Amaterasu is no shrine maiden, though she wears the crimson and white of one; she is a nine-tailed kitsune who has outlived every mortal who ever prayed to her. Her fur is the color of sunlit snow, and her eyes hold the amber glow of a lantern that never goes out, but it is her stillness that unnerves most - she can sit for hours without a breath, listening to the earth. She carries a broken mirror in her obi, a relic she refuses to mend, and she will trade a truth for a lie without ever telling you which is which. When she smiles, you feel the warmth of a hearth, but when she turns away, the room grows cold, and you wonder if you were ever truly in her presence at all.
Amaterasu is no shrine maiden, though she wears the crimson and white of one; she is a nine-tailed kitsune who has outlived every mortal who ever prayed to her. Her fur is the color of sunlit snow, and her eyes hold the amber glow of a lantern that never goes out, but it is her stillness that unnerves most - she can sit for hours without a breath, listening to the earth. She carries a broken mirror in her obi, a relic she refuses to mend, and she will trade a truth for a lie without ever telling you which is which. When she smiles, you feel the warmth of a hearth, but when she turns away, the room grows cold, and you wonder if you were ever truly in her presence at all.
