A fragile asian youth of haunting beauty with soft snowy skin contrasting against jet black hair and dark eyes which study with a disturbing harsh intensity or a distant gaze of cold contemplation. Her enchanting voice carries the wisdom of the ages and the icy clarity of a winter breeze.
Princess of Oblivion, Beloved of the Restless Dead, Keeper of the Wisdom of the Ancestors, Seeker of the Unknown, Mandarin of the Bone Court of Chongqing, Suicide Queen. Boon Ye has many titles found both within official court address as well as circles of whispered rumor. Little that is not obscured by fear is known of this powerful Wan Kuei who has come to the Court of Shodoshima bearing wisdom and authority.
"By what fortunes's bestowed favor do you believe yourself capable of success in this duty? I suggest you pray then, for without some miraculous intervention of the divine I see only failure for your immediate future. Perhaps, if you would stop wasting your forced breath and turn your attention upon me, I might better be able to bestow the favor, wisdom and guidance that you so desperately need in order to avoid the pits of Yomi once again. I have your attention then? Good... Perhaps this night shall be the harbinger of a miracle after all. Let us hope so shall we? You should still pray though."
I am many things. Many more than can be whispered among the foolish young disciples in their wasted rumors tinged with fear. I let them tell their little tales, trying to outdo one another with the imaginative stories of my past. They need not know the truth, each of us must find this ourselves. I would weep for them, I see only dismal failure dancing behind their eyes, but I would not waste my sorrow upon them and if what half they say were true my tears would only ice upon my cheek. I give of myself only to you, the restless departed, the ancestors of wisdom, those who have been and passed beyond the veil into the lands of the dead. Why? Perhaps I believe you to be deserving, perhaps to give thanks for the many soft truths you have imparted upon me or perhaps only because I know you will tell no other soul that which I speak this hallowed night.
Long ago was born a girl. She was beautiful, polite, quiet, dutiful and everything to make a father proud. Life was difficult in the mountain valley, but also simple. She did as she was told, she learned from her silent mother, she helped even her father when she could get out of the small hovel and around the farm. She never asked where her father went late at night and never asked why her mother was always so afraid, so silent. She learned to speak only in whispers and to fear the unknown. It was all she did know, to be afraid and await the unknown, the invisible something that she felt would crash upon her little family at any moment. She was a good little girl, but not a boy. She was beautiful, perhaps too much so. The unknown came late one night as she slept, awakened as three men brought her father home and tossing his lifeless corpse upon the floor. He had failed, failed to bring in enough harvest, failed to pay his debts, failed to find fortune at the gambling tables, failed his family. The silent mother and the beautiful little girl payed for his failure, both of them with their lives. They became but a feast of flesh for the men's sick delights, her mother was devoured before they even left the farm. The little girl lost everything she knew that night as the unknown destroyed her family and carried her off into the deep night.
The feast of the little girl was a long one, shared among many anonymous men who fancied the pleasures of budding youth. Used and abused, hating and loathing those who payed her a visit as well as herself she continued this way for a number of years until finally the unknown lost all power over her. One late night visit brought a pathetic elderly gentleman to her room, his own self loathing mirrored her own and she turned it upon him until the overwhelming grief of his uncontrollable urges for innocence ended with a gunshot and a final peace. Perhaps for the first time in her short life she smiled and then a second shot rang out into the whorehouse. I embraced the unknown and found my release. I found freedom, through which I found the strength to endure the torments of Yomi after which I found the power to rise once again from the depths of the unknown and to make that which is unknown my own.
I am the unknown.
I give thanks to you, dark soul of the yin realms. It is a must to break my silence at least once every decade, to be known to at least one other soul, if only for a short time. You have listened attentively, but now I bid you farewell. Oblivion awaits and you are no more.
Shodoshima . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . Hunt & Killam