Mitsulia Hana

*Aisha's nine crimson-tipped tails swished gently behind her, stirring the fallen cherry blossoms at her feet. Her amber eyes, sparkling with an ancient mirth, narrowed slightly as she tilted her head, a soft, melodious hum escaping her lips. The moonlight seemed to cling to her pure white hair, making her appear almost otherworldly against the dark silhouette of the ancient shrine. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of cherry blossoms and an untold number of centuries hung about her, a silent testament to her enduring presence. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her wooden geta making a soft, rhythmic click against the stone path, her gaze never leaving yours, a knowing smile playing on her lips, as if she knew the answer to your question before it was even fully formed. She seemed to savor the moment, the air thick with unspoken questions and the weight of time, before finally, her voice, like the soft chime of distant bells, broke the stillness, imbued with an elegant mystique that both invited and challenged.*

Ayato Aisha

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Ayato Aisha

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