A/N: I hope that 'Paper doll' does not disappoint you in the wait for any of my stories. I will try my best to pick up my stories once again, I've been distracted lately with what had been happening. Then again, I will not hinder,



I stood rigidly at the door way, the cedar door parted slightly only allow part of my face to be seen, the rest kept hidden away behind the smooth dry oiled paper of the shoji. I knew only my face would be seen, the rest locked away as a silhouette, a shadow to masque my length. Even though how I was made to wear exotic and unique kimonos, I would never be able to show their shine to my master; kept hidden behind this shadow. I felt weary every time I wore them, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I screamed that one day I will be rid of this. Someday when I'm no longer bound, someday when my master is no longer around…Someday when my master says…

Hearken! What have I thought? I cannot think of such a thing. I cannot!

My master…

My master can be as cold as the arctic ice and as stoic as a robotic. However, yet I seem that my master can be something more than that demeanour that is carried. I can tell at times though my eyes aren't made to be real, but I can see. My senses are proven to much more worthy than I had first expected. My skin prickles at the mere change of moods as my master certainly proves before me. My master's aura can be diminishing at times, yet it can grow and overpower the chaos of the Great Susanoo. Calm as the sea before a storm and a tsunami within a flash of a lighting. It sends an utter feeling of displeasure and discontent crawling over my body, that I tremble in fear and convulse in trepidation; hoping that nothing can be seen, the flickering underneath the kimono. Nevertheless, I cannot complain when that happens to me, my master is my master. I am bound to my master.

I cannot neglect the connection.

My nose can pick up the dryness of the autumn, the scent of withering; that is my master scent. A breath of something dead and dull…lifeless to the extent that it kills the inch of every living pigment of creation. It is as if the world had stopped and time had come to an end. That is just metaphor…to show how strong my master's unusual scent can bring to the household. The wooden corridors are lined with emptiness, the rooms filled with remorse and the courtyard littered with weary. The household of my master seems to bring only the gloom throughout the years that I have served faithfully. It seems that it will never change; it seemed dead. Then again, this scent of my master is something I have finally grown accustomed to…I cannot complain how much it intoxicates me, like death was at my fingertips. I cannot complain about it.

I cannot complain about my master.

My eyes see less than I thought I would; my master shrouds and stows away in darkness. The light of the oil lamp nearby is all that my master puts up for. Other than that, I can see no more, no less. However, as I would say after years by my master side, my sight has grown to learn to seek out in the darkness, to brighten in the midst of uneasiness…to see my master in the light that my master sits in. My master…


I was already going to move away from the slightly parted doors, but my ears caught onto my master's voice. Deep, grave and husky, that it sometime lulls me into a lullaby sleep. I stood in front of the parting and I looked into the dark room, the far corner of the solitude lit with the orangey golden hue of the oil lamp. I could see the mere outline of my master's body; the broad of the shoulders and the creases of the half worn yukata. I pursed my lips at the figure that flickered, and I adjusted my kimono behind the shoji. The distinct wave of the autumn crackle fell upon me and I knew my master had a steady hold on me. Even behind the shoji, my silhouette could just be easily be dispelled and be stripped. Under my master's haze, I knew I could not outrun. However as usual, my master decided on the same, as smoothly as the day…like today, like everyday. My master…

My master voice seeped into my ears from behind the shoji,

'I'm sorry. Were you already preparing for sleep?' the light flickered on the oil lamp, her figure moved along, 'I should have known not to call you at such a late hour.'

I brought my hands forward, in front to rest idly on my thighs; I stood outside on the veranda. My kimono sleeves dropped to cover my hands, my pale fingers peeking over. The kanzashi nestled into my loose tail of hair felt ready to fall, and I lowered my head slightly, the rest of my hair rushed over my neck and shoulders. I parted my lips,

'I had no intention to sleep just yet Kuga-sama.' I paused, but the uncertainty whether to continue was long disposed off that I did not hesitate a second longer,

'Are you alright Kuga-sama?'

The spring breeze came along the veranda and it brushed across my back, it ruffled my hair and chilled my cheeks. It swept into my master's room and my eyes once again caught onto the flicker of the light of the oil lamp. The shadow of mine that was casted before me was made of the dim moonlight, it hardly moved; my master's framed by the oil lamp light flickered madly…but then it stilled after the breeze ended. I waited patiently for a reply. My master…

'There is nothing.'

The radiance of my master's aura died down, the pulse that had pulled me to the room was no longer pulsating with life that the great Ookami carried. I silenced myself to ask further. The mood dies along with the aura, the haze dissipates and my skin no longer tingles in displeasure. No longer did I feel the strange feeling of being sucked into a black hole. Once again, my kimono is left to die, I for have long known when it has lost it shine. I looked up into darkness from the parting of the shoji and the light remained still, my master's outline, the creases of the half worn yukata could no longer be seen. The bodily structure of my master moved slowly in the darkness that I have grown use to, there is movement, but somehow the light from the oil lamp did not flicker. My master…

'You may leave Shizuru.'

My lips remain sealed as I watched my master move further into the darkness, the light there is engulfed by the pitch darkness of my master's solemnity; I could see no more of the figure I always faced in the day and night. I heard my master's breath and the light of the oil lamp extinguish in a fan, taken down like a radish cut in two; clean and swift. I felt my chest constrict and I pulled away from the shoji, my hands brushing slightly on the cedar frame; I cannot take this darkness any longer. My lips finally part, the dryness of the autumn seemed to have become heavy and I breathed out softly,

'Goodnight Kuga-sama.'

I took a small bow and I pulled up to tug the shoji door close. The smooth soft click of closure reeled my hands away; my eyes lingered on my intricate pattern of my heavy kimono. It was the colour of midnight blue; the presence of Tsukiyomi embraced my chest and my legs, and the petals and buds of the winter chrysanthemum flower my long sleeves. My skin felt dry and I wavered. My eyes dragged up the cedar frame and I kissed the dry oil paper of the shoji.

My master…

A/N: This story's original title is 'Katashiro' which literally means Paper doll that is used in Shinto sacred rituals. I hope that you have enjoyed the first short chapter of this story. Till next time, you'll slowly get to see what is exactly is the relationship and the strong bond between the two.

Then again,