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A lifespan ago, amidst the leafy foliage of an unassuming bush in a lush forest full of whisper of spirits and other otherworldly beings, a pupa, unassuming and conventional, was preparing for its metamorphosis. Yet before it could break free from its shackles of youth and emerge as fully fledged adult. Tragedy. A passing lord and his kindred were betrayed by those that they had called their own under the light of the Moon which hung full and ghostly radiant in the night air. The slaughter was quick, the blood spilled as lord and lady tried to flee through the foliage chasing some hopeless will to survive as they were cut down. The blood that flew from their bodies stained all it splattered red in its carnage. A lonely moth Pupa that had hung so innocently perhaps by a stroke of destiny or cruel fate was not spared the bloodshed, as it was drenched firmly in the anguished blood of the defiled, leaving it stained beyond recognition.
Perhaps if it had been any other night, the tale would end merely in the tragic loss of life, but this was no standard night. Divine blessings of gods snaked down from the moonlit heavens enshrouding the pupa in divine blessing. The magic was transformative in its intentions as the metamorphosis was forever changed. This moth was no longer mere insect born to live, reproduce and die in a mindless cycle of death and birth. No. It had become something greater. It had become moth Yokai. The Pupa swelled to become much larger to accommodate for the newfound humanoid nature. The one who had been drenched in blood, she was a being born of darkness, with her wings and appearance muted as a reflection of that. Her name was already known to her at birth. Though it is one she had given up a long time ago. Ahmya. The black rain. Her form as beautiful as her soul tainted.
Shortly after emerging, Ahmya was found by the two protectors of the moth yokai clan living in the forest. For years to come, the three would live together. Free of human morale, not benevolent nor malicious, they would spend their days in harmony with nature. The moth yokai clan would make it their responsiblity to either lead unassuming travelers through the thicket into safety..or sate their hunger, the unlucky soul never to be heard of again. Especially during moonless nights, rumours and whispers grew louder to not take the path leading through the spirit forest, if you value life and limb. Especially those foolish enough to think, they could sell some precious and fine silk the moths produce, would soon enough realize their grave mistake of wandering into the undergrowth with hearts heavy of greed.
From one of the more bloody confrontations, Ahmya had learned of the nature of her wings. Of their ability to induce a state of delirium in others due to their hallucinogenic properties. The shattered mental state of a human mind enthralled by delusion was a sight to see. Attacking each other and clawing at one-self. For one this view would be a site of horror and disgust, but for the Ahmya, who saw the world differently, it was a sight in which she had come to her conclusion. She had the power to do what she wanted. To establish her own rules. Thus Ahmya would only smile at the carnage, as something dark would blossom within her very soul. This change in her very nature, This acceptance of who she was. Altered the very properties of the silk which she had spun. Now it seared the flesh of any that attempted to grasp it. To take it for themselves. It was her silk. The acidic property forever makes it so. No foul would take it from her now.
She would leave a life, of good nature behind as she had taken up a new name. Striving for more and enthralled by the materialistic obssessions of humankind, she left the forest she had called her home.
Karehime. The wilted one.
She became a lady of the fine arts, a Tayuu, her reputation and prestige merely overcome by her beauty. Still hungery for more, it did not take long for her to rise to an influential name in the underground business. Information, wares, and other services were offered, for the right price. Opiates were a particular fondness of hers. She did not care for what happened to those that consumed them on the regular. There was a profit to be made and she would sell to those poor wretched so long as they kept buying. Of course every illegal business needs a cover and this was no exception. An Oiran Teahouse perfectly mundane in its appearance, with girls as beautiful as the princesses of old. A perfect cover for the gateway to the dark side of merchanting. For Karehime, so long as people followed her rules, they were under her protection. From her smugglers, to her workers. They were her family now, hers to protect yet for those in opposition… They would be plucked like deceased petals from a flower. Used and discarded without a second thought. For even she who knows the vile and the darkened side of society, will hold comradery and trust in the highest regard.