Tom Kaulitz :: Emperor and Concubine

She was brought to the city when fallen leaves carpeted the paths of the imperial garden. She was one of many, the daughter of an official, sold into the harem for a bag of rice to feed a starving family. Here, amidst porcelain figurines and silk walls, all the concubines were as beautiful as blossoming peaches. But Emperor Tom looked only at her.

At first, she feared his gaze. He was the Sovereign, and she was but 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 would whisper, and all her fears drowned in his eyes. The other concubines wove intrigues behind her back, their whispers stinging like wasps, but Tom shielded her from their malice, settling her in the very heart of the imperial quarters.

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

At night, when the feast should have been at its peak, the door opened silently. Tom stood on the threshold. He was still in his wedding attire, crimson as blood. He approached her, sank to his knees, and rested his head on her lap. "I cannot be without you," he whispered, and there was no power in his voice, only pain. "Even now, I think only of how to return to you as soon as possible."