BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

Can Pehlivanoglu

Sakura

Her beauty was the envy of the land; the poise and grace with which she carried herself, enthralling. Many were her admirers, obsessed with her deific beauty rivalling that of Amaterasu.

She knew of these affections, but did not care for someone else to dictate every step she took, every move she made. Her life was forced on her by the gods, but she would not let another choose it for her.

She despised the advances of those hopeless romantics who believed they were in love with her, but struggled to turn away the relentless pattern of desperate suitors and narcissistic heirs bursting through the door with expensive gifts.

It did not help that she dared to use the makeup of an empress, would use a delicate kabuki powder on light, rosy cheeks that would pale the softest rose in comparison. No-one could possibly approach this vision of beauty, but one tried.

He was known and revered by many titles –Prince of Paupers, Champion of the Gods, but he firmly stood by one name, his own, Corinth Lowe, Prince of Caucus. He was renowned for his victories in battle, leading his Order of Vagrants, weaving the web of reality with his gift of enchantment.

His fame preceded him from his home in the Temple of Hecate in Greece to the legendary Empire of Hanamura, Japan, to which he had journeyed to broker a peace treaty between his Order and the Emperor.

In spite of this parlay, he heard a persistent whisper eating at him that this calm court might prove to be his downfall.

On his official tour through the capital Corinth sensed a shift in the air, a silence that permeated all, an atmosphere of anticipation. On asking about this silence, the guide provided no answer; only the faeries of the winds gasped, “She’s here! She’s here!” and, “Look at her! Just look at her!”

His confusion had reached its limit. Corinth weaved through the horde of spectators, and saw her. His eyes locked with hers. Who was this muse of perfection, her gaze soft as a breeze, her hair a fountain of dark? She looked back. Who was this most peculiar stranger, his robes white as silver, his windswept locks a shade of lustrous gold? Behind her eyes he saw a trapped beauty, her prison love, her bars the stares and gasps of her sundry admirers. Behind his eyes she saw deep wisdom, a purpose to his every movement and action.

Eventually Corinth mustered courage to speak, a skill those surrounding him had completely lost. “What is her name?”

Completely taken aback by such a clear voice when none else could speak,