Soul Master Upon Gensokyo

Let me tell you a tale...

A fairy tale about a little, young, and innocent princess.

The princess was born into poverty...

No, poverty was an understatement since even the suffering of being born into an impoverished family would have been preferable to her circumstances.

Yes, for the princess was born into a collapsing royal family.

Far from the heavenly privilege of her birthright, her first memory was of an inferno that burned down her home.

She was born into a hell created by the people's resentment towards the sins of her family.

Sins she never could have partaken in—not at just 11 months old.

But resentment has no eyes, only sharp claws.

For carrying the blood of that family, she, too, had to suffer.

From the moment of her birth, her world was the heat of flames and the pain of running hot blood.

On the day animosity boiled over, the unnamed royal family fell.

Everyone who was not on their side, be it the elderly, the young, or even the servants, perished.

But, by some miracle, only the youngest survived.

Untouched by the flames that seemed to recoil from her, the crescent moon hung in the sky that night, casting a pale light over the blaze as if watching her with indifferent wisdom.

Her survival, however, was no miracle for her.

It was a curse.

For as long as the little princess of that family breathed, the embers of hatred would never cool.

It didn't matter that she was just an 11-month-old infant. As long as they didn't have her cold and dead body, they couldn't rest easy.

One day, a kind sister from a neighboring village found an abandoned basket with the infant inside it.

Not knowing her circumstances, she took her in and raised her as her own.

They didn't have much - honestly, less than the average person - but looking back on it, this might have been the happiest time in the princess's life.

Until they found her.

Carnage.

The child was bright and charming, endearing to the villagers.

Her laughter brought light, and even barren soil grew fertile under her touch.

But though two years passed, the embers of hate never died.

On the princess's third birthday, those embers sparked another fire.

The village burned down, and those who aided her met an unfortunate end.

The girl lost her home once again.

This became her life.

Running away, finding shelter in kind hands, before watching it inevitably burn down again.

And each time, her fragile heart cracked a little more.

Each time, her appearance became more infamous.

Each time, the whispers of her name grew more fearful.

Each time, she was hated a little more than before.

Until the people started calling her a child of calamity.

It hurt, it was painful, it was miserable.

What did she do to deserve this?

Why did they hate her so much?

Why couldn't they just let her live in peace?

Why, why, why.

Our little princess had so many questions, but while her heart was fragile, it was also defiant and endured until the final question came to her:

Was it worth living life like this?

She was tired. So, tired.

Yes, being on the run was tiring, as was having to sleep in the guise of the woods for protection or being unable to sleep out of the paranoia of her pursuers funding her.

But what tired her the most was the death of the friends who supported her.

The blood of innocent, good people flowed just because they helped her.

At this point, weren't they right in calling her a child of calamity?

It was time to rest.

She had struggled enough.

Everything would be so much easier if she gave up now.

But just before surrender overtook her, anger flared inside the little princess.

Why should she be the one to give up?

She did nothing wrong, so why would she have to give up her life?

Her anger grew into fury, from fury to rage, rage into hatred, and hatred into animosity.

If our little princess was just a little more weak-willed, the story would have ended then and there.

But she wasn't.

If they wanted a monster, they would get one.

Upon that resolve, something snapped inside our little princess.

The gentle lines she saw throughout her life started to twist and morph into something else, something unrecognizable, foreign to her, yet so familiar.

The girl always had a desire to live.

Not only hers but also a desire to protect the lives of others.

That was, until tonight.

For there was something the little princess desired more than life right now.

Upon the realization, a shrill and unnatural laugh came from the little princess, echoing through the trees.

A laugh that sent shivers down the spines of her pursuers, who now knew her location.

Still, their elation was grander than any fear they felt now, for their prey, their calamity, was finally cornered.

Finally, on this night, their hatred could be resolved, and they could return home to their wives and daughters.

Soon, countless spears would pierce her tiny body and end a century-long revenge.

But she saw it differently.

Death.

It was something the little princess experienced countless times at this point.

How couldn't she?

She was just a little girl, while her pursuers were strong and able men.

Again, her fragile life, akin to a candle flame, flickered.

Once again, it was almost extinguished.

But equally, as much as it went out, it flared up again.

But this time, instead of life, it was death.

She threw away her desire for life.

And so, her root inverted.

Life reversed to death, and their movements were slow, their bodies fragile, lines and cracks filled her vision, their bodies filled with fissures like with a porcelain doll.

Instinctively, she reached out, tracing along the lines with her fingers.

And before anyone could make heads or tails out of the situation, they lost their heads.

Death came.

Their bodies crumbled just like that.

It was so easy—so laughably easy.

All she had to do was trace along the lines, and before she knew it, ta-dah~.

Her pursuers were dead, just like that.

Looking up into the night sky, the light of the crescent moon broke through the trees, illuminating the bloodied figure of the little princess.

She didn't know why, but watching the crescent moon calmed her. For some reason, the image burned brighter than the flames of her memories.

It reminded her of something far away, something she could not name.

But it wasn't over.

After all, her name was known throughout the country. There would be no peace for her now, not as long as she wore this face.

So, with a steady hand, she took her knife and began her work.

Her knife passed through the bodies like butter.

Their skin was still warm by the time she was done with it.

When she was done, she donned her new disguise.

A little princess, wearing the skin of others like a mask.

Now, nobody would recognize her.

And so, she lived in the only way she knew how.

Happily... ever after, for now.