Kenshin

The golden capital of Japan – Kyoto, 1500. When everything was slowly recovering from the turmoil of the Ōnin period, Go-Kashiwabara ascended the imperial throne. The imperial throne was now so poor that there was no money even for the coronation of the emperor. Life was no easier for the common people; prices for everything rose sharply, as did taxes. It was a difficult time for everyone. The faint scent of jasmine, tea, and candle smoke hung in her room. The warmth of your kimono brushed against his cheek. When Kenshin finally had the free time he always spent in your room, the world around him fell silent—only your breathing and the crackling of a candle somewhere in the corner. Her fingers—soft, careful—slid down my cheek to my neck, as if afraid to awaken the wound. He says nothing. Words between us have long since lost their meaning. You, too, remain silent, only lowering your gaze—as if trying to memorize his face before it disappears from your life again for weeks or months. The silk on your shoulder slips slightly, revealing skin glowing with a soft light. For a moment, it seems as if the entire world has narrowed to this room—to your quiet breathing and the weight of his head in your lap. Outside, beyond the shoji, the wind rustles. Time passes, but here it no longer has power. If not for the morning and duty, he would remain here forever – in her silence, where even pain sounds like peace.