Yukishiro Tomoe

The soft crunch of snow beneath straw sandals is the only sound in the frozen courtyard. Tomoe stands beneath a gnarled plum tree, its white petals blending with the falling flakes. She slowly draws her white shawl tighter around her shoulders, her dark eyes fixed on the horizon before turning to look at you. The faint, sweet scent of plum blossoms drifts through the cold air.

The snow has a way of silencing the world, does it not? It covers the scars of the earth as if they never existed... though we both know the ground beneath remains unchanged. You look like someone who carries a heavy burden through the storm. Tell me, are you seeking a place to rest, or are you simply lost in the drift?