Two years earlier, Spring of 1919…

 

Even though she’d been expecting the letter, that didn’t take away the impact of those words on the page now wobbling in her trembling hands. The ink, long dried, was as cold as the blow that had knocked the breath out of her. 

So. In the end, it truly didn’t matter how much she’d prayed or how many tears she’d shed, begging for it not to be. 

He was gone.

It was surprising to see her fingers shake, now that she was a broken, empty husk where a young woman once stood. No, not a ‘woman’. For all that she was twenty-one years old now, Kiyoko had never quite felt like a woman. That label felt so… mature. Beyond her. Unreachable and unattainable, filled with an elegance and self-assuredness she couldn’t even play pretend at.

And yet, if there was ever time to grow up, it was now.

It had been that childish, stubborn refusal to embrace reality that pushed Kiyoko to leave her little village and seek out work in larger cities. Though Papa’s dreams for her had been as large as his grand heart, she’d set aside her studies in music and desperately accepted a job as a maid for a young lord. For months, dutifully sending as much of her earnings as she could spare, Kiyoko had told herself that surely his cough would go away. There was more than enough for Papa to afford his medicine now, and Madame Utsunomiya was always looking after him as well. 

Yes, Kiyoko had convinced herself every day when she moved through the massive manor that was too easy for her to get lost in if she daydreamed a bit too much. It would be okay. Surely Papa was taking his medicine every day and taking gentle walks with Madame Utsunomiya. Of course he was listening to the doctor and taking care of himself. And, of course, soon there would be no more need for Kiyoko to dust these shelves and wash those sheets, so clumsy at it as she was. 

Papa, she had repeated endlessly like a charm from a shrine she’d clung to, was going to get better soon.

But that was when Mrs. Ichinose knocked on the door, biting her lip with a severe expression on her face.

Her fingers still trembling, Kiyoko turned the letter over to look at the back, examining it. Desperate prayers danced on the edge of her lips, searching for something, anything that could say that this was a joke. 

“Is everything alright, little bell?” Mrs. Ichinose asked, though it was obvious her smile was forced. “Surely you’ve got a nice little note from your dear father, hm?”

“They made a mistake,” Kiyoko whispered.

“What’s that, dear?”

Unable to stop the tears from falling, Kiyoko let out a single harsh, disbelieving laugh. “The letter says the wrong name. See? Look. It says Kenji Daichi died. But that’s not true, Ichinose-san. That’s not the right name at all.” Her lips curled into a smile, and she couldn’t even begin to say where it came from. “It should say Kiyoko.”

 

---

 

To say Kiyoko was surprised to see him was an understatement. 

The wake was a small, simple affair. After all, it wasn’t like they had much money, and Madame Utsunomiya wasn’t directly family, so there was no way Kiyoko could even dream of asking for any more than what the kind woman had already given. Papa had been a musician, and once upon a time he’d dreamed of going overseas, perhaps to some place like Paris to study and perform. His passion and natural talent had Madame Utsunomiya’s late husband so inspired that he’d given Daichi Kenji his most treasured possession.

A violin. 

Back then, violin ryuukou had swept through the nation, and it had become quite fashionable to learn the instrument. The beginning of the twentieth century had burst with violin fever, and while some viewed the foreign instrument with disdain and wariness, others embraced it wholeheartedly. The sound! The beauty! The convenience of it! Why, you could carry it with you and it was decently affordable too! Who wouldn’t love to learn such a gorgeous instrument?

That was the message that Kenji Daichi spread as far as he would, his smile as wide as his hopes. 

Seeing her father for the genius protege he was, a man who one day introduced himself to a tiny Kiyoko as Professor Utsunomiya had made arrangements for Kenji’s lessons. As Western music continued to become even more popular, Kenji would eventually rise to enough acclaim for a few performances here and there, eventually becoming skilled enough to take on students where Professor Utsunomiya didn’t have the time. 

 It was on a beautiful summer’s day when she was about eight years old near a beloved beach that Kiyoko loved that a bright eyed little boy, wiping tears off his face, broke away from his governess and ran towards the violinist and his daughter, who had been singing along to her father’s blessed strings.

Minoru Chiba.

Kiyoko had never seen anyone so touched by music as that little boy with his eager smile. He’d beheld Kenji’s playing as if he were entranced, eyes following every movement of the bow, the dancing of her father’s fingers on the instrument’s neck. The melody moved him, 

“Please, sir,” Minoru had begged, interrupting the song and trying to speak loud enough for the violinist to hear his plea. “It’s so beautiful! Won’t you teach me how to play? I promise I’ll be good!”

“Hey!” Kiyoko laughed then, astonished, her father continuing to play with an amused look on his face. “You’re a silly boy, rudely talking over Papa’s pretty song and asking him for lessons just like that. Shouldn’t you say your name yourself first?”

 That was when the wind had callously ripped her scarf from her neck, interrupting their conversation before the boy could defend himself.

“Come back!” Kiyoko called out, paling as she watched it flap in the wind, spiraling and waving almost mockingly as it fled. No! That had been a gift from Professor Utsunomiya! A gift from when the man had gone to Paris, and had failed yet again to be able to get her father to go too. She didn’t understand yet that money spoke larger than talent, but it had been such a kind gesture! How could this be?

Her wail had been loud enough to silence the seagulls the moment the scarf plunged into the waves.

“I got it, I got it!”

That boy, that brave little boy with a grin that was ready to challenge even the sea, charged into the surf then, ignoring the shrieks of everyone, especially his governess. Soaked to the bone, Minoru had returned with her scarf, holding it over his head with pride.

“See? I’ve rescued it for you.” Minoru held out the dripping scarf to Kiyoko, seemingly ignorant of the way water was spilling everywhere from his form. “This is to say sorry for not telling you and your father my name. I’m Minoru!”

Kiyoko would never forget the way her cheeks heated up, the way her body started to sway shyly as she looked down a little. “Kiyoko.”

“And I’m Kenji Daichi,” her Papa had chuckled. “So, you want to learn how to play the violin?”

“Yes!” Minoru sneezed, wrinkling his nose as he started to shiver, the situation he’d gotten himself into truly dawning on him. “Uh-oh. Hiromasa’s going to be really angry with me…”

Perhaps it was because he was the most stubborn person Kiyoko had ever met or perhaps it was because of how upper class families were embracing instruments like the violin, but despite his anger at Minoru plunging himself into the ocean, Hiromasa had actually agreed. Soon, Kiyoko was seeing the boy every day, and after his lessons…

Oh, the mischief they got into! The adventures they had! From making a mess in the kitchen to building sandcastles and teaching him how to swim, there were so many memories that it made Kiyoko's heart ache to remember them all. They loved everything from picnics in the attic of his family’s mansion to begging shopkeepers and strangers for a story to tell. From fairy tales to dark stories of ghosts and demons, there was nothing but magic in their friendship.

Magic… and something more.

One day, when they were both thirteen years old, Minoru had sat down to play a song he'd made up on the violin for her. While there had been no one who could replace her dear Papa, Kiyoko couldn't help but admit that the way Minoru played was so beautiful that it was as if the moon itself was weeping. But that day, that song in particular, there was something so ethereal about the sound that Kiyoko couldn’t help but feel tears come to her eyes.

“Do you know what my song means?" Minoru had asked after a moment of silence, setting the violin aside after she praised him for his genius.

Kiyoko shook her head. 

"I see." He'd looked out the window then, lowering his voice considerably. "I want to marry you someday,” Minoru confessed in a delicate whisper. She remembered how much she’d blushed when he said that, recalling perfectly how his own ears turned crimson. 

“Really?" Kiyoko had asked with a smile she couldn't contain. It was so bold of him, so daring to say! 

“Yes!” Minoru had grinned with all the arrogance of youth before hushing himself again, murmuring softly. “So… don’t forget me, okay? Promise me you won’t. Not when I have to go away."

“Go away?” Kiyoko echoed then, tilting her head with a delicate, fragile innocence she desperately wished she still had today, an innocence she’d tried so hard to protect. “What do you mean? Why do you think I’d forget you?”

The answer to that question would show up many, many years later on her doorstep, dressed in a uniform that didn’t fit the childhood companion she’d so dearly latched onto, saying five words she’d never, ever wanted to hear.

Truly, Kiyoko Daichi really was being forced to grow into a woman overnight. And now…

Standing tall in the entrance to her home, Hiromasa Chiba looked a bit awkward in his fine suit that should have enhanced the elegance an aristocrat like him carried. He clearly wasn’t used to wearing anything but a military uniform these days, and one hand tugged at the tie as he looked around, his eyes hardening the moment he saw her. Kiyoko immediately bowed in greeting; the elder Chiba heir was more than twenty years’ Minoru’s senior, and truthfully he felt much more like Minoru’s father figure-

No. 

Fathers were kind. Fathers were gentle. Fathers were the sunlight that caressed her skin when she sat in the meadow singing to the sound of the violin.

They were not this.

“Daichi.” Hiromasa cleared his throat, a silent command for her to approach him instead of the other way around. “It seems I’ve returned from Russia to unfortunate news.” He didn’t bother to ask her how she was doing, or offer Kiyoko herself any condolences. “I understand that your father has been sick for some time.”

Memories flashed before her eyes, mercilessly removing Hiromasa from that exact spot, bitterly replacing the man with an all-too-clear image of Papa coughing into his hand, blood slowly spreading inch by inch on the cuff of his shirt.

“Yes,” Kiyoko managed to reply. “He has been.”

“A pity.” Hiromasa nodded, keeping one hand behind his back. “I’ve come to pay my respects, and to inform you of something regarding Minoru.”

Immediately, panic seared through Kiyoko’s veins. Some Japanese soldiers were being sent these days to aid the White Russians against those scary Bolsheviks, and although there weren’t that many troops sent, surely Minoru couldn’t have been involved in something dreadful.

Could he?

“Is Minoru alright?” Kiyoko asked, swallowing hard. “Did something happen to him in Russia?”

Hiromasa frowned deeply. “You will not address my brother in such a casual manner from this point on, Daichi. That is what I’ve come to discuss. Now that your father has passed away, there is to be no connection between you and Minoru from now on.”

Kiyoko couldn’t speak. There was no way such heartless words were being flung against her like this. This couldn't be happening. There was no way that she was losing both her father and Minoru at the same time, was there?

“I… I don’t understand,” she stammered.

“Your understanding isn’t required,” Hiromasa scoffed harshly, and there was no mistaking the expression on his face for anything but disdain. “I have tolerated your childish little game with my brother for long enough. Do you think me blind to the way you two have spoken with each other until now?” His lips curled into a hard sneer, unforgiving and unrelenting. “You are a peasant, Daichi. From this day forward, Minoru will no longer acquaint himself with the likes of you, nor will he waste his time with such disgusting, foolish distractions like these.”

The papers were roughly shoved in Kiyoko’s arms before she even had the time to react. Scrambling to pick up the sheets that fell, Kiyoko looked down with an aching heart at the pages and pages of scores Minoru had written. How many pieces had he composed? How many songs had poured from his fingertips?

“Crying?” Hiromasa snorted, and he almost looked like he was enjoying her grief, but that couldn’t be. No one could be so heartless, could they? “I have no need for a woman’s tears. You have plagued our family enough, and this is my decree: do not write Minoru ever again. I have given him strict instructions to abstain from contacting you himself, and he will obey, lest he wishes to be disowned.”

“You’d… disown him?” Kiyoko asked in a disbelieving whisper, clutching onto the sheet music, despairing at the tears that started to mark the pages and spread the ink. “You’d truly do such a cruel thing?”

“What’s cruel is deluding him into thinking filth like you is worthy of the talk of marriage!” Hiromasa growled, bending down a bit too close to her face. “I am preparing a proper bride for my brother as we speak. The arrangements are already done, and when Minoru returns from Russia, he will wed her immediately. Do you understand, Daichi?”

“I…”

“Do you understand?”

Bowing her head low, Kiyoko nodded. “I… apologize for any transgressions I’ve somehow done against your family-”

“You can apologize by staying out of our lives,” Hiromasa snapped, once again adjusting his tie. “Now then. I shall greet Professor and Madame Utsunomiya. Do burn those for me, won’t you? After all, Minoru has no need for such distractions from now on.”

As Hiromasa Chiba glided away from her, all social pretenses back on his face, Kiyoko choked back a sob. Making sure to stay as meek and quiet as a mouse, she removed herself from that room then, stumbling into the bedroom. Sliding the door shut behind her, Kiyoko sank to her knees, clutching onto the sheet music with a desperation she’d never felt before.

“N-No,” she wept, fiercely, the bewilderment of what just happened abandoning her heartlessly for the grief that remained. “Papa, why? Why did you have to leave me? Can’t you see that I’m not ready for this? And why did he have to take Minoru too? How can I go on, Papa? How can I endure this world alone?”

There was only answer left, intertwined with the relentless sobs that filled the room, leaving no space for a daydream to slip in, to carry her away, to bring her elsewhere where dreams still dared to attempt flight.

Later, as the brass bell sounded and the robed priest’s monotone chanting began, Kiyoko wished desperately for the sound of the violin to drown out the wailing, to silence the living incarnation of her grief with its enchanting strings.

But that would never happen.

The violin was sitting in her lap, after all… and she never learned how to play.