I'm not in the habit of giving answers to people who'd prefer to cover their eyes and ears to what's in front of them.
[ No longer shrouded by a whisper, the character of the voice stands out with more clarity. It's a commanding thing, with a booming quality even without raising his voice. The kind of voice that might belong to a a very old friend, or a much newer enemy.
When Yujin proceeds through the last gate, the voice is clipped off with little more than the hiss of a mamushi carried away in the late summer wind. If Yujin turns back now, he'll see the gates lead down a mountain path, disappearing into a copse of trees. The way he'd come, and whoever the voice belonged to, were apparently gone.
Three items within the shrine shine with significance in Yujin's memory as a heaviness appears in his tanned palm. Upon looking down at his hand, he'll find his fingers free of the wear and tear of age, grasping a large bronze coin polished to a high shine. The reflection of his own face in it is scarcely older than eighteen, young eyes reflecting those of his father back at him. Upon further inspection, he'll find the coin is unlike any legal tender he's ever handled before. Engraved in its bronze surface is the face of a young woman, looking serenely to her left as Queen Victoria's portrait did on the shillings Yujin handled in England.
The offertory box still lay ahead of him, wreathed in spider lilies. Several yards from the shrine, a small fountain sat anachronistically in the overgrown clearing. After a moment, Yujin may recognize it as a shrunken replica of one found in Trafalgar Square. Floating on the surface of its murky water were dozens of blooming lilies.
Both places call to the coin in Yujin's palm. But then again, so too does the fold of his obi.
no subject
[ No longer shrouded by a whisper, the character of the voice stands out with more clarity. It's a commanding thing, with a booming quality even without raising his voice. The kind of voice that might belong to a a very old friend, or a much newer enemy.
When Yujin proceeds through the last gate, the voice is clipped off with little more than the hiss of a mamushi carried away in the late summer wind. If Yujin turns back now, he'll see the gates lead down a mountain path, disappearing into a copse of trees. The way he'd come, and whoever the voice belonged to, were apparently gone.
Three items within the shrine shine with significance in Yujin's memory as a heaviness appears in his tanned palm. Upon looking down at his hand, he'll find his fingers free of the wear and tear of age, grasping a large bronze coin polished to a high shine. The reflection of his own face in it is scarcely older than eighteen, young eyes reflecting those of his father back at him. Upon further inspection, he'll find the coin is unlike any legal tender he's ever handled before. Engraved in its bronze surface is the face of a young woman, looking serenely to her left as Queen Victoria's portrait did on the shillings Yujin handled in England.
The offertory box still lay ahead of him, wreathed in spider lilies. Several yards from the shrine, a small fountain sat anachronistically in the overgrown clearing. After a moment, Yujin may recognize it as a shrunken replica of one found in Trafalgar Square. Floating on the surface of its murky water were dozens of blooming lilies.
Both places call to the coin in Yujin's palm. But then again, so too does the fold of his obi.
Where will Yujin place the coin? ]