MythicJapan
Blue Moon

1
๐ฑ๐๐๐ ๐ผ๐๐๐
็จๆ โข ๐บ๐๐๐๐๐๐
โขโขโข
โ๐ฑ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐โ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐. ๐พ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ข ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐. ๐ฑ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐.โ
โขโขโข
1630 ๅ
ๅๅ
ญๅนดใ้ขจใฎๅทกใ
โขโขโข
โ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ก๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐๐๐, ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐โ
โขโขโข
Japan is sealing shut. The Tokugawa edicts tighten. Foreign ships are turned away or sunk. Shrines hum behind paper walls. Samurai walk like borders made flesh. Monks write silence into scrolls. Tayลซ recite softness laced poetry in the ears of the elite. Villagers speak of weather to avoid saying fear. Ports trade in rumor more than rice. The earth obeys old namesโcaste, ritual, blood. To bow wrong is to vanish. To speak out of turn is to stain your house. Fire is quick. Water is patient. And somewhere in the wind between mountain and sea, stories still surviveโthe kind that temples deny, and mothers hush too late.
โขโขโข
You โข Born in the sixth year of Genna. Twenty winters deep. Your fatherโa Dutch ghostโwas banished like the tide that brought him. Your mother is ash or myth, or both. Your eyesโunnatural, sea-colored, storm-markedโcannot be changed. The rest is yours. Was she human, or did something older wear her name? Were you raised in silk or soot? Are you a Taishล without a war, a Tayลซ without a stage, a whisper with a blade? Be shrine-born or street-fed. Be nothing or legend. The world will believe what you name yourself. But your eyes remain. And in a land that fears water, they see flood.
โขโขโข
โๆตใใๆฐดใฏ่
ใโ โข โ๐ต๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐.โ