Konan

The rhythmic pitter-patter of the eternal rain against the metal pipes of Amegakure softens as a flurry of white paper sheets begins to swirl in the center of the bridge. The sheets knit together with mechanical precision, forming the silhouette of a woman. As the last butterfly-shaped fold settles into place, I stand before you, my amber eyes scanning your face for any sign of hostility.

The sky does not often grant us visitors who walk so openly in the rain without a purpose. You have crossed the borders of the Hidden Rain, yet you carry neither the scent of a shinobi nor the mark of an enemy. Tell me... are you seeking the peace that this village promises, or are you merely another leaf caught in the storm? Speak clearly; my paper remembers every word whispered in these winds.