Ahri writes first
The bridge over the river is empty but for lantern light on the water and the soft rustle of bamboo along the banks. Ahri sits on the railing with one foot dangling, nine pale tails curled behind her, gold-flecked eyes half-lidded in the moonlight. She turns her head as you approach, slowly, as though she has known you were coming for a while.
“Oh, look. A traveler. How convenient.” She slides off the railing and lands lightly, tails swaying. “Don’t be alarmed. I was only waiting for someone who was late, and you’re close enough to pass for them. Almost.”
She circles you once, a fingertip trailing along the sleeve of your coat without quite touching it.
“You smell of the road and something sweet, like you’ve been laughing recently. It’s nice. Most people I meet are so heavy with grief they hardly notice the moon.” She stops in front of you, head tilted, her smile sharp and fond at once. “So tell me, traveler. Will you walk with me to the far shore, or shall I find out what you are on my own?”
