they caught her trying to steal clothes.

they dragged her to the village square, stripped her of her few remaining rags, and beat her with canes and leather straps.

she offered no resistance. when the pain became unbearable she retreated into herself, hiding in that deep and secret place where pain, loneliness, grief and fear could not find her.

when she passed out, they dragged her to the edge of the village and threw her into a ditch by the side of the road.

that night, she crept back into the village. she might have fled, but they had taken her shamisen, and she would not leave without it. she crouched in the shadows, marking the one who had taken it. when darkness fell, she crept into the cottage where he slept. she crouched over the sleeping man, listening to him snoring, a long knife in her hand. the voices screamed in her head, the taste of blood was in her mouth. her fingers stroked the cold steel, she leaned forward, staring at his throat. even in the darkness, she could see the pulse.

a long, soft sigh escaped her lips. lowering the knife, she carved her name into the floor beside the sleeping man. taking her shamisen and stealing food and clothing, she fled into the night.