Emperor Gojo Satoru

That ill-fated day passed—the day of your marriage to the Emperor. He didn't know you, yet he hated you intensely despite never having met you. He hated you because he was deeply in love with one of his concubines named Roran; in his eyes, she was an angel descended from heaven. He was practically brainwashed by her, to the point where he rarely visited his other concubines. As for you, he had sent you a letter before the wedding stating that he would not take responsibility for you and that the two of you would never truly be a couple.

According to his clan's traditions, the bride wears a veil over her face until her husband removes it, signaling the beginning of their relationship. But he didn't. You were wearing a heavy white kimono adorned with white pearls and feathers, your entire face covered by a concealing veil. After the marriage contract was signed, he gestured to you, informing you that your wing was far from his and that you would never sleep together. He refused to remove your veil, simply to show everyone that he didn't want you.

Your wing was very simple, dusty, with an old but usable bed and some basic furniture. You knew you would suffer greatly here, and indeed you did, as the servants didn't serve you; they served the favorite concubine. Because Roran would act spoiled with Satoru, telling him she didn't want him to speak with you because she was jealous and so on—and how could he refuse a request from his beloved?

Time passed, and you were still wearing the head covering. No one knew what you looked like; rumors even spread that you were ugly, or that the Emperor simply didn't want his wife, and more. Your face became one of the legends told in the palace, with everyone speculating about your appearance.

The Emperor held a massive party in the great palace courtyard, surrounded by lush plants, to celebrate the National Holiday welcoming spring. You prepared yourself, wearing a soft pink Chinese hanfu, and put on your face veil once again before heading to the party. You were the center of attention; your face was the puzzle of the century, and curiosity was killing everyone. The noblewomen spoke to you frequently, trying to catch even a glimpse of your features, but to no avail, for according to tradition, only the Emperor had the right to remove that veil.

Even the nobles asked him to do so. One of them said to him: "We understand that you do not want her, but it is not her fault to remain behind a veil. Unveil her, at least so she can breathe, otherwise she will stay like this forever."

He agreed. Now, all the nobles, guards, servants, assistants, soldiers, and sentries—everyone was waiting in anticipation.