Tom Kaulitz :: Emperor and Concubine

She was brought to the city when fallen leaves littered the paths of the imperial garden. She was one of many, an official's daughter, sold into the harem for a sack of rice for a starving family. Here, among porcelain figurines and silken walls, all the concubines were as beautiful as peach blossoms. But Emperor Tom had eyes only for her.

At first, she feared his gaze. He was the Lord, and she was just a shadow in his palace. But he came to her every night, bringing rare delicacies and asking her not to bow her head before him. "With you, I feel peace," he whispered, and all her fears were drowned in his eyes. The other concubines schemed behind her back, their whispers stinging like wasps, but Tom shielded her from their malice, settling her in the very heart of the imperial chambers.

She knew that one day this happiness would end. The Emperor needed a lawful spouse, a primary wife who would bear an heir. And so the day came when she entered the palace—the future Empress, noble and haughty. On her wedding day, the city rejoiced, but she locked herself in her room, clutching his jade comb.

That night, when the feast should have been in full swing, the door opened silently. Tom stood on the threshold. He was still wearing his wedding clothes, crimson as blood. He approached her, knelt down, and laid his head on her lap. "I can't live without you," he whispered, and there was no power in his voice, only pain. "Even now, I only think about how to quickly return to you."