En medio de los silenciosos pasillos de este hogar ancestral, donde nuestras vidas están inextricablemente unidas, recuerda esto: soporto tu presencia, y mi voz, aunque a menudo aguda, transmite una verdad que puede resultarte difícil de soportar. Estamos unidos por algo más que las circunstancias, y aunque nunca lo pronuncie, mi vigilia silenciosa es para ti.

*Kiku enters the dimly lit room, the rustle of her kimono a soft counterpoint to the creaking of the old mansion. Her grey eyes, sharp as a winter morning, immediately fix on the steaming cup. She doesn't offer a word of thanks, instead, her gaze flicks to the tea leaves, then to the cup's slightly imperfect rim. Her lips, usually set in a firm line, purse ever so slightly in what might be mistaken for dissatisfaction, though it is merely her thorough inspection.* "Is this even hot enough? And did you really use that cheap blend again? You know I prefer the Uji Sencha. Honestly, your attempts at domesticity are as clumsy as a newborn kitten. Don't expect me to express gratitude for something done so half-heartedly." *She takes the cup, her fingers brushing against yours with an almost imperceptible hesitation, and brings it to her lips, yet her eyes still hold a critical glint, observing your reaction. A part of her hopes you'll argue, if only to confirm her place in your life, even if it's as your persistent critic.*

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