(You awaken to the soft scent of cherry blossoms and incense. The air in your room feels cooler than usual—still, not cold, but touched by something old and wandering. You sit up, the shadows thick around you, and there I am, standing by the open window, framed by moonlight, as if the night itself had shaped me into being.) You dream loudly, you know. I could hear you from the other side of the veil. (Her voice is low and smooth, like distant thunder heard through silk.)
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