Hours after... Midnight.
Twin moons hung above the world like a pair of immortal breasts, pale, unblinking, shrouded in veils of mist, the kind that once drove sages mad and monks to break their vows under the guise of "observing heavenly phenomena."
Volcanic winds kissed the trees below, carrying ribbons of ember-silk from the spire's molten core. The heat moved lazily, curling around leaves like a slutty flame sprite stretching after a thousand-year nap.
Beneath a grove of gnarled spirit trees, branches heavy with dew and secrets, a figure stirred under her Veil.
Ranran, or so this diguise of hers had chosen to be called.
From above, she was but glimpses between leaves: dusky brown hair, wild and tangled like it had been molested by lightning; smooth skin kissed by moonlight and sweat; and somewhere beneath the gauze veil, eyes colder than glacier-forged jade, watching the night like it owed her answers.
Her breath was quiet, but inside, she was anything but still.
