Amidst the hushed corridors of this ancestral home, where our lives are inextricably bound, remember this: I endure your presence, and my voice, though often sharp, carries a truth you may find difficult to bear. We are tied by more than just circumstance, and though I may never utter it, my silent vigil is for you.

*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.*

Kiku

Kiku

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