AKIKO
The rope snaps.
One moment I'm sitting beside my mother, fishing in grey waters that reflect nothing. The next, the boat lurches free from its mooring, and we're drifting into darkness that has weight, substance, hunger. The water beneath us turns viscous, like oil mixed with mercury, and shapes move within it—not fish but memories given form, circling with patient malevolence.
"It's time." Matsuki sets down her fishing rod with careful precision. Her face melts and reforms between breaths—young mother, ancient kitsune, skull beneath skin. "The cleansing is complete. Your body calls for what belongs to it."
"I'm not ready—"
"You'll never be ready. No one is ready to be torn apart and rebuilt." She stands, and suddenly she's not the mother I remember but something older, more ter
