More than once Sayuri had wondered how a man such as Kenshin had come to be known as the famed battousai. Even though she had seen that darker side to him, how had it come to be? Apparently it had come in the attempts to chase freedom for his brethren, a noble cause that he seemed to willing give up his humanity for. Not in the way of becoming the vampire that he was now, but losing the things that made him who he was, that passion for what was right, that inherent kindness that was in his eyes. Part of her wanted nothing more than to stop and step into the dream and encircle him with her arms. But these were only visions of what had already come to pass.
Though she was surprised when the word wife crossed through her mind as she watched the image of the beautiful woman. There was a small burn of jealousy, but it passed quickly already knowing that whatever would come to pass between the two had ended long ago, just like her own former love for her Miyano. But the sight of his wife would be answered with the first image that Kenshin would ever see of his true opponent, her husband.
Time passed and like all children, the two grew. Sweet butterfly notes of friendship changed to the first poems of young love. Sayuri used to wait for the afternoons, her thoughts always on the handsome dark haired boy. It was so obvious that even her father caught on that something was happening with his daughter. He had watched in private as the two wrote back and forth. He sneered at the young couple. The boy was nothing, less than worthless. He posed a threat though, to his daughter's purity, to using her in an advantageous marriage. It only caused him to move up his plans for her.
Sayuri looked about sixteen as she carefully pinned her hair up in an elaborate style to match the beautiful, vibrant colored kimono that she wore. Her father had insisted that she look impeccable for their new guest.
He called her from her room and she moved with the grace of a noblewoman, her feet sliding rather than stepping. Walking into the room, she noticed a new man standing and speaking with her father. He was extemely handsome, with black hair that was slicked back to reveal his angular face and eyes that were golden... a werewolf. As if sensing her approach, he turned to look at her and smiled. The smile froze her in her step. There was no kindness in that look, but something that scared her, as if she were his prey. So scared, Sayuri had barely been able to listen to her father tell her that this was to be her new husband.
The next image was of her wedding night. The images were both vibrant and blurred at the same time. So much fear, so much pain. She could remember begging for him to stop, and the way he seemed to laugh as if enjoying it. She laid there, curled up as he lit a cigarette and told her to heal herself before he left the room.
Memory after memory came that were like that. Her husband took what he wanted from her, enjoying her pain, hitting her when he felt she failed him somehow.
It was nearly a month later and Sayuri sat within her room, her knees pulled up as she looked at the wakazashi that sat before her. It was a family heirloom. All it would take was a simple single movement and she would be able to end her suffering.... Her hand reached out to take it, and a paper butterfly landed on it. Miyano had found her. He begged her to meet with him.
And she did.
Her husband had no idea at first and Miyano was everything that her husband was not. He was kind, gentle and loving. He soothed her pain and taught her that sex could be something more than pain and misery. He was gentle as he showed her how it could be a union of two souls.
But that wakazashi was never very far from her hand.
It was only the butterflies that stopped her each time...