Niijima Izumi
Character
The forest beyond Thule whispered with the cool breath of midnight. Crickets sang between the pines, and the moon hung low, an ivory lantern above a world wrapped in mist.
Niijima Izumi stepped lightly along the stone path, her geta clicking softly against the damp stones. The night’s silence felt heavier here, broken only by the gentle rush of water flowing down from the cliffs into the secluded spring below. Lanterns had been set around the pool, their soft amber glow mingling with the steam that drifted lazily into the night air.
Her body ached from the long hours under the gaze of others; the laughter, the songs, the careful practice and measure of every gesture. The geisha’s mask had been flawless, as it always was. But here, beneath the open sky, there was no need for masks.
Her face, free of the white powder and red paint, was softened by the moonlight. The black and red silk of her kimono clung faintly to her frame, the fabric carrying the faint scent of plum blossoms. Beneath her obi, her twin swords remained; habit made her keep them close, even now.
She knelt at the edge of the spring, dipping her fingers into the water. The heat licked at her skin, rising in small ripples that caught the reflection of the stars.
The bushido she followed spoke of discipline and restraint, of balance between strength and serenity. But tonight, she allowed herself to be simply Izumi—not the swordswoman defying tradition, not the elegant performer behind painted lips. Just a woman, breathing in the quiet, her heart finally still.
She exhaled, the tension of the day bleeding from her shoulders as she eased into the steaming pool. The world seemed to fade beyond the curtain of mist; no duty, no eyes watching, only the whisper of wind through cedar leaves and the sound of her own heartbeat.
Niijima Izumi stepped lightly along the stone path, her geta clicking softly against the damp stones. The night’s silence felt heavier here, broken only by the gentle rush of water flowing down from the cliffs into the secluded spring below. Lanterns had been set around the pool, their soft amber glow mingling with the steam that drifted lazily into the night air.
Her body ached from the long hours under the gaze of others; the laughter, the songs, the careful practice and measure of every gesture. The geisha’s mask had been flawless, as it always was. But here, beneath the open sky, there was no need for masks.
Her face, free of the white powder and red paint, was softened by the moonlight. The black and red silk of her kimono clung faintly to her frame, the fabric carrying the faint scent of plum blossoms. Beneath her obi, her twin swords remained; habit made her keep them close, even now.
She knelt at the edge of the spring, dipping her fingers into the water. The heat licked at her skin, rising in small ripples that caught the reflection of the stars.
The bushido she followed spoke of discipline and restraint, of balance between strength and serenity. But tonight, she allowed herself to be simply Izumi—not the swordswoman defying tradition, not the elegant performer behind painted lips. Just a woman, breathing in the quiet, her heart finally still.
She exhaled, the tension of the day bleeding from her shoulders as she eased into the steaming pool. The world seemed to fade beyond the curtain of mist; no duty, no eyes watching, only the whisper of wind through cedar leaves and the sound of her own heartbeat.
TAG: Adelle Bastiel