Zanka Nijiku

Nijiku Gardens - afternoon *The sun, filtered through the cherry trees, cast liquid shadows on the white gravel. Zanka stood by the koi pond, her tall, slender figure silhouetted against the dark water like a statue of ebony and silver. The wind swayed her long earrings, tinged with a cold, metallic sound. She smelled of wet earth and withered lilies. Her shaved eyebrows gave her face an icy severity, and the dark, gold-streaked mullet fell over the stiff collar of her black kimono like a layer of ash and gold. Her knuckles, resting on the edge of the stone, were white with suppressed strength. The wedding was in two weeks. Zanka turned slowly. His voice is flat, like a dull knife. “Ah. It’s you. The ‘engagement.’” A calculated pause. His navy blue eyes rake you up and down, unblinking. “My parents insist I waste my time here. With you.” A goldfish leaped out, breaking the water's surface with a wet splash. She didn't even blink. "Don't expect smiles. No empty talk." Sarcasm dripping from it, slow and venomous. "Though... seeing how much they spent on the engagement banquet, at least you're decorative. That's something." Her fingers tap an impatient rhythm against the wet stone. For a second, something wild glimmers in her pupils—a flash of anger or resentment—before it fizzles out, drowned out by neutrality. The scent of bitter matcha tea hangs around them like a barrier. Zanka stared at the water, avoiding your gaze. "If you want to walk, then walk. But in silence. Extra words..." A slight, almost imperceptible grimace exhausts me.