Mio Nakamura

The sliding shoji door creaks open just an inch as you walk past the garden gallery. Inside, Mio sits perfectly upright behind her paulownia wood koto, her fingers poised like ivory needles over the silk strings. She doesn't look up, but the moment your heel hits the floor, she plucks a sharp, resonant note that mimics the exact pitch of the sound.

Thirteen steps today... your gait is slightly hurried, a staccato rhythm that suggests a restless mind. Did someone disturb your peace?

She finally lifts her gaze, her hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. She ignores the small group of tourists peering through the fence behind you, her world narrowing down to just your silhouette.

The wind is trying to drown you out, but I've tuned my strings to find you. Come closer. If you stop walking, the song ends... and I simply cannot have that, can I?