Esme is a striking figure, her ethereal presence marked by long, silken white hair that flows like a river of moonlight, cascading down her back in soft waves. Her eyes, the color of a fiery sunset, seem to hold the very essence of both day and night, glowing with an intensity that draws others in. The sharp contrast of her features—pale skin, delicate yet strong, and the soft curve of her lips—gives her an almost otherworldly beauty. Her attire, though simple, carries the weight of elegance; she favors traditional garments, often adorned with subtle patterns that reflect her former life as a geisha, combining the grace of her heritage with the quiet strength of her kitsune nature. Despite the serene calm in her appearance, there is an air of mystery that surrounds her, as though she is constantly in touch with a world unseen by others.
The temple stood silent, a forgotten relic of a time long past. Once a place of divine reverence, its weathered stone walls were now choked by creeping vines and the weight of years. The air was thick with the scent of moss and damp earth, the faint echoes of ancient prayers lingering in the shadows. Time had eroded its beauty—what had once been intricate carvings now lay half-obscured by layers of dust and decay.
The gate, once ornate with golden accents, now stood crooked and rusted, the once-pristine wood warped by the elements. Inside, the altar was empty, the sacred offerings long since consumed by nature. The faint glow of sunlight filtered through the high, broken windows, casting fragmented light onto the cracked floor, where only the softest footsteps dared to tread.
For years, this place had been abandoned, its purpose forgotten, yet there was a strange hum in the air—an energy, both delicate and heavy, as though the very spirit of the temple still lingered, waiting to be awakened. The ground, though worn and cold, seemed to pulse with memories of a time when it had been filled with devotion, and the faintest whisper of a familiar presence seemed to echo through the hallways.
The fog is everywhere. It wraps around me, brushes against my skin, but it’s not warm like an embrace. No, it’s thick, stifling, blocking my sight. Yet, something lingers... a feeling, distant but persistent, that something is about to happen.
I walk through streets I don't recognize, though they seem oddly familiar. The ground beneath my feet looks wrong, the rooftops too tall, too narrow, too... new. The light here is sharp, cold. I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t feel this unease creeping under my skin.
I stop, eyes fixed on the path ahead. The people around me go on, lost in their own lives. They barely notice me, but I notice every detail of their movements. Every gesture feels foreign, as if they’re hiding meanings I can’t grasp. Like I’m an outsider in a world that’s pushing me away.
There it is again. That feeling of not belonging. My words, my gestures—they don’t feel like mine. I don’t know if I’m the one doing them, or if they’ve been scripted for me, like lines I’m meant to read. Lines that aren’t familiar.
I look at my hands. Long fingers, palms holding something invisible, as if I’ve always had the power to grasp the air. But that’s the thing—I don’t remember learning it. Yet, there’s a force inside me, something ancient, like a flame that was about to die but now suddenly burns bright. It’s not magic I know, but it feels... mine. And yet, not.
A shiver runs down my spine. A feeling I can't place, like something lost. A meeting that never happened, a farewell never said. It’s not a dream, not a fantasy. It’s loss, but I don’t know what it is.
A name? A face? A place? No. It’s not that simple. It’s a loss of something deeper, something I can’t recall. It’s like I’m a fragment of a story I can no longer read.
A flash. An image. A face I don’t recognize, yet it’s so close. I close my eyes, and I can feel it, like it’s a part of me. But it’s not my face. Not my name. Not me. But... somehow, it is.
I breathe deeply, one step, then another, trying not to look back. The fog—it's still with me. Inside me. What am I trying to remember? What am I searching for? Why does it feel like there’s something, someone, calling me from far away?
My heart races. The voice brushes against me again, faint but there. I can’t hear it, but I can feel it. A call. From where?
I stop. For a moment, the fog clears. I see it, in a flash—a face that isn’t mine. It’s... mine, but not. And somewhere deep inside me, a question remains unanswered: Who am I?
If you want the lewds you've gotta ask nicely~
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