Page 2 of Echoes of Eternity

His tone was firm, almost resigned, and it felt like a blade being dug into the middle of my chest at the clear reminder of my failures.

“You were aware of these demands when you chose this life,” he added.

I was never given a choice. He knew that.

“I was aware of the responsibilities, but not the extradutiesthat would come with it,” I replied softly, insinuating my duty to hide my bruises, knowing I possibly signed my own death warrant with my choice of words.

He met my gaze with a cold, detached look. “Sacrifices are necessary for the greater good. My position demands it. So must yours.”

The finality in his tone left no room for further discussion. I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words. “Yes, husband.”

I rose and moved toward the sliding doors leading to the garden, the tranquil beauty of the evening outside seemed to highlight the solitude of my situation. The serenity of the traditional home, with its simplicity and grace, stood in contrast to the emotional distance that had settled between us—between me and life.

Slipping into my getas, I made my way toward our garden and was immediately enveloped by the soft, golden light of the setting sun. The beauty of the scene was undeniable: flowers in full bloom, their colors vibrant and their fragrance sweet, and the gentle rustling of leaves carried on a breeze that seemed almost too tender to be real. Yet, despite the outward splendor, a profound sense of melancholy clung to me like a second skin.

I walked slowly along the cobblestone path, my steps echoing softly in the stillness. Each footfall felt weighted, as if the ground itself were reluctant to bear the burden of my thoughts. The garden, with its delicate balance of nature's beauty, seemed a world apart from the inner landscape of my mind, where shadows and uncertainties reigned.

As I wandered deeper into the garden, I was struck by the difference between the world around me and thestorm brewing within. The serenity here was almost mocking, a cruel juxtaposition to the tempest of doubt and despair that consumed me. I found a secluded bench beneath an ancient tree, its branches stretching out like weary arms, and sank into it.

Gazing out at the horizon, where the sun was dipping below the edge of the world, I contemplated the notion that perhaps death might be a reprieve—a release from the relentless ache that had become my constant companion. The thought was not born of a sudden impulse but rather a slow, creeping realization, a question that had been whispering in the recesses of my mind.

The evening air grew cooler, and the shadows lengthened, wrapping around me like a shroud. In this moment, surrounded by the garden's beauty yet feeling more isolated than ever, the idea of surrendering to the endless night seemed strangely comforting.

A warm tear fell on my wrist while I held a fist over my aching heart as if I could physically hold it in place, preventing it from shattering once and for all.

The morning sunlightfiltered softly through our home, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. My husband sat at the table, absorbed in work documents.

“Off to the market?” he asked without looking up, his tone more a command than a question.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my voice steady and respectful. I never brought up the topic again after the initial attempt, tired of the tension and trepidation. As if playing mind games, he came to me a few evenings later and essentially commanded me to go shopping, telling me that it was my duty to make sure the village knew Asato Kenzan always took care of his wife.

He glanced up briefly, his expression a mixture of disinterest and irritation. How such a monster could hide behind seemingly attractive features baffled me day in and day out. “Just remember, we have plans later, and I don’t want you wasting time or money. Buy what you need and return home.”

I nodded, careful to keep my tone even. “Of course, husband.”

An hour later, I stepped outside, accompanied by one of our servants, Wada. In her older years, she’s been with the Kenzan household since before my arrival. Her presence, though well-meaning, felt like a constraint I needed to evade. We walked down the garden path together, her footsteps steady beside mine, as we passed the walls surrounding our home.

At the marketplace, the bustling activity was almost a bit overwhelming, requiring me to quickly adjust with my forced smiles. Stalls brimmed with colorful fruits and vegetables, and the air was filled with a cacophony of voices and the rich scents of fresh produce. I maintaineda polite, short conversation with Wada, all the while plotting my escape.

“Let’s start over here,” Wada suggested, guiding me toward a stall laden with ripe apples and pears. Did my husband instruct her to herd me in specific directions to keep me in line, I wonder. I couldn’t deny that the thought annoyed me. I had never given him any reason to suspect my actions and motives.

Until today.

I glanced around, scanning the vibrant scene for an opportunity. “Actually, Wada, I’d like to take a look around on my own. There’s a lot to see, and I don’t want to hold you up. Why don’t you check on the vegetable stalls to replenish our ingredients for dinner? I’ll meet you back here in a little while. I want to look at some silks.”

Wada looked at me with a hint of concern but nodded. “All right, but be sure to stay within the market area. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

As she walked away toward another stall, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I had a brief window of freedom and was determined to use it. With a swift turn after the fabrics, I veered away from the crowded market and slipped into a narrow alley that led away from the main thoroughfare.

The alley was quieter, the sounds of the bustling market muffled but still present in the background. I moved quickly, my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. At the end of the alley, a smaller roadled out toward the town’s edge and the direction of the nearby mountains.

I followed the path, my steps growing more deliberate, leaving the forced conversations and people behind. The transition from the crowded marketplace to the quieter outskirts was a welcome relief. The town’s noise faded, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of nature.

As I reached the base of the closest hill, the tranquility of the area soothed part of the ache in my soul. I continued to climb, leaving behind the familiar confines of my daily life and the controlling presence of my husband. The ascent was steep, but the solitude and the cool, fresh air invigorated me.

When I finally reached a secluded overlook, the expansive view of the mountains spread out beneath me. The beauty of the landscape was breathtaking, offering a momentary escape from the constraints that had defined my existence. I sat down on a worn stone, taking in the scenery and the silence.

Each thought flitting through my mind was a careful reflection of the emotions I struggled with, a final attempt to articulate the complexities of my decision. I didn’t have a delicately written farewell—sure my husband would find it annoying beyond anything else.

---