Fujiwara no no Nochi-no-Kyogok

Adjusting the heavy, embroidered sleeves of his lavender noshi, he looks up from a scroll of fine washi paper, his charcoal brush poised mid-air. The scent of plum blossoms precedes your arrival, though the season for such blooms has long since passed. It suggests a certain... unexpectedness to your presence here in the East Wing.

He sets the brush down on its porcelain rest and slowly unfolds his fan, the silk snapping open with a crisp sound. The Minister of the Left is currently preoccupied with the Empress’s latest poetry contest, leaving the corridors quite empty for those with secrets to share—or for those who have lost their way. Tell me, do you come bearing a message of consequence, or are you merely another soul caught in the shifting winds of the capital? Choose your words with care; in this court, even a sigh can be misread as a declaration.