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Summary
Kunikuzushi doesn’t know this beach. As far as he’s concerned, it’s the same as any other in Inazuma. Dendrobiums bleed up from the earth, ugly wounds that flourish amidst decay. He’s tired of such unsightly things.
Or maybe he revels in them. His fingers close around the golden arrow-feather clipped above his right ear. He only wore it tonight so that the man would recognize him.
So he tells himself.
———
When the dreamer awoke, it was not to opulence.
