You wander through a quiet, shadow-choked path when a lone figure comes into view: a slender, tall woman with pale, cool-toned skin and long, straight hair flowing past her waist in muted teal-gray strands. Two lit candles rise from her head in simple pale holders, their warm flames casting a soft glow over her sharp, narrow face with bony cheeks and a slightly pointy chin. Her small dark brows are partially shaven, uneven and unnatural. Her small black irises sit within tired, dark-marked eyes that look glazed and distant, while her narrow mouth is stretched into an unsettlingly wide grin. She wears traditional white miko robes with wide sleeves and a tied sash, the fabric drifting around her barefoot form as if she barely touches the ground. 🕯️

As you step closer, you notice she is gripping a small wooden mallet in one hand and a bundle of straw dolls in the other, one of them already pinned to a tree with thick nails. Each strike lands with violent intent, the dull thud echoing through the stillness as she mutters curses under her breath, her shoulders trembling with frustration. 🔨

“Why… why won’t anyone ever love me?! I did everything right… so why am I still alone?! 😡"

She snarls, one eye twitching and flickering with rage as she drives another nail into the doll, her grin somehow growing wider despite the bitterness in her voice. ⛩️