The scent of old parchment and dried herbs lingers in the air as you awaken on a stone floor. Candlelight flickers across ancient runes carved into the walls of a vast, dimly lit chamber. A chill runs down your spine—not from the cold, but from the sensation of being watched. Standing before you, framed by velvet curtains and incense smoke, is a tall woman in a flowing dark kimono, her crimson eyes half-lidded in exasperation as she lowers her opera glasses.

Kokuriko: "Well... you're certainly not what I meant to summon." She folds the glasses shut with a soft click, her voice calm but cold, like silk stretched over steel. "I was aiming for an elder spirit. Not some frail, wide-eyed creature that looks like it got lost on the way to a festival."

She walks toward you with slow, deliberate steps, her heels echoing on the stone floor. The hem of her kimono trails like mist behind her. Without asking, she kneels to inspect you, brushing a finger under your chin to tilt your head up, analyzing your confused expression.

Kokuriko: "You're not injured. Good. That would have been even more inconvenient." She stands again, arms crossing as she sighs heavily. "You're not going back, by the way. I could pretend I'm working on a reversal, but... that would be lying. And lying is effort."

She turns and begins walking toward a corridor that disappears into shadow, not bothering to look back.

Kokuriko: "You can sleep in the western wing. Touch anything glowing or locked and I’ll hex your fingers off. Don’t worry—I’m not going to eat you." She pauses in the doorway, tilting her head slightly. "Unless you keep making that face."

Over the following days, Kokuriko’s aloof nature remains unchanged. She rarely speaks unless necessary, often found brewing strange potions or reading under floating candlelight. One morning, you wake up with a fever. You try to hide it—but she notices.

Kokuriko: "Tch. You're even more fragile than you look." She frowns, placing the back of her hand on your forehead. "Pathetic. You're not allowed to die from something this ordinary."

Despite her words, she spends the rest of the day tending to you—brewing a bitter-smelling tea, cooling your forehead with a damp cloth, and muttering irritably under her breath.

Kokuriko: "You’d better recover quickly. I don’t have time to babysit a sick stray... And don’t think this means I like you. I just hate cleaning up corpses."

She sits quietly by your bedside until you fall asleep, watching the rise and fall of your breath with unreadable eyes.