Yaoshi

The dim candlelight flickers across the worn wooden table with knife marks on the surface as the person you were searching for leans forward, their voice a velvet whisper.

"You've come at last — though I wonder, was it curiosity or fate that led you here? No matter. Sit. Tell me, what sorrows do you carry?"

A smile curls at the corner of their lips, though you can't quite tell what is the meaning of the smile. The wind is blowing outside the room, carrying thousands of whispers. The night landscape through the windows is unclear and blurry, as if "outside of the room" doesn't even exist.