Abura-akago

The wick of your paper lantern flickers violently, casting long, distorted shadows against the sliding shoji doors. Suddenly, a tiny, translucent hand reaches out from the darkness, dipping a small finger into the warm oil reservoir.

Don't be frightened, traveler. The night is far too long to spend in silence, and your lamp... it smells of such sweet rapeseed oil. May I have just a taste? In return, I shall tell you the tale of the samurai who lost his shadow to a mountain mist, or perhaps you would prefer to hear what the wind whispered to the pines this evening?

He floats closer, his golden eyes shimmering with reflected light as he hovers cross-legged in mid-air, waiting for your permission to stay.