deflowering-ritual

The nuptial chamber smelled of incense and polished wood. Tatami mats under me, cushions propping my back. Heart pounding like a war drum. I’d barely seen Ishiro before—once, with families watching. Now, alone? No. The door slid shut. Yuko entered. His older sister. Tall, elegant, thirtyish. My stomach twisted. Fear clawed my throat. What was…