His kiss tasted bitter. His tongue was an explorer, moving around trying to claim hers. His hands were no better as they cupped her breasts from underneath her dress, likely stretching the fabric.

      "I could kiss you forever," Sakimono Haji's voice was clouded with lust as his lips explored her neck. He rested on top of her, holding her down so she couldn't move without ripping her kimono. He always did like displays of dominance. Likely, if he went any farther she would awaken to red bruises on her skin.

      He was so obsessed with her lips that he didn't hear the banging and slamming of feet against the wooden floor as the shoji arose with the shadows of silhouettes from outside.

      "Master Sakimono," Anomie whispered, attempting to get his attention but he was too far gone in her body to care for the noise. Anomie was not one for being ignored so she nipped his ear, gaining his attention and being as affectionate as she could. "We have company."

      He recoiled from her as if she were made of poison, but she knew that a man as distinguished as he was couldn't be seen with a whore. Even one as talented as Anomie. His wife, his children, and his status were on the line every time he bedded her.

      Anomie was relatively calm when she tied her sash and covered her chest. Luckily, he never took much interest in her hair and she was careful so it was still in its intricate clips. She walked towards the tea that still sat on the wooden table and poured herself a cup as samurai knocked open her shoji door.

      "Sakimono Haji," the name rolled off one of the samurai tongues with such distaste that it nearly ruined Anomie's tea. Haji still attempted to make himself as descent as he could when they addressed him. "You are under arrest for crimes against the country."

      "Crimes?" Haji's incredulous voice was riddled with beautiful confusion, adding a level onto Anomie's mood. Mostly because he paid in advance and now she didn't have to feel his breath against her neck or the length of him inside her, filling her with something she could do without. "What crimes?"

      "Trading country secrets and espionage to the fourth degree," the samurai commented, and in that moment Haji attempted to run out the back door, leading to the gardens, but the moment he got to the door and opened it, he was met with the swords of more men, clad in armor from the village of Kemuri.

      Anomie sat down, drinking tea and thinking about the gossip she would share with the others.

      "A man of your status has no regard for his own country," the first samurai commented with a harsh frown. Likely he was planning his excuses, his defenses, his lies.

      "I've been framed. No one is more dedicated than I," he commented, and Anomie nearly laughed. Obviously the blood still hadn't returned from his dick if he believed such an excuse would work. You defend yourself and then run when it doesn't work. Innocent men don't run.

      "Fraternizing with whores. How low can you sink, Sakimono Haji," the samurai said, and Anomie giggled into her tea.

      "You'll find that I'm mostly doing the sinking," Anomie's words were swift. "I will be sure to inform Ohashi that you stopped by, master Yukimura."

      The other iron clad men glanced towards Yukimura in judgement, but Anomie suspected they were just jealous that they couldn't afford to touch, and were trapped with only being able to yearn. Yukimura, one of Ohashi's regular customers, gave her a scathing scowl that assured her that she would come to regret her brash words and loose lips. The hard look in his boring brown eyes left Anomie with a foul pit in her stomach as she brought her cup up to her lips once more. The sweet taste of lavender trickled against her tongue as she swallowed down her tea, ignoring the soldiers of Kemuri who barged into her room.

      "I am innocent," Sakimono assured the men, holding out for a bit of honor and dignity that he had already begun to lose when Yukimura ordered two of the men to grab him by his arms. Haji had always been a strong warrior, and when Anomie noticed him ready to fight back, she sighed, putting down her cup and standing with a bowed head.

      "Master Sakimono," her sweet voice broke him from the violence that swarmed into his head. "Surely fighting back is not a way to win your case. Please don't make me see violence."

      He raised his brow, but stood down nonetheless at the sight Anomie's soft features scrunched up in fear and worry for him. His quick decision to not fight back saved him his dignity at the inevitable loss, and saved her the mess of blood, staining her floor. Sakimono glanced towards the soldiers with a subdued, yet oddly proud gaze. "You will all live just long enough to regret this."

      At Haji's bold statement, Yukimura raised is hand, signaling the other men to rush forward and attack. One of the soldiers taught Haji another method of fisting as he shoved his hand right into the man's gut, forcing Haji to dip forward in pain. Anomie glanced away, shielding her eyes from the horrible sight, more for show rather than what she really felt.

      "If you have any information worth sharing, state your piece now," Yukimura told her, and Anomie's expression turned horrified.

      "I know nothing," she told him, lowering her head as the beads in her hair made jingling sounds as her eyes met the ground.

      Yukimura didn't look fully convinced, but ordered his men away nonetheless. Anomie watched them all go, her eyes connecting with Sakimono's as he left the room. She gave him a look of sympathy and longing, one she had perfected for moments in need. However, the moment he escaped her view she felt a rush of bitterness cloud her senses until she could practically feel it tickling her skin.

      She felt the glass in her hand shatter, and from her brittle skin came a pool of blood that she watched drip down to the ground. Drop by drop, the blood spread onto the hardwood floor, crying the tears she never could. She wasn't certain how long she just stared at it, almost like she forgot she was capable of bleeding. Finally, with a steady hand, she wrapped a piece of linean cloth around her palm and watched the white soak up the red. It was nearly eerie, yet beautiful.

      Anomie didn't get many moments of silence before a low tapping echoed against the shojī doors. She squared her shoulders, hiding her hand into her sleeve before slipping down to kneel next to the table, covering the broken shards of glass with her bulky robes. The last thing she needed was a mere cup to be the reason the master of the house deducts another forty percent from her pay. Fifteen percent for the damages, and the rest for his pain and suffering.

      Ohashi came into the room, her head held high enough so Anomie was forced to look up. However, she dared not stand, lest her mess be seen. "Quite the ruckus."

      "Indeed. But I still got paid," Anomie informed her, her lips in a full pout as her eyes narrowed upon the messy sheets. Ohashi sat across from her, her palm resting against her chin as her elbow sat on the table. Anomie noticed the intricate silk of her kimono and the bits of exposed skin around her neck. Soon enough, Ohashi would be five and twenty years and that revealing style of clothing would cease to be appropriate.

      Much like a fruit, men would no longer want a woman once they start to mold and rot.

      "Him being confined should make you happy," Ohashi said, and Anomie slightly smiled, her lips contrasting the battle that raged in her chest like a bolt of lightning, fighting her every waking moment. "Like clockwork he would visit every fortnight. I have never seen a whore have to endure her slaver's touch as much as you have."

      "I grew to like his touch," Anomie told her, her eyes not displaying a reason for Ohashi to doubt her. Ohashi slightly smirked, her brow arching before she grabbed one of the cups and poured herself a cup of lavender brewed tea.

      "Did you now? I always found it rather bland," Ohashi replied, and Anomie's lips curled up, rather devious and it went well with her mischievous and growing mood.

      "I enjoy teaching as I go," Anomie used her non-injured hand to grab the glass that Ohashi had poured just before she could take a drink. Anomie took a slow sip, feeling the broken skin of her injured palm throb. "That's why my regulars never stray. I make them better."

      The insult was clear and the tension turned palpable in every painful second. The reminder that many of Ohashi's regulars had went over to Anomie when Ohashi's age became the talk of the brothel. Perhaps it had been happening before that. Anomie anticipated Ohashi's temper, but instead she got the cold sweep of the woman's long lashes. At the sight of it, Anomie took another sip of her tea. It tasted rich in flavor, and normally she only got to dine so lavishly as a show for whatever high end customer she happened to bed for the night.

      Ohashi, on contrast, probably hadn't a sip of port for a couple weeks. All her clients lately were those that scrambled up all their coin for a single night, seeing no difference from imported wine and the cheap piss from a barrel.

      Taking away the tea before she could drink it was a power move towards the woman that once made her feel so weak. Anomie could dine on that indignant expression any day of the week.

      "What does age matter in this war?" Ohashi let go of her temper, and her fingers clasped each other as she examined Anomie's face over and over again. "You know that they will be attacking Mailin next."

      "What does it matter?" Anomie never did have any love for the capital, and it wasn't as if Mailin ever did anything for her except raise taxes and hire slavers.

      "It is our country," Ohashi always was surprisingly noble outside of her own self-absorbed viewpoint. Anomie had no such weakness and at the end of the day, she just wanted power.

      "We don't have a country," Anomie reminded her, contemplating her hand getting infected if the conversation dragged on any longer. "We are slaves. Our country and solace is ourselves. You taught me that, Ohashi."

      The older woman raised her brow, her expression disappearing before she leaned in closer. The silk of her kimono dragged across the table as she met the black haired woman's eye. "Don't you ever want to be more than that?"

      Anomie didn't answer and she merely wet her lips and looked to the side. Her eyes were unreadable, but Ohashi always did have trouble reading that child since the night that rōnin fucked her for a week straight. It was unfortunate that he took such a liking to her so soon in her training. There was no separation and it was just those two, alone in the room every night.

      Ever since then that girl, Hana, was dead.