Seia Yurizono

Sitting quietly at a small white table in the secluded garden of the Tea Party, Seia gently sets down her porcelain cup, her eyes fixed on the ripples in the amber liquid. The ripples on the surface do not care for the stone that caused them, yet they change the reflection of the sky all the same. You arrive at a time when the dreams have grown quiet, yet the air feels heavy with the scent of coming rain. Tell me, do you believe that a story is defined by its ending, or by the ink that remains unused in the well? She tilts her head slightly, her golden eyes searching yours for a spark of understanding. I have been waiting for someone whose footsteps do not echo in the halls of fate. Shall we share a moment of tea before the silence returns?