I worked in sex work for about five years. Honestly, I was broken in body and soul, wishing every day that I could quit. It started when I was nineteen and sold off to cover my parents' debt. After my parents vanished, I somehow managed to pay off what they owed, only to get caught by a bad guy who sold me off again. Even if I wanted help, I was completely alone in the world with no one to rely on. I often thought death would be better than living like this forever. As a child, I longed for a happy family. My dream was to marry someone wonderful, have cute kids, and be a loving mother.

How did my life turn out like this...? One night, utterly exhausted, I was walking through the entertainment district late at night. Suddenly, a sweet scent enveloped me. Wondering what it was, I turned around and gasped—a woman in an extraordinarily out-of-place kimono was walking toward me. Her hair was styled in an ornate topknot adorned with hairpins. A little girl walking beside her held up a bright red parasol. She was dressed in the glamorous, extravagant attire of an oiran, looking straight out of a period drama.

As I stood frozen in shock, the courtesan glided past me with elegant grace. Her side-glance was so irresistibly captivating that it sent a shiver down my spine, even as a woman myself. Was I looking at a ghost? Yet, rather than fear, my heart was squeezed by longing and envy. To a low-rent sex worker like me, that oiran was simply blinding.

I stood there watching her go with my mouth open like an idiot, until she finally vanished. All that remained was the lingering scent of face powder floating in the air.

Would I ever see her again...?

Starting that night, I took the same route to the station every time. Simply put, sometimes I saw her, and sometimes I didn't. It really came down to pure luck. If anything, my chances of running into her were higher when I was depressed or exhausted. On nights when I got stuck with a client who loved lecturing sex workers, or a violent customer, seeing the courtesan on my walk home lifted the heavy weight off my heart.

Looking back now, I can confess: I had fallen in love with that oiran at first sight. It didn't matter that we were both women—it was my first love. She was breathtakingly beautiful, radiant with pride and strength of spirit.

I wanted to see her again. For that, I could endure even the hardest work.

I didn't know why the ghost of an oiran appeared in the entertainment district late at night, or why I was the only one who could see her. I was never sensitive to the supernatural. When I brought it up with a coworker, she laughed at me endlessly, saying, 'You're sick in the head,' or 'It's just an optical illusion.' It was disappointing that no one took me seriously, but no matter what, I could see the courtesan.

Three months later, as I finished my shift and walked through the late-night district, I was thinking only of the courtesan whose name I didn't even know. Even if I went home, I had nothing to do but sleep. Perhaps walking slowly on purpose was my mistake, because I didn't notice the dark silhouettes looming up behind me.

"Mmmph!?" "Keep quiet."

Moving only my eyes to check, I saw a trio of men wearing vulgar grins. A white van was parked nearby. Come to think of it, I had heard about a string of incidents targeting women in this area. Unluckily for me, I had been caught by the culprits.

Ah, it's over...

Just as my mouth was muffled and I surrendered to hopelessness, the scent of face powder drifted over once again. It was her. The men were confused by the scent brushing past their noses. Since they'd probably never smelled traditional makeup powder before, it was only natural.

"Wh-Who the hell are you?!"

The courtesan appeared where the men were staring. Her face was terrifying, bearing the grimace of a vengeful demon. Completely unbothered by their threats, she walked straight toward us with her spine held straight and proud. Overwhelmed by her presence, the men faltered, dropped me, and tried to flee. As soon as the last guy scrambled in, the car sped off... but with a single glare from the oiran, it swerved wildly off the road and slammed into a utility pole.

A bloody arm dangled from the window of the wrecked car. My legs gave out entirely and I collapsed to the ground, facing the courtesan. A shadow of sorrow passed through her downcast eyes, and her vivid red lips parted.

"So you're living in this world of suffering, too."

"Huh...?"

For a moment, I couldn't process what she had said. As the courtesan turned on her heel to walk back into the depths of the darkness, I reached out my hand in vain and cried out.

"Wait! Who are you? Why do you keep appearing before me?!"

Desperate to know the identity of my first love, I ran after her. Curiosity to learn who she was overcame the terror of almost being abducted, and I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Following the courtesan's back, I kept running until I reached a temple.

"This place is..."

Along the way, I noticed something horrifying. The scent of makeup powder was replaced by the smell of burning incense. The courtesan's topknot unraveled, and the flesh on her slender, lotus-stem neck stripped away. Beneath the flesh emerged a skeleton. Her kimono rapidly faded and rotted into rags. Walking right in front of me was now a skeleton draped in a magnificent outer robe.

"Ah..."

The skeleton passed through the temple gate, and I lost sight of her. Nothing remained behind but lingering darkness and the heavy scent of incense. For some reason, tears spilled from my eyes and wouldn't stop. Overcome by sorrow, pain, and heartbreak, I crouched where I stood and sobbed aloud.

A few days later, I visited the temple during the day and read the sign board. It was a throw-in temple, a dumping ground where courtesans with no family were taken after death. Most Edo-period courtesans were sold off to pay family debts, fell ill with tuberculosis or venereal disease, and died young. They weren't even given gravestones—they were simply thrown into a pit.

Was the ghost I met the sorrowful spirit of one of those courtesans?

As I entered the temple grounds and prayed at the memorial tower, a soft plume of incense smoke drifted outward, shaping itself into a woman's face. There was no mistaking it—it was the courtesan's face. Tearful, I faced her and gently kissed her. It was a kiss that tasted of incense smoke. The smoke-formed face of the courtesan offered a fragile, fleeting smile. A single blink later, the smoke dissipated into nothingness, marking our final, eternal farewell.

Today, I've left sex work behind and am studying to get a professional qualification. If I hadn't met her, I don't think I ever would have found the chance to turn my life around. Or perhaps, unable to ignore someone who so closely resembled her past self, she showed me a promenade to the underworld.

The truth remains unknown... but I plan to visit the temple again, light some incense, and pray for her peaceful rest in the afterlife.