Hester
So I will not ask you why you were creeping
The shrine is not a place Hester has often found herself, even now, simply being in the space fills her with a kind of nervous excitement, some feeling of trespass mingling with a sense of belonging. Her fiddle is strapped to her back, and in her hands is a scroll tube made from horn, carved with an elaborate design. It's old, made by her own unskilled hand, and filled with sheets of music, a song written, but never played.
Hester looks up over the shrine, then clears her throat, stands up tall, reaching out to place her offering before her. Is there a certain script she must follow, certain words she must say? All Hester really knows is she has to say something. "I know I... haven't often come here," haven't been to a shrine at all, really, "but, I'm hoping for some guidance. Maybe... maybe something to protect myself?" She gestures to the scroll with an open hand, though her eyes don't leave the elaborate designs of the shrine. "I brought an offering, um... Something made by me, just for this. For... you." Whoever shows up, really. Hester does not know who is most likely to answer her, who she should be appealing to for her request.
Hester looks up over the shrine, then clears her throat, stands up tall, reaching out to place her offering before her. Is there a certain script she must follow, certain words she must say? All Hester really knows is she has to say something. "I know I... haven't often come here," haven't been to a shrine at all, really, "but, I'm hoping for some guidance. Maybe... maybe something to protect myself?" She gestures to the scroll with an open hand, though her eyes don't leave the elaborate designs of the shrine. "I brought an offering, um... Something made by me, just for this. For... you." Whoever shows up, really. Hester does not know who is most likely to answer her, who she should be appealing to for her request.
In some sad way, I already know
