Name: Shizuka Ito
Age: 16
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When the sun finally won the battle against the night and breached the horizon bright blue eyes were already open ready to catch the sight. The dream of a memory had woke her up no less than an hour ago and her body had refused to return to sleep. There were still flashes of children running around in the field, the girl reading from a large leather book she had stolen from her father’s library, the carefree smiles of those who did not yet understand their roles in life. It was a dream from a time that no longer existed, even in her day time thoughts it had added to nothing. Shizuka was still as she lay on her bed her unique colored eyes taking in the details of the wooden ceiling that had covered her room for the last sixteen summers, ’sixteen summers today’ she reminded herself, the sun’s light making the shadows in her room dance. At sixteen the dark haired girl was the youngest out of her parent’s six children the closest to her age being her older brother of five years. Luckily she wasn’t the only girl but her older sister Ami had been the first child born in the family and so many years separated her now married sister that Shizuka hardly felt as if she had a sister at all. Now that she was sixteen her father would be looking to find her a husband as well, if her mother didn’t step in to stop him. Her father worshiped her mother and would stop the sun from shining if she asked; her mother was overly devoted to their children that the care for them took up so much of her thoughts and left little time for anything else. It was up to her mother then all six of the children would have stayed living in the house and never gotten married or even grew to be older then thirteen.

When she started to feel the stiffness form in her lower back the birthday girl decided that it was time to prepare for breakfast. No sooner had she pushed off the plush comforter and stretched her arms above her head but her mother came through her door. The older woman was dressed from head to toe like the prosperous merchants wife she was. Her thick graying black hair was done up in a extravagant bun, her figure plumped from carrying children was clad in layers of fine silks, her face was clean of any form of makeup this morning but if she left the house or someone came over that would change. “Good Morning Shizuka. How are you feeling?” It was tradition for her mother to be the first one she saw as the day broke and their morning conversation as at this point scripted. Yue would ask how her daughter was feeling the fear she still carried for her youngest child staining the background of her voice, Shizuka would tell her mother that she had slept comfortably and was feeling very well this morning reassuring her that the years of her being weak and sick were behind them. This conversation would be followed by the daughter kneeling in front of a vanity mirror while her mother brushed out her waist long black hair. Her hair was too thin to hold any up do the servants had tried on her so she was allowed to wear it down as long as it always looked presentable and it always did. After her mother’s aged fingers brushed every stand of her bangs into place above her eyes she left calling for the slaves to help her daughter dress.

Despite her pale skin, inky black hair, and eyes the color of the sky when has yet to full darken but held no sun her mother insisted that all of her silks be light pink, or bright reds and purples. If one was to ask she would have told them that those colors made her feel like she looked washed out and sickly again, she was the youngest daughter so no one asked. Her current outfit was a light pink with one thick strip of darker pink running down the right side, and two of those same strips along the edges of her bell sleeves and along the skirt. The design of camellia flower were scattered along the silk, even the dark brown obi had the faint image of one under the ties of intertwine orange and reds. Staring at herself in the mirror, her eyes catching the light of the slowly resign sun she stared at the servant women behind her. They sat on the ground, legs tucked under them face turned down hands folded in their lap. This was customary, they wouldn’t bow till she relished them, and she had seen more people bow in this house then stand straight. It was a simple observation, like how would observe that when a part of your body ached that was the spot more people seemed inclined to touch, that’s just how things were. It was her birthright to have them bow to her, dress her, retrieve things for her and even those she didn’t see every day, the ones who worked in her father’s field or were personal slaves of a family member. It was her birthright to be above these people. A knock on her door brought her out of the brief musing on the way of life, nodding her head in the mirror she watched as one of the women stood to open it. Shizuka didn’t bother turning to face whoever was at the door already knowing it was a simple messenger, “ My Lady, your father request your presence at the breakfast table now.” Routine, the morning tradition, the way life worked. Turning she waved her hand dismissing the servants who had helped her dress and fallowed the new arrival to her father.

Name: Makoto (his last name was dropped, due to the lowly status of his family)
Age: 18

Sweat trickled off of his forehead in the servant's quarters. His parents told him of the youngest's anniversary of birth. It was the sixteenth summer of her life, which meant she needed someone with her at all times. Someone to fetch her things, someone to carry her if the ground was wet, someone to fan her if perspiration even dared to gloss her brow. Was he to be that someone? Was that his sole purpose in life, to bow at the sight of someone in a dainty-colored dress? To kiss her feet if she so pleased, to massage her, to be her stool if she wished to stand on him? He was always told that; to respect the people that 'took care of him'. As for Makoto, he'd never been face-to-face with any of the royal members of the family. He'd heard their voices calling for a 'sip of wine' or 'something to hush the young one', but had never been graced by their presence. He had no idea whether or not to be insulted or to be relieved. He had no idea whether or not he should even stay in this place. He worked his hands to the bone, his feet to callous, and he worked to keep his parents from over exhausting themselves.

Being older and, so he thought, more wise, Makoto had begun being quite disgusted by his parents' unyielding loyalty to the people cracking the whips behind their heads. He did not understand owning other people, although he'd been born into submission. He'd never known anything else, but he was sure there was something more.
Aside from the rebellion bubbling in his mind, Makoto was quiet, polite, and at the prime of the pick for physical wellness. He'd never been sick, never had he been hurt, never had he complained of exhaust. Never had he been of any trouble nor strain; in fact he had the place in absolute, beautiful, sparkling order. He always dressed modestly, never strayed from his room at night, never talked out of turn; not even with his parents. He was the epitome of the word "respectful", but never felt reciprocated. He never felt appreciated, and most likely never was.

"Makoto! Son!" cried the elder of his clan. He rushed into the room. "Today is the sixteenth; you know of what I speak. You must prepare yourself. The head of the household wants all of us to meet in the dining hall."
"For what, father?" said the young man, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "Only the women are allowed in the dining hall. We cannot cook, father, we will just be in the way."
"Do not question me, Mako. You will shower now and present yourself as nicely as possibly. The head has called for us, and we shall show ourselves. For what, I am not absolutely sure. Perhaps the young mistress will soon have her personal servant."
"I do not understand your excitement, father, but I will do as I am told. I will not be long," Makoto said, not in the least bit happy to see this woman, nor to be her slave. He could not get out of his mind a young, snobbly, lack-luster woman with a curl in her lip and a snarl on her breath; a woman with dull eyes and teeth and fingernails that he would have to care for. A short sigh left his lips, and he handed his mop to his father. With a polite nod, he excused himself, and went into the small room the family called their home. He removed his sweat-ridden clothing, combed his hair, and stared at himself in the mirror.
Scars dirtied his almost perfect physique, along his chest and shoulders and back. He cringed, as if he could almost feel the whip upon his flesh once more. This was not the life meant for any child; for any man or human or living being. He turned from his shameful image, and buttoned a new shirt over his form. Perhaps the youngest wouldn't want him. Perhaps she would be disgusted enough to let him go.

Makoto waited for further orders.

The man that sat at the head of the large redwood table was not a large man. No, if one was to simply glance at Katsuro they would not see how intimidating he could be. He was thin at first glance, the lean muscles hiding under pale skin, and he was tall when standing next to his wife it was almost awkwardly tall. Once one took a second glance however, meeting the business man’s gaze is when they would realize he was not a man to trifle with. At the moment that gaze is turned towards his wife who has insisted that she still pour his tea, though they have been married for almost three decades now and she should have long moved past the courting ritual of tea pouring. But she likes to do it and she is the one person he cannot refuse. A flaw which has led to the gathering of slaves in his dining room, all waiting to hear what it was he had to say, wanting to know which one he would pick to give to his youngest and more preferred daughter. If Yue had not stepped in and voiced her concern that a marriage may have been too soon for their once sickly daughter Shizuka would have been meeting her intended today instead of getting her first personal slave.

In his mind the sixteen year old girl had more sense in her then her elder sister, but that could be contributed to her younger years when she was far too ill to go outside and he would instead teach her to read and write to keep her busy. Removing his eyes from his wife- who had settled back down into her seat across from him- he turned those hard dark brown orbs on the gather slaves off to the side. Taking in the look of each one of them he made a mental list of pros and cons. Which ones services would he be willing to give up so that his daughter could accepted the privilege of her birthright, which ones would he trust to be alone with his daughter. Ah, that was the one. He had hardly ever even seen the boy so his work couldn’t have been in anyway effective to him, so it would be no loss to him. His face turned when the quiet voice of his last child called from behind the paper door. “ Father, you called for me.”


The halls were fairly empty for this time of morning the only sounds were the soft pats of the female slave’s and her feet against the polished wood of the floor. Experience showed that by this time the hall should have been bustling with slaves cleaning up, fetching food, and since her sibling would arriving latter in the day preparing rooms. Since Shizuka knew that one would have to be separated from their mind to disrupt the flow in her father’s house she let the break in routine slid from her mind. When they reached the door the slave woman moved over to the side, ready to open it for her young lady but not willing to get in the way. When the gruff sound of her father confirming that he had called her and that she was approved to enter with a bow the slave opened the door and then shut it again behind her.

Shizuka had expected to see her mother and father sitting at the table, bowls of rice and fruits laid out for them to pick from, a few slaves standing by waiting for an order. Instead of a few slaves a great number of them had been gathered and were for the most part looking to be quit useless. She didn't give them more than a passing look though; they have always just been part of the house decorations to her. Bowing to her father she takes the seat that has been her's since her birth, another female rushes’ over to place a bowl of steaming rice before her. “Good Morning Father.” She cannot start eating until he has shown that she is there to have breakfast with them, routine and rules. With a nod from the aged man she picks up a pealed orange and begins to nibble on a slice.

“ Shizuka”, her mother and her stop eating when he addresses her. The look on her mother’s makes her wonder just why she was called her. Yue looks proud and happy about something and she keeps sending nervous glances towards the gathered slaves. “You are now sixteen, a woman. Your mother and I however feel it is still too risky to marry you off and let some other family heal you should you fall ill again. This does not mean that you should be denied the privileges that come with your statues. There for I have picked out a slave from my personal set and give him to you as a present in honor of your birth.” Standing to his full height he waits for his two female family members to follow suit before she walks over to the teenage male slave. He cannot recall the boys name so instead he turned to face the shorter male. “My Daughter Shizuka will now be your owner boy, you shall tell her your name.”

A slave had not been what she thought her father was going to be giving her today- a part of her was almost afraid that he was going to marry her off without her ever even meeting a suitor. Clear blue eyes now stared up at her newly acquired salve, there was a vague familiar shape to his face, he would do just fine. Bowing once again to the man who had help give life to her, “You honor me with this gift, Great Father.”

"Off you go, Makoto, my boy. In the warmest of ways, I hope I do not see you often in the future," said Makoto's elderly, graying father. In his eyes were hopeful, proud tears. Before the young male slave had time to ask what his dear father meant, a young female servant entered their quarters with a light, polite knock.
Nodding and bowing her head as she spoke, she said, "Sirs, the young and able are to meet in the dining hall. Lord Katsuro has beckoned. We must meet soon, before the young mistress is called from her room. Please, follow me."
Makoto looked at his father, a light blush of confusion tainting the paleness of his cheeks. His father, wordless, placed his hand on his son's shoulder, and pushed him forward. The servant, then, took him tenderly by the hand and hurried him away. The young man's mind was in a jumble. His father had once said the both of them were going; now just the 'young and able'? What was this girl like? Was she so bitter and enormous that a young, strong lad was to care for her until an unwilling prince was forced to marry her? His throat was sore; something he'd become accustomed to.
"Miss, what his happening today? Why are we to meet?"
"I know the details not. In my mind, most of the young royalty is married at this age. Miss Shizuka has not yet had a suitor."
As the two lower beings in the system of order wound through the servant's quarters, many older women and older men looked upon them.
"Are you to meet, as well?"
"I am not. I am kitchen staff, I have a set duty until they tire of me there. At least twenty people are lined up in the dining hall, awaiting order. Now please, no further questions. Come now."
Makoto's mouth sealed close. As he neared the dining hall, the double doors that were ordinarily closed were held open by two other female slaves. The one that accompanied him left him to wander into the hall alone, and he fell into place with the others that were up for inspection. His dark eyes were shut tightly, until he heard the very familiar voice of the one he considered his king.

Opening his eyes, he found the headmaster's eyes locked on him. He stood perfectly still; rigid almost as the man's gaze hit him. He felt light-headed. What was this about?
It was then that he heard a small voice; a female voice. It sounded to lovely; so light to the ear and almost melodic. He did not turn his head to find the source of the beautiful, quiet voice, he simply awaited its maker's presence. Makoto heard the tap of small shoes against the grand floor, and noticed the footsteps getting closer. She finally met his eye. Such a lovely girl she was, dressed in beautiful lace and other fabrics unidentifiable to him. Makoto, as well as the other servants, watched quietly as the youngest and her father made small talk, as she nibbled at her food, as the man's voice boomed with authority and preciseness. Now Makoto knew what he was there for; to be chosen from. He was to work for the woman before him, the lovely little princess, if he was up to par in her father's eyes. He was to be across the large home from his father and mother and his fellow outcasts. He knew that the personal slaves of each royal member of the family stayed very close to them at all times; even if they had to sleep on the cold floors of their bedside. He also knew the princess had been sickly for very much of her young life, and, if chosen, he would have to keep a strong eye out for her.
It was an honor, as well as a curse.
He would be with this woman until she died, or until she tired of him.

The tall, yet not very masculine, head of the household walked very close to Makoto. The young man bowed his head at his presence, not making eye contact. His well-combed hair fell in front of his face, and he stayed alert. He made sure his body language was telling the man that he respected him, and that he was beneath him. He had been chosen. The man even asked for his name. He awaited the response of the young woman that stood before him, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She bowed to her father and spoke with that lovely, airy voice of hers.
"Thank you, sir, for this privilege," he nodded to the man, slightly turning to face the female. His head was still down, his eyes not allowed to fully take in the beauty of the woman before him. "My name is Makoto, mistress, and I am honored to serve you."

(( I'm very sorry for not being on I have a medical issue that I'm dealing with and couldn't get on. This shouldn't take much longer before I'm back on regularly.))




‘ Makoto’ she repeated in her mind testing out the way it sounded. It would soon because a part of her daily vocabulary, calling out his name to order him around. A slow a small smile formed on her lips. The gesture of harmless looking enough, a twitch of lips to indicate that she was pleased with something, but it was why she was smiling that was more dangerous then the look had let on. She had never ad control over anything in her life. From birth she was the youngest daughter no real say in how her life would be planned out simply because of her sex, then she sickness kept her well locked up in the house never being able to go out unless she had found a break in the nurses hovering and went out side. Shizuka had always assumed that when she was given her own slave it would be a woman as well, someone of lower statues because of her birth but not gender. Instead she was rewarded with the knowledge that she had full control over this older man.

The smile left her face when rough leather was placed in her hands. Blue eyes stared down at the whip for a few confused seconds. She had seen her father, brothers, and other men wielding then against disobedient slaves but never had she held one in her small hands before. It felt foreign and rougher than anything she was use to holding. Her mother looked put out by what her husband and just handed their daughter but was keeping her mouth shut on the matter, Katsuro on the other hand looked proudly down at his youngest child. “In case he gets out of line and no one is around.” Was all he said before returning to his seat to finish his breakfast waving off the rest of the slaves in t he room. When he sat again the too returned to her seat, waiting for him to show that she was to continue eating her breakfast with them. Of course he would not turn her away and have to finish her morning meal elsewhere but routine was routine for a reason. “ Oh, Shizuka, I nearly forgot your sister will be coming to the house today in honor of your birthday. I’ll have a room set up so the two of you can have tea and catch up.” Nothing ever disrupted routine so they continued to eat in a comfortable silence. Her father going over the contract to a upcoming deal in his head, her mother directing a slave on what room should be set up for her two daughters and other mindless details that the sixteen year old girl didn’t care for, and Shizuka her self silently eating her rice while glancing over that the shadow her new slave cast.

When her bowl was empty and her stomach full she requested the permission she needed to leave the table. “What are you doing today?” With a bow of her hand she informed her father that she had the day off from her studies but was hoping that she could wait for her sister in the house library. Giving her a dismissive nod the thin man watched as his daughter bowed to both his wife and himself before exiting the room, her slave of course fallowing.

The blue eyed girl didn’t bother checking to make Makoto was behind her before she pushed open the sliding door and entered the room. The large room of full with selves of old leather bound books, soft chairs, and a large fireplace it had always been one of her favorite places on the grounds. The smell of dried ink and leather was as comforting to her as the smell of tea was to others. Over in a corner by one of the largest chair was an uneven stack of books a pile she had been working on when ever she was given a break from her lessons on edict and other such feminine things. Turning for the first time Acknowledge male she stared up at him for a few seconds contemplating how it must feel for him as a man to be given off to a mere girl. “Makoto, some of the slaves in my fathe’rs house are able to read. Are you one of them?”