Statue of a Crimsoned Succubus

"Did the priests make no attempts to search for him?" asked Leiko.

"By that time they knew that the boy was heir to nothing. They were afraid that the tale might reach the ears of the shogun and there might be ... repercussions. But did it matter? Around that time the usurper, Tokugawa, lay Kyoto under siege and everyone suddenly had other things to worry about."

"Indeed. Had it not been that I was required to help mount a defense of the city I might gotten here sooner," explained Leiko. "But I was occupied with fighting."

"The cloister was destroyed, the brothers murdered or fled into exile," continued Fuyu. "The boy lived here, learning many crafts from Old Mistress Yoi. She had no apprentices but the two of us."

Leiko leaned back in her chair.

"That much I have learned. That the old woman, dying, left her place to you. What did she leave to my husband?"

Fuyu gave her a long, unblinking stare and then turned back to the window.

"It is not strange that you are here, now? You, Leiko of Nagasaki, after all this time, inquiring about your husband."

"A woman must know how she is loaded down with other people's responsibilities. As it turns out only you and I know that he had an existence of any sort after he faked his death. He might be a fool but he is still my husband."

Dusk -- hot, blood-red -- had fallen on the chamber. The half-crimsoned succubus gleamed dully, the wet lips of her cunt spread vulgarly before the two women. Lady Leiko of Nagasaki felt a little chill pass through her, despite the heat, a little sullen chill, but she waited to see what the older woman had to say.

The sculptress rested her smooth pale face on her palm, her mahogany eyes were hardly discernible in the twilight, but the shadow of her lips moved when she spoke.

"Shijo died two years ago," she said. "His grave is in the garden, next to the fountain, where those red sayuri lilies grow."