A Horror Story
A Tale from Winter Court 5 (by Kakita Kyoumi)
Once upon a time, in a time of great peace in the Empire, there was a minister of the Doji. He was neither an exceptionally bright or exceptionally talented man. He had no great ideas, felt no profound insights, and suffered no great sorrows. In fact, only two things were remarkable about him in any way.
The first was that he was an extremely cautious man. And the second was that he had, locked in his heart, one beautiful, perfect painting, of a style that the Empire had never seen before.
Now, this man when he passed his gempukku, was assigned a ministry job for a kindly lord who gave him light work. He did his work competently and well. And each day when he returned home, he thought about the painting, realized it might make his lord uncomfortable, and thought, "I shall paint it tomorrow."
And when he married, he dutifully married the woman he was told, and she kept a calm and quiet house for him and his children grew and none troubled him at all. And each day, when he returned from his duties he thought about the painting and his comfortable life and thought, "I shall paint it tomorrow."
And when older, and his wife died, he felt some minor sadness, but it was the way of things, and he quietly went about his life uninterrupted. And each day, as he returned to his empty house, he thought about the painting and how it might disturb his peace and thought, "I shall paint it tomorrow."
And then, finally, he died. His fellow ministers felt obliged to attend his funeral. His children returned for a few days. And then he was forgotten. Utterly.
And the painting was never painted.
A Tale from Winter Court 5 (by Kakita Kyoumi)
Once upon a time, in a time of great peace in the Empire, there was a minister of the Doji. He was neither an exceptionally bright or exceptionally talented man. He had no great ideas, felt no profound insights, and suffered no great sorrows. In fact, only two things were remarkable about him in any way.
The first was that he was an extremely cautious man. And the second was that he had, locked in his heart, one beautiful, perfect painting, of a style that the Empire had never seen before.
Now, this man when he passed his gempukku, was assigned a ministry job for a kindly lord who gave him light work. He did his work competently and well. And each day when he returned home, he thought about the painting, realized it might make his lord uncomfortable, and thought, "I shall paint it tomorrow."
And when he married, he dutifully married the woman he was told, and she kept a calm and quiet house for him and his children grew and none troubled him at all. And each day, when he returned from his duties he thought about the painting and his comfortable life and thought, "I shall paint it tomorrow."
And when older, and his wife died, he felt some minor sadness, but it was the way of things, and he quietly went about his life uninterrupted. And each day, as he returned to his empty house, he thought about the painting and how it might disturb his peace and thought, "I shall paint it tomorrow."
And then, finally, he died. His fellow ministers felt obliged to attend his funeral. His children returned for a few days. And then he was forgotten. Utterly.
And the painting was never painted.