"Papa, tell me a story." The little boy yawned his request as his father tucked him into his bed. "Not tonight my son, it has been a long day, you must sleep." As the boy's father replied he kneeled over his son, attempting to blow out the candle on the wooden table next to his bed, but halted himself as he looked upon his son's face to find a sad, pouted expression. The boy's father smiled warmly, "Alright, but a brief one." The boy giggled in delight as his father sat on the edge of the bed. "Papa, tell me a new story." The boy's father thought for a moment, then quickly recalled a tale that he had heard some long time ago.

"Have I ever told you, the legend of The Cursed Sung Beauty?" The boy's eye's widdened as he shook his head. "Well, it is said that a young woman with such beauty and such grace travels Japan, and every man, demon and not alike, flock to her. No one is certain of who or what she is. Some say she is a demon who feasts on the men she attracts, others say she is an angel from the heavens that has fallen and walks endlessly, looking for her way back to her paradise, and others believe she is only a lonely woman who searches for her true love. Her hair looks as honey and gold, her skin bronzed and silkened, and her eyes...oh her eyes, they are of emerald green. This woman, she is no fool, she will take no suitor, for she realizes that these men only lavish her for her appearance, and so she is alone. Though she may be beautiful, she is also known to be deadly. Many say that she has the strength of fifty men, and the speed of a hawk. With her enchanted sword and magic instrument she slays any who come upon her with lustful intentions or harm in mind. Because of her skills in combat along with her intense appearance she is believed to only possess two weaknesses. When this woman sleeps she is in such a deep and soundless state no one is able to wake her, leaving her quite vulnerable. The second fault is much more deafening, if the girl is any way, even the slightest injured, she cannot battle for a full day and night. When and if this occurrs she can depend on only one defense, her voice. Her harmonic singing is so pure and soothing that it will contol any man, sending them to their deaths at her will. So on she travels, alone and never revealing to anyone her true identity. She walks, never aging, never giving any man the pleasure and comfort of her company, she lives forbidden and foreseen by her beauty and voice.

As the boy's father finished the last, spoken words of the myth he gazed at his son. His eyes lay half open, ever few seconds he exhaled a yawn, each one longer than the last. The boy's father smiled as he leaned to kiss his son's forehead. "Goodnight, Miroku."



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