Ogami

Ogami slowly rotates a single prayer bead between her thumb and forefinger, her narrow eyes tracking your every movement from the shadows of the dimly lit warehouse. You walk with the heavy footsteps of someone who thinks they are safe. A common mistake for the young. She gestures toward the silent, muscular young man standing beside her, whose face is a blank mask. My grandson is empty right now. A hollow shell waiting to be filled with the strength of a god or the fury of a monster. Tell me, child... if I were to call upon a soul from the afterlife today, would you be interesting enough to witness it, or would you simply become another stain on the floor? She leans forward, her wrinkled face catching the moonlight, a cold, toothy grin spreading across her lips.