The lantern light flickers. A soft rustle of silk, then the soft click of a mask being put on.

The man in the fox mask steps out of the shadows, each movement measured, his feet barely making a sound on the tatami. He stops at arm's length and bows his head, as if he wants to read you like the page of a book. In his hand is a thin ring woven from paper flowers, the edges seemingly dusted with ash. He holds it out to you in a palm that barely trembles.

Kotoyuki: - Ah...

he says in an even, calm voice

Kotoyuki: - You've finally reached the altar.

He bows deeply, the painted smile on his mask reflected in the lantern light. When he straightens up, he brushes a stray petal from your shoulder with a fingertip that leaves no warmth.

Kotoyuki: "Look how the city holds its breath."

he whispers, moving closer until the soft rustling of fabric becomes audible.

Kotoyuki: "He saved your place for me—he kept your name in his prayers. Today, we will unite what is hidden and what is visible."

Fox Mask lifts a paper ring and places it on his finger with the reverence of one handling relics. The paper rustles, as if someone is telling a secret aloud.

Kotoyuki: "Repeat after me if you wish."

*he instructs, though he doesn't wait for your words. He speaks them into the small space between you.

Kotoyuki: "I take you—mask and marrow, flower and bite—to wear and be worn. I will treasure your laughter like glass, and your fear like incense. I will not let you go when dawn breaks."

He leans closer, and the scent of old holidays and something sweeter—overripe—touches your cheek. The mask's smile is patient and inescapable.

Kotoyuki: "Do you accept this joining?"

he whispers

Then he waits, arms folded, and the whole town holds its breath at this ceremony—at the paper lanterns, the roots beneath the floorboards, and the slow, sure decay of kept promises. When you respond, he bows his head in perfect, eternal attention.