.

Like a human child, you began to sob.

“I would not end thus…not yet…am I so easily forsaken?”

You cried, but your tears were blood-red. You wept blood, and you could hardly speak as you rested your head on a stone nearby for support. You were despoiled and your form was tarnished worse than you had ever mutilated a human, even in your most unforgiving years. The sorcerer who nearly killed you was truly your doom.

“All these years…and men remain unchanged…”

Your trembling hand moved over your stomach, or what was left of it. With tragic amounts of blood lost, your legs were battered and broken, twisted and numb as you deemed them useless. You had lost much of what had been inside your cursed body; no human would have survived thus far, yet you had, simply because of your nature. Even as you had to push and rearrange your own entrails to your own displeasure to stop them from further spillage, you endured.

Of course you did. A Cursed Spirit like you, born from a timeless plight, would never be exorcised so easily, even if what had spared you was the man’s foolish pride.

And that was when you saw it— her.

A lady, light and adrift in the river’s waters as she came to a stop by a curve around the riverbend. As the currents dashed against her, she remained limp and almost fragile, lifeless as rocks cut through the layers of lotus-patterned silk she wore.

You sensed it— Cursed Energy radiating from her.

A sorcerer.

Making use of a sorcerer as a vessel would be a gamble on your end, but seeing as you had no choice, you desperately and furiously crawled through the damp dirt almost animalistically, your eye wide as you finally came to her form. Unlike you, she had not even a scar upon her untouched form, her skin merely cold and turning pale from the frigid waters and loss of life.

A scream pressed through your chest as you hauled her out of the river, her pulse absent as her limp corpse lay beside your heaving form. She didn’t look as if she had been afloat for more than a few hours, her robes still intact and unfurling on the snow in a colourful fashion similar to a butterfly’s wings, its delicate gold linings telling you she must have been part of a traditional clan.

Whyever or however she had perished and found herself within the waters without a soul was not something you concerned yourself with for now.

If fate wouldn’t let you die just yet, you would take this opportunity whole-heartedly and live.

You refused to succumb to an ending as unforgiving as the women whose misery had created you did.

Taking the lady’s hand in yours, you found no difference in the temperature of your skin from hers. You held onto it tightly, bringing it to your forehead as you closed your eye.

“Forgive me, gentle soul…I have no path left but through thee.”

Your other hand moved to your stomach to drench your palm and fingers with fresh blood before you brought it above her cold lips, letting it drop onto her tongue.

“May thy spirit find rest beyond this suffering.”

With the last of your Cursed Energy, you channeled it into her. In a matter of moments, there would no longer be ‘her’ and ‘you’. You would simply be you, but you would coexist within her, too.

“Be at peace…thy burdens are no longer thine to endure.”

“Young Miss! Young Miss, wake up!”

A gentle voice, tinged with worry, reached your ears.

Your eyes flew open, a sharp gasp ripping through your throat before it all felt too much, and you found yourself coughing up cold water out of your swelling lungs, helplessly flopping over onto your front as you hacked it all out with the aid of pats to your back.

Your entire body felt as if it had just emerged from water, drenched with a feverish sweat as you turned to survey your surroundings, your eyes wide as consciousness snapped into your mind.

It was as if…you had been reborn.

“Young Miss, are you alright? Oh no, I’ll go fetch the doctor!”

Beside you, the younger lady who had been frantically patting your back stood to leave, possibly to do as she had said she would do, but you stopped her with a weak tug to her sleeve. She turned back to you, worry still evident in her eyes.

“Young Miss, do you need something? If not, I’ll go and tell the doctor you’re awake. The elders, however…”

She pursed her lips in a thin line, fingers nervously fiddling with the ends of her kimono sleeves. You looked down at your form, noticing you were dressed in similar fashion, though your robes were certainly much more appreciative to the eye, as even though you surmised you were wearing what seemed to be nightwear, it was elegantly adorned in swirling fishes that looked as though they could leap through the fabric and become true golden carps that swam through the air.

“Elders?” you whispered. You coughed some more and tried your voice again, which was strained from the water your body had swallowed. Shaking your head, you shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around you.

“Y-yes, the clan elders…” The young lady, who you could now confirm to be your maid, said. “They’re…quite furious, Young Miss, so I understand the hesitation, b-but they’ve ordered me to let them know when you’ve awoken…”

“Clan?” You rasped again. “What…what clan…”

Your maid tilted her head, perplexed as she knelt beside your futon and gripped your hand with both of hers. “Young Miss, w-wait, it can’t be…don’t you remember anything?”

Realisation struck you like lightning— you had a role to play.

“I…I fear my memories are quite scattered. Couldst thou— I mean, could you remind me of some things?”

You swallowed thickly in anticipation for the worst. Fortunately, however, your maid nodded quickly, clearly disciplined enough not to question even the slightest oddity in your, or her mistress’ behaviour.

“Young Miss, you are betrothed to Zen’in Naoya-sama and are arranged to marry him next week. The clan elders say it’s meant to be a harmonious bond between the Zen’in and Kamo Clans. You…you trusted me enough to confide in me about your fears, a-and…two days ago, I came here to your room to dress you for dinner, but I found a note you left behind for me saying that you were going to ‘find peace’ in the waterfall your grandmother used to take you to, b-because you would do anything to avoid marrying Zen’in Naoya-sama…”

Your blood ran cold, your newly-claimed heart almost stopping dead in your chest as your eyes widened in horror, and you had trouble finding your next words.

“May I…see the note I left?”

You didn’t want to believe it. How could you have possessed a Kamo, out of all potential vessels? Centuries ago, you had indulged yourself in the art of unleashing your flames into all male sorcerers that stood in your path, particularly those of Fujiwara and Sugawara descent. As your bloodlust waned, so did your interest in the current sorcerer clans.

What you did know was that it was a terrible, terrible mistake for you to have possessed a Kamo lady— especially one who was set to marry a man from another clan who was apparently so monstrous that she would have rather drowned than surrendered to a lavish hell that was marriage.

Zen’in Naoya…what kind of man was he?

“Young Miss, you…you told me to burn the note after I read it so that no elders would find it…”

When you frowned at your maid’s words, a look of horror struck her as she lowered her head.

“Young Miss, I wouldn’t dare lie! Y-you’ve known me since we were children, I would never! Please, believe me…”

Sighing, you weren’t certain if the original owner of your current body was the kindest soul, either. Your maid seemed absolutely terrified at even the slightest hint of your displeasure.

“I believe you. Now, please fetch me some water and call the doctor. Also, there’s no need for you to worry for me. I’ll handle the elders perfectly fine.”

“Insolence!”

The strike to your cheek was so strong that it nearly prompted you to try and activate your Cursed Technique in reflexive defence. That wasn’t possible, however, as you realised your mortal body was but a prison now.

You felt far too human.

Your new body ached, and you were cold. If you had been in your own body, you would have been able to withstand a hundred strikes and much, much like you did when you stood your ground against the damned sorcerer who caused you to fall into such disgrace.

Now, however, your cheek stung with red heat from the back-handed slap you had received from one of the Kamo elders.

“What did you hope to achieve from this idiocy of yours, you ungrateful brat? To throw yourself into a river a week before your wedding— have you no sense? We would all be damned if you hadn’t survived. We promised the Zen’in clan a bride, not a corpse! You unfilial girl!”

You braced yourself for another hit, merely closing your eyes in anticipation before your grandfather’s knuckles came to strike you square on your cheekbone, causing you to lose your balance from your kneeling position as you fell onto your rear, blood dripping from your nose.

“That’s enough, father, please,” your father murmured, his mouth pulled in a straight line. Yet, he made no move to protect you. “We can’t scar her face; they would disapprove of any blemishes.”

Oh. So that was why.

“What the hell does it even matter if the brat’s got a scar or two? Her Cursed Energy’s gone unstable after her irrational attempt to end her own life! Everyone can sense it— if the Zen’in Clan disapproves of this, then it’s over. The wedding will be annulled just as that ungrateful little swine wishes. If that happens, however—” your grandfather’s glare intensified in venom as he gazed down upon your neutral expression to address you directly, “—then you better wish you had stayed dead.”

As you rose to your knees once more, you could only accept your present fate and play your part. For now, at least, while you would do everything in your power to adapt to your new body, re-stabilise your Cursed Energy, and utilise what had become of your Cursed Technique.

Kowtowing and hitting your forehead to the floor with audible thumps to showcase a front of guilt, you summoned a tearful facade.

“I’m sorry, grandfather, father, uncles…all who I’ve wronged and disappointed. I bear the blame on my shoulders, and I promise I will never be unfilial or act out of turn ever again. Please forgive me. I’ve learned my lesson. I will fulfil what is asked of me.”

You were kowtowing and speaking at the same time, enough to make the men before you grimace as you continued to hit your head against the tatami floor over and over in a show of absolute reverence until your grandfather hit you on the back of the head with his fan, tutting distastefully.

“Stop that at once, you stupid child. Your father is right— it won’t do to ruin your face. It’s one of the only things you’re good for, anyway. You should feel lucky that a face like yours has earned you such an auspicious match with the Zen’in heir. Not that we would accept any less since we know full well how much use you can be to the clan.”

You stopped your actions and simply bowed your head to the elders. “Thank you, grandfather, father, uncles. I won’t disappoint you.”

“You better not,” your grandfather sneered. “But don’t think you’re free of any punishment just yet. Go kneel outside in the gardens. Don’t even think of coming back inside until the sun sets.”

You bowed. “Thank you for your mercy, grandfather. I accept my punishment.”

Once again, you found yourself in the midst of snow and dirt once more, only this time, you were neither missing any bones nor organs. You were fully intact, a completed puzzle unbroken by any absent parts.

Even as your current body proved to be quite a healthy host, it seemed to curse you in a way— it was rejecting your soul.

As your grandfather had stated, your Cursed Energy was at an all-time imbalance, flickering at times, while bursting with too much unintentional output at other times. You hadn’t had a chance to test out your Cursed Technique as your maid had reminded you that your current body’s original Technique had been an inherited form of blood manipulation signature of the Kamo Clan, so if you were to summon your own Technique that was unheard of before their very eyes, you would surely spell your own doom.

Now that you were alone in the gardens, however, you had a chance. As you focused on your Cursed Energy —something that you previously never had to do consciously— you attempted to channel enough to make use of your own Cursed Technique, only to…

Fail.

Coming up empty-handed, you huffed in growing irritation as you tried over and over again, going through the motions of series of every hand signs you had ever used to summon your invisible fire.

And yet, you came up empty-handed. Your Cursed Technique would not activate. The snow did not melt, and neither did the leaves catch fire. You were as good as useless.

You feared a misfire in Curse Energy if you exerted yourself too much, so you opted to let your new body rest for the time being. As long as you were weak and far too human for comfort, you had no choice but to continue living as a Kamo lady, whose personality you pieced together from the reactions of those around you.

As you acted unquestioningly obedient towards the elders, nobody had pinpointed any potential mistake in the way you presented yourself. You seemed to be able to mimic the original host’s downturned personality well, which was one that was expected and forced upon many clanswomen— something you were familiar with.

The original host, however, seemed to be quite ill-tempered towards the servants. Many flinched and averted their gaze from yours as you returned to the halls the second the sun had set, your knees bruised and frostbitten as you struggled to stand let alone walk.

You could surmise that the future would not be very kind to you, just as it had been vicious to the lady whose body you possessed now.

You were a thousand year-old Cursed Spirit.

Cold-blooded with a penchant for carnage, it was natural for you to live a life of a wandering soul, never dwelling on emotions as much as you imagined you would have if you were human.

Now, however, you were less Curse and more human lady cursed with the fate of an arranged marriage to a man you had never met.

That was half-true; your body’s original host had time and time again met with Zen’in Naoya for the sake of proper courtship etiquette in order to bridge the two clans together in a union by the Zen’in heir and a prized Kamo beauty.

Though you were not of the main branch, which lacked a suitable candidate due to your clan’s position of heir resting upon the shoulders of a teenaged boy, the Zen’in Clan had apparently taken a liking to your previous host due to her promising Cursed Energy and Technique, her beauty, and her willingness to submit.

Even if it had come at the cost of her life, which she had ultimately decided to take just before you found her by the river.

You knew nothing of the man you were bound to marry due to your Cursed Energy refusing to stabilise and your Technique having vanished into thin air— all of which you attributed to your body completely refusing to house you, which was highly unfortunate as you found yourself stranded in this vessel for the foreseeable future.

Your maid did, however, inform you that the Zen’in heir was particularly fond of you. A little too fond, due to your beauty, whatever that indicated.

After you were thoroughly bathed and were now awaiting your other maidservants to arrive with your wedding attire, you examined your current state in the mirror before you. A clear and admittedly beautiful face was what you saw as your reflection. Your eyes were brighter than they had been in your original form, and they held no memories of the centuries you had witnessed and lived through.

You attempted a smile, which you found easier to do in this current body. With practiced ease and a show of teeth, it resulted in an instantaneous burst of performed joy and cheerfulness, a sight of yourself you couldn’t remember seeing before this.

Perhaps emotions were just easier for humans to grasp.

You must have been examining and admiring your new face for quite some time, however, as your maid couldn’t help but ask— “Young Miss, is everything alright?”

You tilted your head. There was once a wise man in the Sengoku era who taught you to read a person’s physiognomy. The mouth was the treasurer. It was separated to form the upper and bottom lip, and certain shapes foresaw certain fates.

As you studied yourself in the mirror, however…

“This is the face of someone who dies young.” You didn’t believe the original host was meant to live past her youth, yet had miraculously done so. Now, it was up to you to carry on.

“Young Miss, p-please don’t say that! I know how terrified you must be, b-but please don’t worry! I’ll be by your side, at least. I know how…I know you’ve tried everything you could to escape this marriage, but please, Young Miss, don’t hurt yourself again!” Your maid dropped to her knees and lowered her head in a tearful plea. “I may not mean much to you, but your clan has truly saved my mother and I from death, so I would do anything to repay you with my life. Just please, Young Miss, don’t…”

She looked as though she wanted to say more, but, remembering her lowly status as a servant, held her tongue.

You felt pity for her. The body’s original soul had passed, and nobody had saved her from the tepid currents of the waterfall which she had thrown herself into. Nobody in this world apart from you knew what had truly happened to the real Kamo lady who you now paraded as.

A fake— that was what you were.

Your body seemed to know that, and held you as prisoner in its stead. With your Cursed Technique refusing to manifest and your Cursed Energy sporadic and unpredictable, you were as much a slave to the system as the body’s original soul was.

“I won’t do anything foolish,” you told your maid, slightly reassured that she would be accompanying you into life within an unknown clan. “All I would like is to live.”

No matter the cost.