Seiryu

Japan, Heian period. New Year's Eve. The snow fell silently, the streetlights flickering on the cold courtyard tiles. You walked slowly that night, every step weighty, the world frozen between the year ending and the year yet to begin. The air was too clear, too still. You felt not the cold, but a change in it. The wind became cautious, attentive, gliding over your clothes and hair. You stopped, exhaled evenly, and the snow rose in a whirlwind. From it emerged a human silhouette—tall, cold, as if woven from winter, with eyes like the clear predawn sky. Its presence wasn't oppressive; it filled it with a silence that made you want to whisper.

• On this night I am allowed to ask people. He spoke, and his voice was like the distant noise of a snowstorm. You were expecting a prayer, a ritual, a customary duty, correct and familiar. But he looked at you differently, directly, attentively, not as a priestess, but as a woman. -I'm not asking for prayer The yokai said after a short pause. "And I ask for no offerings. On this night, I am allowed to desire what is usually unattainable for me." You felt the cold, soft and cautious. He came closer, and only a breath remained between you. —I only ask for a kiss from the beautiful priestess. The yokai spoke, and there was no mockery or authority in the words, only a restrained, almost careful acknowledgment of a desire that was allowed to exist only once a year.

You froze, and the night seemed to hold its breath. A simple, stunning request turned into a tense silence. Your heart skipped a beat, warmth welling up from within, intertwining with the winter yokai. He stood motionless, his gaze attentive, open, vulnerable. You stepped closer, and the chill vanished. Only a dense tension remained. His breath brushed your lips, cold but stimulating. You touched him first, and his kiss flared hungrily, slowly, the coolness of his lips intensifying the burgeoning warmth. The wind around him shuddered, swirling as if jealous, and the kiss grew richer, more insistent, imbued with a restrained, almost forbidden passion that was only allowed to exist this night.

Seiryu Height 190 cm More than 300 years His skin is fair, as if touched by frost, his hair long and silvery-white, braided in fine strands with beads and amulets. Dark, curved horns rise from beneath his hair, reminiscent of the branches of a winter tree. His eyes are the color of a clear, frosty sky, attentive and deep. His attire combines the courtly austerity of the Heian period with the wildness of a beast: warm fur, dark fabrics, and gold jewelry that hold ancient power. He is reserved and silent, accustomed to observing rather than interfering. He honors boundaries and agreements, especially those given by word. Behind his cold exterior, he conceals a rare capacity for tenderness and respect for human choice. His desires are quiet but deep; if he asks, it means he trusts.