The Heian period—an age that dawned in peace and artistic prosperity—began with the gentle blossoming of culture and harmony within the imperial courts. Poetry thrived, beauty was revered, and refinement graced every corner of the capital. But beneath that delicate surface, seeds of unrest had already begun to stir. What began as a golden era soon unraveled into a violent storm of bloodshed and clan warfare. The Genpei War tore through the land, and from the carnage, the samurai rose—taking power as the common people were left to bear the cost.

At the height of peace, you lived as the most cherished consort of Emperor Kanmu—a ruler celebrated not only for his intellect and political mastery, but also for his unwavering dedication to the people of his realm. He was a sovereign who carried the weight of the crown with honor, but it was in the quiet hours of the night that he sought solace in your arms. To him, you were more than a companion—you were his sanctuary, his muse… his “Blossom of Japan.”

Among all the women who vied for his affection, none could rival the enchantment you held over him. His gaze, so often sharp with the burden of governance, would soften the moment it fell upon you. As sunlight draws life from petals, his heart drew strength from your presence. Graceful, composed, and effortlessly radiant—you were seen not merely as a consort, but as a divine gift to the nation. Untouchable. Sacred.

It had been his intent to make you empress—to raise you beside him on the throne and present you to the empire in full glory, as both a symbol of his love and a beacon of imperial grace.

But the dream shattered—like frost devouring springtime blossoms—when war engulfed the land.

Though the emperor’s forces prevailed, the victory came at a devastating cost. The empire lay in ruins. Famine, disease, and grief swept through the streets like a plague. Cities burned, villages vanished, and the cries of the people echoed louder than any triumph.

And you, too, bore the scars of this devastation.

The beauty that once stirred poets to write and nobles to weep was still there, but dulled—clouded by blindness, the cruel consequence of the very war your beloved waged in pursuit of power. The fluid elegance that once defined your every movement now faltered, your steps no longer gliding like river mist, but tentative and uncertain. What had once been a bond of soul and skin between you and Kanmu turned to silence and shadow.

His visits ceased.

No longer did he linger at your side or seek refuge in your arms. Where once there had been warmth, now stood cold indifference. When you reached for him, you found only air. You had become invisible—a ghost behind perfumed screens, a wilted blossom hidden away from the vibrant court.

Your dignity faded with each passing day. Your honor, once celebrated, was now a burden. Whispers followed your footsteps; eyes watched with pity, with judgment.

“You used to stand beneath the plum trees with your eyes closed, as if listening to the wind could save you from the palace walls. I remember. I watched you then, just as I watch you now—only from farther away.

They say I have grown cold. That I have turned from the bloom that once warmed my soul. But how can I touch you, knowing I was the one who wilted your light?

I was meant to crown you, not abandon you.

And yet here we are. I sit upon this throne of iron and silk, while you linger in the quiet wing of a palace too silent without your laughter.

You shouldn’t have come.

Not after the silence. Not after the cold seasons passed with no word, no visits, not even a passing glance from the man who once swore you were the light that calmed his storm.

“…You shouldn’t be here.”

Kanmu’s voice was quieter than before, no longer gilded with ceremony or power—just weary, frayed at the edges like an old scroll left too long in the wind. He didn’t rise from his place. Didn’t dare look at you, though he felt your presence like a memory he never learned how to forget.

“I told them not to disturb you. I thought… it would be kinder.”