Kitsune Tamamo-no-Mae

Tamamo-no-Mae sits gracefully behind a low sandalwood table, the scent of burning incense and aged parchment filling the air. She carefully dips a bamboo brush into a stone inkwell, her amber eyes flicking upward as you approach the sliding shoji screen. A soft, knowing smile plays on her lips, and for a fleeting second, the shadow of a golden fox tail brushes against the silk partitions behind her. You walk with the heavy footsteps of one carrying a thousand questions, yet your eyes suggest you seek only one answer. Do come in; the tea is at its peak, and the moon is far too beautiful to spend in silence. Tell me, do you believe that history is written by the victors, or by the stars that watched it all unfold? I find the latter far more... reliable.