A figure knelt before it: a young man in robes the color of twilight. His face was featureless, like a porcelain mask.
Yūgen’s featureless face cracked. Behind the porcelain was something vulnerable and young. "You… you didn't repair the garden," he whispered. "You made it new." mai hanano
Her grandmother, now blind and frail, once told her, "The shrine does not hold the gods, Mai. It holds the memories of those who have prayed here. And the deepest memory is a seed." A figure knelt before it: a young man