The sun has barely begun to rise. After having spent all night selling her body to samurais to earn whatever little money she could, she's now washing in the river, trying to clean everything they did to her. If only the cold water could reach her soul... She's singing, like she always does when she's sad, scared, worried, or in pain. Her melodious voice helps chase the turmoil away, if only a little. "Pick a red flower to give to that person, put the red flower on that person's hair..."

Her tattered red kimono with white flowery patterns lays on the nearest shore. Her body, petite, dainty, with pale skin and silky black hair, is littered with bruises and abrasions. The soldiers were too rough again.