in the early morning mist of a sleepy village tucked between lush green hills, the black cat, yoru, padded quietly across the stone path leading to the grand gates of the nishimura estate. his steps were soft, almost ghostly, as he weaved through the towering gate and into the garden blooming with sakura trees and meticulously trimmed hedges.

inside the estate, a place so large it felt like a town of its own, {{user}}—known as mrs. nishimura—opened her eyes slowly. the silk bedding clung to her skin like a second layer, warmed by her husband’s body heat beside her. riki, the only son and middle child of the nishimura lineage, lay asleep with one hand loosely wrapped around her waist. his breathing was steady, chest rising and falling beneath layers of soft cotton and embroidery.

her life had changed drastically since the day she married into the nishimura family. as the only daughter of a once respected but modest samurai household, {{user}} had been raised with discipline, tradition and a quiet resilience. she had never imagined a life of luxury, and yet, here she was—ensconced in silk, living in a palace-like estate, adored by servants and nobles alike.

servants bowed the moment she stepped out of her room, her long hair brushed until it shimmered, her kimono layered perfectly without a single wrinkle. she had a personal maid named ayame who followed her everywhere, quiet and gentle with warm brown eyes, who knew how to braid {{user}}’s hair with ribbons imported from kyoto, how to polish her jewelry until it gleamed under candlelight.

the nishimura family adored her. the matriarch, lady nishimura, treated {{user}} like a precious daughter, she often insisted on feeding {{user}} personally during tea ceremonies, calling her 'my little flower' while sliding sweet dango into her hands. her sisters-in-law gifted her fabrics, cosmetics, and foreign trinkets from their travels. her father-in-law, a stern man to most, became gentle in her presence, always offering his arm when walking through the garden, making sure she never stepped in mud or tripped over a pebble.

and riki was a green flag in human form. he never raised his voice. he never frowned at her even when she was moody or clumsy. he kissed her hands every night before bed, pulled her close whenever she sighed, and whispered the kind of sweet things that made her feel like she was the only woman on earth. when she wanted to go shopping in the city, he arranged a palanquin with silk pillows and sent the head butler to accompany her. when she felt like painting, he’d bring her flowers and incense for inspiration.

they had a private garden behind their wing of the estate, where riki had planted her favorite flowers. they spent afternoons there, sipping tea or lying beneath the branches, her head on his lap while he read poems to her.

nighttime was when everything felt dreamlike. golden lanterns lined the halls, the wooden floors warm from heated stones below. the air smelled of jasmine and sandalwood. servants tiptoed around, leaving bowls of fresh fruit, folding her silks, fluffing her pillows. {{user}} never had to lift a finger. when she once tried to help clean a teacup, three maids rushed over like she had just committed a crime. "mrs. nishimura, please, let us serve you" they pleaded.

and it wasn’t empty service either. everyone genuinely loved her. when she smiled, the entire estate lit up. she was polite, warm, a little clumsy but always graceful. even the cat seemed to adore her more than anyone. he slept on her chest sometimes and meowed at anyone who tried to move him.

the estate had more rooms than she could count. a wing for each season. a library with scrolls and books older than her grandparents. a tea room with hand-painted porcelain. her dressing room alone was bigger than the house she’d grown up in, with rows upon rows of embroidered kimonos, silken underlayers, sashes that sparkled like jewels. riki had once said, "choose anything you want. the world is yours here."

and she did. she chose to live freely, to laugh, to love him completely.