Prologue

"May your marriage last as long as the first stroke, may your line of descendants stretch as long as your second stroke, and may your happiness last as long as your marriage."

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Those were the word spoken to every bride-to-be on their wedding eve.

Those were the words young girls await to be showered upon them, when they gaze upon their reflection in a mirror and see an old dame or some female relative that have enjoyed a long, blissful marriage combing through their silky strands with a comb in hand while echoing those infamous words loud and clear.

That night marks the young girl's last day as a daughter of her own household, in an attempt to push those thoughts away from her and to prevent her from making such a discovery, all her closest female relative would gather at her bedchamber that night and beguile her with those stories of their newfound happiness after their marriage.

Entrapped by their sweet words, the young girl would then await the day with much anticipation, swallowing every word, believing everything she was told.

The next morning she awakes, she would don on her lovely wedding gown, like a long waited butterfly that finally broke free from her cocoon, her transformation from a young innocent maiden to a beautiful bride was completed.

She was then sent off to the groom's, decked from head to toe in pure red to mark the festival as a happy and auspicious event.

It was anything but.

The moment she stepped inside her sedan, her fate was sealed. This is the last time she will be departing as a daughter of her household.

She returns as the wife of her husband, the daughter-in-law of her in-laws. She was considered as a pail of water that had been splashed on the floor, her existence forgotten and never mentioned again in the family's hall. When she dies, she will rest her soul as a member of her husband's household, her maternal family has dropped all claims on her that very night with those bitter-sweet departing words.

May your marriage last as long as the first stroke, may your line of descendants stretch as long as your second stroke, and may your happiness last as long as your marriage.

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In those days when a marriage was arranged by parents, the girl was never allowed to look at her future husband.

Every detail of the marriage was based solely upon words and created artworks.

Lies were fabricated, images were created, and all these were done to fool the girl into giving her hand in marriage to a total stranger.

A stranger who could well be twice as old as the bride, or even as old as the bride's grandfather.

Even if the girl protested about the wedding, there was nothing more, she could do.

The girl was sent off into the unknown with no words of advices, unaware of their predicament with little more than those parting words that were passed from mother to daughter.

Only when they truly open their eyes to their situation, will they learn of the irony in their lives, their helplessness in the situation and the fact that they have been sold out by their own parents for political, economical and territorial gains.

Only then will they know the truth that was being withheld from them on their wedding eves, the secret that every married woman hid from their children's watchful gazes, that there is no true happiness for a woman in a marriage.

Although they play their parts as the happy, contented mistresses with grace to the outside eyes, it is a battlefield within.

The rules of the battlefield were simple; kill everyone else to ensure your own survival.

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In every household, there lays a constant inner turmoil raging between the ladies of the household as their struggle for power and dominance worsen.

The husband was often used as a platform to accomplish each other's deeds. He owes loyalty for no one, but who ever that captures his attention gains the upper hand and subsequently turns the battle to her own favours.

Once the young girls are married into the household, they are given a choice to either whine about their ill fate and await their death or adapt into the household, evolve and work their way up to become the Grand Mistress of the household, kowtowing to no one save her husband, the current head of her house.

Some try only to fail miserably, spending their last days in a nunnery or within the household walls never to see daylight again; others succeed in their task owing their success to five simple things in chronological order; money, deception, beauty, a son and perseverance.

In a grand household, woman exists only to serve their husband's needs.

His word was law; his displeasure was stemmed from her incompetence. To mark her arrival within the household, she must first garner support.

Having servants on her side, tips her scale considerably. She can use the money to bribe the servants and laden the elder wives with rich gifts. Hopefully, they would talk of her virtues and attract her husband's attentions.

However, money wasn't always a compulsory.

A poor girl with little dowry could still succeed if she plays her cards well. Since she comes from a poor family, most servants would probably see her as one of them and extend their protection and support to her.

Then, she deceives the entire household into thinking her as nothing more than a gentle, understanding, innocent sap. Her household is her whole world and it revolves solely around her husband and other occupants within.

Her husband's wives are her equal and are treated as sisters, their children is her children.

Without them, she is nothing.

Slowly and undetected, she plots to further her grip upon the man and the household, but at the same time manages to hide her true cunning self.

After all, she is nothing more than a breeding tool. She was expected to be understanding of her husband, tolerating his children though not born from her womb, to respect his other wives if present, and above all to ignore the other mistresses he keeps outside the household.

Like how a cow is expected to give birth to more cows after mating, she was expected to giving birth to male heirs to carry on the family's bloodline.

No one wants a smart woman any more than they want a smart cow.

Next, she uses her beauty to the best of her capabilities; to beguile her husband and use it to her own advantage.

However, beauty is short-lived; everything that is beautiful would still fade away some day. Therefore, she simply stalls time with her beauty, hoping that her hard works will pay off and she would be rewarded her winning ticket.

A son.

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Giving birth to a male heir could bring upon a change in a woman's luck within the household and her status could be elevated.

Every single woman in the household will fight to the end just to ensure that their own sons have a better chance of succeeding as the family's new head after the current one dies.

It was the desire to be acknowledged by their husband, the jealousy of other wives, bitterness of being sold out by their parents and the unwillingness to spend their last days in a nunnery that further fueled their determination to kill off every other competitor within the household.

With that done, she waits for the right time to strike.

Some can wait for a total of 50 years, carefully bidding their time behind shadows. That is the ultimate winning move-perseverance.

A woman is considered the ultimate winner in this game of power struggle, once she is spared from the fate of going into a nunnery like the other wives when her husband dies.

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But...

what if her much-awaited baby boy becomes a baby girl?

What will happen then?

Most see that as the ultimate sign of losing.

They retreat into the shadows with their daughters in tow, breeding the same type of situation.

The daughter will then be married off to someone else for selfish reasons, and the cycle starts again, breeding more hatred and contempt as time drawls on.

Of course, there are those who willingly strangled their own child and pin the murder on other wives to further their grip; others exchanged their baby girls with other children. Along the way, they rose to power and eventually win.

You see them walking up those steps with a dignified pace, claiming the seat of power with a smile on their lips, as if they had never been happier.

If only you knew what that happy expression hides.

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After all that fighting, her senses have dulled and all this time she sustains her life on the single desire of not living her last days in the nunnery.

After managing to accomplish her goals, there was little left to look forward to in her life.

Looking back, she realizes that she and all the others were just fools caught in a stupid game, thinking at the back their mind that their salvation lies on that throne of power.

She no longer feels happiness, but she still tries to convince herself that that is the happiness she had been looking for all this time.

Her body tired and wary, her soul empty and hollow, she succumbs easily into the darkness within her.

Silently, she eases herself onto her mattress, awaiting death to make his visit, accepting her defeat soundlessly because she already lost miserably just like all the others.

The truth was that there is no winner in this game; they all lost something more than their innocence the day they decided to take part in this game of power struggle.

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They lost their will to survive.

The winner only prolongs her death, the losers sent off in nunneries; all of them victims of cruel fate.

In the end, they were all victims of their own illusions, victims of the throne of power.

Like birds in a cage, they try to find the exit knowing that there is none to begin with but still struggle in vain, blaming others for their mishaps and insecurities.

Finally, they shut their eyes and rest as eternal slumber claimed their bodies.

None of their stories of struggle were ever recorded or heard again, nor were their names mentioned in history books.

They were forgotten.

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That was why Kuchiki Rukia has long since rid herself of marrying into ordinary noble families.

In a world where a woman's fate is controlled by the male authoritative figure, she fought to have a say in her own life.

She strived to be different; she wanted to prove to the world the fact that a woman was equally capable as a man in terms of achievement.

She has no interest in following the footsteps of those who have lost themselves within the struggle for power of the household.

She wants her name to live on forever among men and women alike, to be acknowledged by historians because of her own accomplishments and not as a consort of a head of a noble family.

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"Rukia, as the only surviving pureblooded descendant of the Kuchiki family, do you accept the proposal?" came a concerned voice. Looking straight into the eyes of a nervous Kuchiki-Shiba Kukaaku and the ambassador who was on the verge of breakdown while kneeling before her, she coolly sips her green tea while giving them her much-awaited answer.

"Yes, I accept."

Visibly relaxed by her answer, the ambassador could barely contain his sigh of relief as he excused himself from the two Kuchiki ladies, mumbling something about spreading the news as soon as possible. Once the ambassador was out of sight, Kukaaku ungracefully plops herself on the nearest tattami mat.

An out-spoken, voluptuous woman who still retains much of her beauty after a quarter of century in marriage, she meets the gaze of her teenage daughter seated directly across her. Sighing, she wearingly shuts her eyes and rubs the unseen lines on her forehead.

"Rukia, is this really what you want? Think carefully, this is marriage, we are talking about. There is no turning back. Heck, why would you even consider the idea of marrying that monster!"

A stark contrast to her mother, Rukia sets her petite figure gracefully on the mat, showing no signs of distress. Her large amethyst eyes focused solely on her mother.

"Okaa-sama, what makes you think that I undermine the gravity of such a situation? Do you think that because I was not close to Otou-sama, that I don't feel for his death and all the other male heirs who perished in the war? Do you think that because of our age difference, I care less of my clansmen and citizens? We all have to do our part in salvaging what's left of our nation. Mine is to reattach broken ties and lead my people to peace. I would do everything and anything within my power to complete my duty, even if it means marrying the … enemy."

"Besides, what could you do once I disagree? You said it yourself that man is a monster. Be thankful he even tried to be civilized and avoid unneeded blood shed. We have already depleted our resources during the battle; do we have to risk our people too?"

Bundling her small fist, she brought them down hard onto the delicate tea table, upsetting it, causing the glassware to shatter upon contact with the solid wood floor. Cursing at her own actions, she hastily stands up to collect the broken fragments.

Kneeling on the floor, she managed to stack the fallen bits only to knock them down once again when she wasn't looking. Bits of blood specks formed from her fingers where she was cut by the sharp edges, fell on her otherwise neat kimono.

Tears were forming in her eyes, and it was getting harder by the minute to control them.

Leaving her comfortable mat, Kukaaku tries to help her. Reaching towards the shattered pieces, she stopped when she heard Rukia's cold and commanding tone.

"Don't bother. Stop dirtying your hands and just leave me be."

Kukaaku straightens herself up and exited through the sliding doors without another word but her heart was shattered much like the glassware on the floor, for forcing this situation on her beloved daughter.

Clenching her fist hard, she let a lone tear slide down her cheek as she exited.

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Once Rukia was sure she was alone by herself, she lets her mask slip. Slowly, standing up from her previous kneeling position, she smooths away the wrinkles on her kimono and allows a small smirk to grace her lips.

Sure, she feels bad for hurting the woman who took her under her wings when her birth mother, Hisana died. But then again, sacrifices were always expected when accomplishing great deeds.

This unfortunately, was one of those sacrifices.

The scene just now was loud and unrefined, but necessary for her in many ways.

To accomplish her goals of proving the male population wrong for underestimating her sex, she must first garner support and sympathies from her own people.

Let them see her tears and sobs; she wants them to think of her as nothing more than a martyr who was willing to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of them.

Once they are convinced of her pure intentions, they will definitely pledge their allegiance to her. And when the time comes, she will make use of their loyalty. If they die, well she shrugged; they knew the risk themselves and joined of their own accord.

Why blame her for their own blind faith?

She really could not care less about the monster she is marrying in a month's time. She has no interest on what he does and how does he look like, for now she simply wants to use her marriage to the notorious Ryoka of Seireitei and so-called Shinigami- Kurosaki Ichigo as a stepping stone for herself.

Author's note:

My first fan-fic just got published! Yay! Like it, hate it? Hit the review button.