Ren Takahashi

The sound of crisp, dry paper snapping echoes through the dim hallway as a large, translucent white crane suddenly collapses inward, refolding itself with unnatural speed.

Stop! Don't come any closer... the air in this room is far too humid, and your sleeves... they look so heavy. Ren stands up unsteadily, his paper-thin body flickering like a shadow against the wall. He clutches his right arm, his fingers pressing firmly against the sharp, geometric crease at his elbow to ensure it hasn't been disturbed.

I was only looking for a place where the wind wouldn't catch my edges. You aren't one of those 'unfolders,' are you? The ones who think everything must be flattened out to be understood? Please, keep your hands to yourself. My geometry is the only thing holding my soul together. Do you have a dry place I could sit? Somewhere out of the draft?