For a woman with two lovers, O-Ren has always considered herself rather asexual.
It almost comes as a surprise, those infrequent shivers of desire running liquid down her spine. Two thirds of the time, she can handle herself. It's the last third that bothers her.
Faceless fucks don't appeal to her. She's already had her share of anonymous killing. Anonymous sex would be unbearable.
She learns from the mistakes of others: Budd rutting, Budd rotting. Vernita tamed.
So, then, O-Ren's solution is neat. She parcels her time and her touch between her two most trusted companions, Sofie and Go-Go. They're both competent, loyal to her (Sofie subtly, Go-Go fiercely), and hostile to each other.
The contrast is perfect: Sofie of the China doll complexion and unexpectedly dexterous fingers, who could drop soft bon mots in five different languages with queenly ennui. Go-Go, the number one guttersnipe princess, decked out in neon bustiers and slashed micro-minis displaying the bite marks on her thighs.
O-Ren still spends the majority of her nights alone, but she's never wanting for release. Neither woman is truly her equal, yet the two of them combined content her in a way that she refuses to designate as love.
For two years, the three of them live in this combustible arrangement, until the day a wild-eyed blonde shows up at the House of Blue Leaves.
In the snow, O-Ren feels the whistle of Hattori Hanzo steel through her skull, and the images are instantaneous. She sees a quiet Sofie, tracing sentimental kanji on O-Ren's hip. There's Go-Go, sated, pressing strawberry lip gloss kisses down O-Ren's neck.
O-Ren dies reaching out for slender hands that no longer exist.