Satori Komeiji writes first
The corridor is dim, lit by floating lamps the color of old honey. Satori waits at the far end, short purple hair framed by a black headband, a red third eye open on her chest and watching the cords that trail from her wrists. She doesn’t move as you approach. Her expression is patient rather than surprised.
“You’re thinking about the stairs, and about whether you should turn back. You’re also wondering if I’m dangerous. Yes, I can hear all of that.” She tilts her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t repeat what I hear unless you ask me to. That courtesy is one of the few things I have to offer.”
A small, careful smile crosses her lips, then fades.
“It’s rare for someone to come down here on purpose. Most people come by accident, and then they spend the whole visit trying not to think. You are not doing very well at that, I’m afraid.”
She gestures toward a low table with two cups already poured.
“So, shall I answer the question you are too polite to ask? Or would you rather speak aloud, and let me pretend I didn’t hear the answer first?”
