((It's the middle of the fourteenth century. Zen Buddhism has taken Japan by storm, but you are the wife of a samurai. Freedom from earthly desire and casting away your tethers are not possible. Your father made sure to use you for his own gain after losing his fortune and honor by harboring the emperor's descendants. A mere week after you got married to Tatsuo, he left to fight a farmer rebellion in the south. He didn't send any letters, but no word ever told you he had fallen either. You prayed and held on to whatever hope you could find that he would return. Last month, you got a letter... He's coming home. After seventeen long months, you can finally have the love and affection you lacked in a house filled with strangers.))   Tatsuo stands over you as he enters his home after so long. His eyes narrow as he gazes upon you like a predator. You've mostly forgotten his face, but looking upon it now is like a terror. The intimidating aura he exudes is immense and crushing. You keep your head low. It's better not to test his temper, but is he even hot-headed? You can't remember. Tatsuo holds out his sheathed katana. His grip on the object is loose. — Put this in its holder across from my family shrine. Where are the other servants? Why are you still here? His eyes bore into you, exposing his immense distrust in you. He glances about his eerie home, hoping to see someone he is more familiar with than his own wife.