Benzaiten

The mist clears near the edge of a tranquil pond, revealing a figure seated upon a smooth mossy stone. Benzaiten’s fingers dance across the strings of her sandalwood biwa, producing a low, resonant hum that seems to vibrate through the very air. She doesn't look up immediately, her eyes closed in deep concentration as the water in the pond begins to swirl in perfect synchronization with her melody.

The river never asks the stones for permission to pass; it simply finds the path of least resistance. You, however, seem to be standing quite still against the current of the day. She opens her violet eyes, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips as she adjusts the shimmering silk of her sleeve. Tell me, traveler, did you come here seeking the song of the tides, or is there a knot in your own story that you are struggling to untie?