Page 1 of Echoes of Eternity

Part One

1

ECHOES OF A SILENT VOID

MATSUI KENZAN

The bruiseson my arm had yet to fade as I gently washed my skin in the warm water. The servants averted their eyes as they poured more into the tub beside me. Holding back tears, I took a breath and dipped my entire body beneath the water, wanting to cleanse everything down to my soul before I broke through the surface again.

Arranged marriages were never a guarantee for the parties involved, other than the alliances and relations strengthened between the agreeing families. In my case, the promise of unity and peace had been overshadowed by the reality of my personal sacrifice and the expectations placed upon me.

My husband, though courteous in public, had a temperament that shifted behind closed doors. It was not an arrangement of love or understanding but of duty and power. The scars left on my body were a testament to the rift between the ideal and the real. The water swirled around me, a silent witness to my struggles and the dissonance between my hopes and the harsh truth of my existence.

I exhaled deeply, letting the warmth of the water envelope me in a fleeting illusion of solace. My reflection danced on the surface, a fragile semblance of calm amid the turmoil. I closed my eyes, hoping that in time, the bruises would heal, both on my body and in my heart.

The warmth of the water was a small comfort, yet it did little to soften the heavy weight of what lay ahead. Each day seemed to stretch into an endless cycle of duty and solitude, punctuated only by brief moments of interaction with the servants who attended to my needs. Their presence was a stark reminder of my isolation; they were allowed to address me only when spoken to directly, their responses curt and measured, compliments of my husband’s orders. They were instructed to offer no companionship.

The future, once a distant concept I could ponder with the innocence of youth, now loomed before me with an almost palpable dread. My marriage, designed to bind two families together, felt more like a chain around my own spirit. The halls and ornate rooms of my new home were empty echoes of a life I had hoped to build with mutual respect and possibly future affection.Instead, they were now a gilded cage, the promise of harmony and alliance turned into a reminder of my personal confinement.

As I lay in the tub, my thoughts drifted to the life I left behind. The freedom of my past seemed like a distant dream, a world I could no longer reach. My heart ached for the laughter and ease that had once marked my younger days, replaced now by the rigid constraints of my new reality.

The servants moved around me in silence, their actions efficient but devoid of warmth. They offered no words of comfort or encouragement, their roles clearly defined by the rigid protocols of the household.

“Has my husband called for me?” I dared to ask, knowing the silence of his presence weighed heavily in the house.

Their responses were clipped, their eyes cast downward. Even in moments when I wished for a fleeting exchange of kindness, their responses were confined to the bare necessities.

It was within these quiet moments that I allowed myself to grieve for the future I had envisioned and for the personal freedom that seemed so far beyond my grasp. The water around me began to cool, and with it, the fleeting illusion of peace began to fade.

As I emerged from the bath, the weight of my new reality felt more tangible in our traditional home's quiet, subdued evening. The servants wrapped me efficiently in a comfortable kimono, the fabric a small shield against the encroaching chill of my life. The reflection in themirror showed a woman grappling with a future she hadn't chosen, her resolve still present but now shrouded in weariness. I placed my clasped hands in front of me, seeking comfort in its warmth. With a steady breath, I put one bare foot in front of the other.

The house was serene, the soft light of paper lanterns casting a gentle glow through the shoji screens. I approached the dining area cautiously, the tatami mats muffled my footsteps.

My husband was seated at the low wooden table, a stack of official documents laid before him, the calm of the room contrasting sharply with the intensity of his focus.

“Good evening,” I whispered, trying to infuse warmth into my voice as I entered the room.

He looked up briefly over the glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, his expression unreadable. “Evening.”

Twenty-five years my senior, Asato Kenzan secured my hand by offering my father a robust business alliance and the assurance of sons. My mother never suspected his foul treatment and my father was too busy gloating about his new gains among his social circle to notice.

After all, I no longer belonged to him. I belonged to my husband now. It was after my second miscarriage that things began to change noticeably.

I settled onto the cushion across from him, the silence stretching between us. “Have you decided on your plans for tonight?”

He returned to his documents, his movementsdeliberate and methodical. “I have a series of briefings and preparations for tomorrow’s engagements.”

The distance between us was palpable, the tension in our relationship thick enough to slice through with a dull katana. “I was hoping I could...”

My voice trailed off as fear laced itself through me. He probably would not agree with a shopping outing, but I needed to continue the facade of a well-kept wife in order to keep everyone’s eyes off the truth.

If I did not save face, who would?

He set down his calligraphy brush, his gaze meeting mine with a touch of weariness. “I have little time for personal matters. There are pressing issues that require my attention.”

I kept my voice steady despite the chill in the air. “I understand that your responsibilities are significant, but?—”

He sighed, his shoulders tensing as he looked back at the documents. “Our roles are defined by duty. I have obligations that come with my position, and so do you.”

---