The Yuki-Onna's Tale-Shiver

She spoke, and her voice was like music on a winter wind—beautiful yet terribly cold. I must admit, it suited her physical form to perfection. She herself was as pale as fresh snow under a full moon, her lips full and red, her tresses as black as a raven's wing, her eyes as blue as a frozen lake. Even at my age and with my monastic vows, my heart skipped a beat and flushed with passions I long thought locked away. I remember every word she spoke, every tone cool, crisp, and cloying, as if she could caress me with her words alone. And this is what she spoke to me that dark night on that mountain road.
"Do you long for my embrace? Does my pale skin and red lips make your heart race? Or does your heart sink at the sight of the frozen tears that stain my cheeks? Do you wish to save me from the eternal winter of my soul, or do you yearn to embrace the shivering touch of what lies beneath my kimono?
No, you seek a story, I can tell by the look in your eyes. You seek wisdom, dear traveler, free from the temptation of my porcelain thighs."
She laughed—a cold and beautiful sound that made me shiver, both with impure thoughts and the winter wind that was her breath. I found my resolve through my chattering teeth and shaking hands, and I said to her,
"I would know your story, not the tales that the living tell, but your words, your truth, oh lady of Winter."
I bowed as if I were in the presence of an empress. The gesture and my request seemed to appease her capricious nature. Perhaps she was unused to such gestures, or she had no desire to freeze me to death that day; I cannot say for certain. She waved a hand, and the blizzard that had caught me in that lonely mountain pass died down, becoming a gentle snowfall. The Yuki-Onna set her frozen eyes upon me and decided to tell me her tale. There, at the heart of a snowstorm, with my body and mind struggling to overcome the kiss of the winter wind, she spoke, and I listened. And this is the tale she told me:
"My name was Akamatsu Tsuna, and I was born in the red-light district of the provincial capital city of Hayakita nearly two centuries ago. By the time I had blossomed into a woman, my beauty and charm had elevated me to one of the highest ranks of courtesans. I had the freedom to choose my clients, and they would vie for the privilege of sharing tea with me. They showered me with jewelry, money, poems, paintings, and romantic gestures. The wealthy and powerful were captivated by a poor girl born in the red-light district, and their endeavors to win my favor never ceased to amuse me.
I turned down many of them, keeping them at arm's length. I wanted them to work for my attention, and this only seemed to make them spend more lavishly. I could separate a wealthy merchant from his earnings with a mere ghost of a smile or lighten a noble's purse with a glance that revealed a pale ankle. Most were fortunate to share tea with me, hear one of my poems, or listen to me play my Koto. By the time I turned twenty, I was a wealthy woman and the envy of many.
I could have led a charmed and comfortable life, basking in the affections of wealthy suitors, but I fell victim to what all courtesans in training are cautioned against: love. Oku Munekazu was a destitute samurai—handsome, gallant, and courageous, but he possessed barely enough to sustain a modest existence. Although I hadn't been deliberately trying to captivate him, I easily caught his attention. Soon, this provincial samurai from a remote province was going to great lengths to win my affections.
He wrote heartfelt poems, handpicked wildflowers, and offered trinkets that strained his meager budget. His sincerity touched me, and I couldn't deny his good looks and bravery. Against my better judgment, I agreed to have tea with my samurai to assess his intentions.
He made me laugh, and that memory stands out the most. My sweet provincial samurai, rough around the edges and lacking in wealth, had the power to make me genuinely laugh. I had always been adept at feigning smiles and laughter for my clients, but with him, it was real. When he touched my hand, my heart raced. Love had found its way into my life, lurking in the gentle eyes of my sweet provincial samurai.
I had his name tattooed upon my collar, a tradition marking him as my favorite, the one who had won my heart. He vowed to make me his bride and rescue me from the world I knew, and he kept his promise. He risked life and limb to defeat a powerful Oni and acquire enough treasure to buy my freedom. My sweet provincial samurai had gone beyond the petty treasures offered by numerous wealthy admirers.
I found true happiness with my sweet provincial samurai. I had never imagined that love would mean more to me than wealth and comfort.
I had never suspected that following my heart would bring about dire consequences. Lady Satake Akaiyo, a former client of mine, was a wealthy noble accustomed to getting her way, thanks to seemingly endless wealth. When she learned of my marriage to my sweet provincial Samurai, she was incensed. A woman prone to spite and scheming, she decided she would not tolerate her favorite "toy" slipping from her grasp.
It was early winter, the snow had just begun to fall, coating the mountain pass in beautiful shadows and glistening drifts. My beloved and I were en route to his homeland, where we would be wed and I would become a noble lady. However, bandits—actually, mercenaries hired by Lady Satake—descended upon us with murderous intent. My Samurai stood valiantly; bandits fell all around him, and the once-white snow turned crimson from the flashing steel of his swords. But, no matter his skill, he couldn't defend against the dark magic of Lady Satake. She emerged from the shadows, her lips filled with malevolent incantations, and unleashed a black bolt of energy that struck my beloved's heart, ending his life. She claimed she would spare me if I became her personal concubine.
Her words held no sincerity, and the world itself seemed to grow cold and hollow as I watched my sweet Samurai perish. That's when the wind whispered to me—the cold mountain wind found a chill in my heart and soul that it craved. The spirit offered me revenge, promising the power to make Lady Satake and her mercenaries pay for destroying my happiness.
I made a pact with the spirit, agreeing to become its avatar. At that moment, my heart ceased to beat, and I transformed into a Yuki-Onna. I ascended, lifted by a freezing wind, and a terrible blizzard enveloped us. I approached Lady Satake with a chilling smile and kissed her—a kiss that drained all warmth from her veins, a kiss that marked her end. Her mercenaries stood frozen, entranced by my ethereal beauty, unable to even blink. With a wave of my hand, I showered them with razor-sharp shards of ice; none who had a hand in my beloved's death survived.
Now, I am bound by that pact—an embodiment of the spirit of winter, a slayer of those who recklessly tread these mountain trails. Some say I am the most powerful of my kind, or perhaps the most beautiful—a queen among the Yokai, but a queen forever without her king. I will grant you life, traveler, for having heard my tale. But promise me this: if you ever encounter the spirit of my sweet provincial Samurai wandering this world or any other, tell him where to find me, and tell him that the little warmth remaining in my heart eternally belongs to him."
As a monk of my word and honor, I shall share the story of the Yuki-Onna of Tsuna's Pass with anyone willing to listen.

(Artwork by midJourny)