Chapter Text
The ceremony dragged on, air thick with the scent of sandalwood incense.
Kiyoko sat still, hands folded neatly in front of her. She could feel the heat from the sake cup in her palm, her reflection soft and dim on the surface of the sake, the porcelain slightly trembling against her fingers as she lifted it to her lips.
The elder’s eyes never left her, gaze heavy with expectation, as though they were all watching her to see if she’d make a mistake.
“You all really do like your ceremonies, huh?” His voice was too loud for the room, “I thought we were just supposed to sign a paper and get it over with.”
Her lips didn’t twitch, the comment barely registered. Nobody laughed, except him. It was something she expected, him trying to make the ceremony mean less than it does, or should. A joke that wasn’t a joke. She glanced at him briefly, noting the way his hands barely touched the sake cup, as if this was beneath him.
The sake was tasteless.
The whole ceremony was just formality. This would eventually be over, and nothing would matter.
The faces in the rooms blurred into one.
Kiyoko took another sip, mind already drifting elsewhere.
The moment the ceremony was done, Gojo was already leaving the room, his footsteps light but deliberate.
“You’re in charge now,” He didn’t bother to turn back, all she could see was his back, “Try not to let them bite your head off.”
He was gone before she could respond.
The weight of their gazes was heavier now, burning into her flesh. Her white, pure kimono felt heavy, the silk clinging to her skin as though the fabric itself was holding her still. The cranes embroidered into the hem pressed closer, wings outlined in gold, like they were waiting for her to move. Her feet felt light in the geta, but the wood beneath her was solid, keeping her tethered to the floor.
A low, pointed voice cut through the mummers of the room. Kiyoko recognized it immediately, a Zenin elder, one she had met briefly before.
“A shame isn’t it, Kiyoko?” His gaze swept over her, sharp and assessing, before curving into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Your family must be so proud.”
She wasn’t sure if he was referring to Gojo’s hasty departure, or the fact she now belonged to the Gojo clan.
“I would assume so,” Kiyoko responded, voice gentle. Her fingers played idly with the edge of her fan.
Her gaze wandered around, before landing on another zenin. She knew Noaya was harder to shake off. His eyes lingered longer than necessary. He was watching, waiting for something, perhaps acknowledgment.
He can’t quite hide the sneer in his voice, “Must be nice… The Gojo clan doesn’t have to do anything to get what they want, do they?”
He was waiting for a reaction.
“I suppose,” Kiyoko murmured, tone soft as her eyes glanced at the flickering lanterns, casting soft shadows. Noaya’s bitterness was nothing new. Her gaze didn’t quite meet his, yet not dismissive either. “The gojo clan does tend to have its way.” An acknowledgement of the facts, nothing more needed to be said.
Noaya’s eyes glinted with something close to annoyance, letting out a sharp almost mocking laugh, “hah… it’s funny. You’re still the same. Always so obedient, so… quiet.” His gaze sharpened, frustration masked with a thin smile. “I suppose that’s what they wanted, though.”
Kiyoko’s fan fluttered gently in her hands, a smooth motion as she tilted her head slightly, “I’m sure you’ll find someone who shares your… expectations, naoya-sama.”
She didn’t wait for his reaction, letting the silence fall between them. The soft rustling of her fan was the only noise as she turned around, posture straight as she headed towards the other guests.
He was only one of many.
“She has such a composed face, doesn’t she?” A low, thoughtful voice. “Makes you wonder what she’s really thinking... or if she’s thinking at all.”
“The Gojo clan will have a strong future with her by Satoru’s side.”
“I heard she’s quite patient. I imagine that’s what it takes to be in that household.” Another voice, almost dismissive. “If I were her, I’d be wondering where Gojo disappeared off to so quickly. But I guess it’s better she doesn’t say anything. Keeps the peace.”
“A Gojo bride, yes. But how long before she becomes irrelevant?”
“Such a calm demeanor. You’d think she doesn’t care at all. But then again, maybe that’s the best way to survive in the Gojo family.” A woman’s voice, disapproving. “Too quiet. She might be hiding something... or maybe she’s just indifferent.”
A voice murmured, the tone casual but skeptical. “She doesn’t seem alive, you know? Just going through the motions.”
“She must be so lucky,” she mutters to another woman, barely loud enough for Kiyoko to overhear. “Married to someone so powerful. I wonder how she feels… being married to the strongest sorcerer.”
“She doesn’t talk back, and he never stops talking.” A man chuckled.
Just one of many, many people.
The air in the hallway grew colder as she moved deeper into the estate, the faint scent of polished wood and aloeswood incense lingering in the silence. Her geta made the only noise, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap echoing in the vast space.
It was too sharp, too noticeable, but there was no one to hear it.
No one was there to interrupt the stillness of the night.
She passed a room with the door slightly ajar, the soft flicker of a lantern spilling out into the hall. A glimpse of rich tatami mats, a lone vase of neatly arranged flowers.
Nothing was out of place, nothing was ever out of place in this house.
The Gojo estate, like the Gojo clan itself, was a place of perfection.
The sound of her footsteps slowed as she moved past the door, and her gaze lingered on the quiet beauty inside. The flowers in the vase were fresh, perfectly cut, just as she had been taught to do at home.
Her fingers drummed lightly against the edge of her fan. The rhythmic tap of her footsteps was the only sound left to her now, and even that was starting to feel unnatural.
The walls, the rooms, the people. Everything was too deliberate, too polished.
She reached a staircase and hesitated for a moment. The steps felt imposing, like they were leading her somewhere she didn’t want to go.
The upper levels of the house — she knew — would be quieter, more isolated.
It would be easier to hide up there, easier to disappear into the shadows where no one would look for her. But she didn’t move toward it yet. There was no rush.
Her eyes wandered to the garden again, the cool moonlight casting shadows over the perfectly trimmed trees. The space seemed too vast. She wondered briefly what it would be like to walk through those gardens at night, to be alone in the moonlight.
She continued walking, slower now, each step quieter than the last.
The house felt like a museum. Like a space meant to be looked at but never touched. The hallways were lined with portraits of long-gone ancestors, watching as she passed.
Kiyoko’s hand tightened around the fan.
She was being watched now, just as they had been. Just as she would be, for the rest of her days.
Existing without being seen too much, without ever making too much noise.
She stepped past a large mirror on the wall, catching her own reflection for the first time that evening.
The woman staring back at her looked unfamiliar.
It was a stranger’s face.
The face of a woman who was married now.
She turned away from it.
This was the life she had now, whether she liked it or not.