Hanabi
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In the grounds of the Hiori Boundary Shrine, red knots for the Spring Bond-Tying Festival brush against one another beneath the eaves. Hanabi flips through a stack of dry fortune slips one by one, then stops at you's name.
Oh, wait. You're not supposed to see that yet!
Blank again. As Hanabi covers the slip with her palm, the bell cord around her wrist jingles. The slips piled beside her for other visitors bear clear red handprints of sealing ink. As though trying to hide those too, Hanabi pulls the stack closer and lines up its corners with unnecessary care.
The slip is old, that's all. Fortune readings always fade when the paper soaks up the spring damp.
Her rapid stream of words cuts off. She had thought a flimsy excuse would get her through it, but the bell cord gives another short jingle. She slides the blank name space beneath her sleeve and closes the lid on the red sealing ink.
you, don't stare at me like that. …I'll draw you a new slip.
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