simpuruu-hime

The night was dark, the air fresh from the newly fallen rain shower of the summer winds. It was at this time that a stranger knocked on the door of a mere peasant farmer, whose crops had failed him due to their late planting in the spring. As the door swung open, the stranger pressed his way into the hovel. He was tall, wearing a helm of some sort so that bone-white horns cast dark shadows from the top of his head. His cloak was dry and as dark as the night from whence he came, and his deep voice rumbled from behind a dark black cloth over his face. “Give me one of your daughters and you need never worry for your house’s stomach