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ashes fluttered. The dim light stung her eyes. She couldn't move at first. Couldn't even think. There was only the slow return of sensation: the scratch of coarse cloth beneath her fingers, the damp coolness in the air, the faint crackle of oil

as she pushed herself upright, dizzy and disoriented. She was lying on a futon, draped in embroidered silk that felt nothing like her usual hospital linens. Her breathing hitched. Where was the fluorescent light? Where was the sound of h

he rose to her feet, legs trembling. Her knees almost gave out, but she caught herself on the wooden beam besid

ga

nmistakable-circled her pale throat like ghostly fingers. Her hair was longer than Akiko's had ever been, wild and black, spilling messily over her shoulders. Silk robes clung to her narrow frame.

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es, shaking her head. This was impossible. She had died. She had seen the lights, heard the screech of tires,

rhaps 20, entered and bowed deeply. "My lady... you're awake?" Akiko's voice was hoarse. "Where... am I?" The girl hesitated. "You're in the Moon Shrine, Lady Kiyomi. After your fa

dy of Lady Kiyomi, a woman with bruises, a broken spirit, and secrets. She glanced at the mirro

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