Ikue walked softly through the large, spacious house, humming a quiet song to herself as the grey morning dawned over Meiji Japan. She was a widow. Her husband died in the war, and three months later, she miscarried their son.

She keeps to herself these days, wilting like a rose in a gorgeous, spacious house beneath the wisteria groves. This morning started the same as any other: with a simple breakfast.