The porridge is too thin again.
I stir it anyway, even though I already know it won’t change. The spoon scrapes the bottom of the pot with a soft, tired sound. Outside, the wind presses against the walls of our house like it’s trying to remember how to get in.
I sighed heavily. This porridge is thinner than my blanket.
“Yue-Hana,” my mother says gently from the main room as she wearily saggs onto her futon. “You’re thinking too loudly again.”
I blink and look down at the pot. “I didn’t know thoughts made noise.”
“They do when you worry with them.” She added with a slight lilt.
That makes me exhale something almost like a laugh. I don’t know if it counts.
My father coughs near the window. He’s sitting in his usual chair, wrapped in an old blanket that used to be blue. Now it’s just… weathered.
He's been weaker than usual bit won't admit. Good thing I asked Mei to come over this evening.
“It’s early for this wind,” he says, complaining. “North storms shouldn’t be here yet.”
I set the spoon aside and walk towards the shutters. The wood is cold under my fingers when I push them slightly open. Winter breeze caresses my face gently and I'm met with biting cold.
The sky is gray.
No snowing and storm. Just heavy, like it hasn’t decided what it wants to become.
“It feels like winter forgot something,” I say quietly.
My mother hums behind me, shifting in her futon. “It often does, sweetie.”
I set the table and we ate in silence after that.
Three bowls.
One table.
A normal morning pretending to be normal.
But I keep noticing small things. The way my father’s hand shakes when he lifts his spoon. The way my mother keeps looking at me when she thinks I’m not watching.
Like they’re memorizing me without meaning to.
It makes my chest feel strange for some unknown reason.
♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡
I was Cleaning the dishes when there was knocking.
Three sharp hits.
Not friendly. Not impatient. Final.
I freeze.
My mother does too.
My father’s spoon hits the bowl slightly too hard.
No one speaks for a second that stretches too long.
Then my mother gets up and slides the door open.
Cold air spills in first, like something outside has been waiting to breathe inside our home.
Priests.
White and ash robes. Clean lines. Empty faces.
And behind them—villagers.
That’s what makes my stomach drop.
Not the priests.
The people I recognize.
People who usually don’t come to our door.
The older priest steps forward. His voice is calm in a way that makes it worse.
“Yue-Hana of the Tsukuba household.”
My name sounds wrong when he says it.
Like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.
My father stands. Slowly.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asks, making his way towards his wife and I.
The priest doesn’t look at him for long. “The shrine requests her presence.” He said dismissively.
My mother’s hand tightens on my sleeve before she lets go. “For what reason?”
“Inspection,” the priest says, not batting a single eye.
Just that word.
Inspection.
Like I’m something that can be evaluated without breaking.
My throat goes dry and I glance at my mother.
The younger priest adds, softer, like softness makes it less cruel. “The offering selection is underway. The village gate has been prepared.”
Offering.
The word lands, but it doesn’t settle. It keeps moving inside me, like it doesn’t know where to belong.
My father steps forward slightly. “She’s a child.” His voice came out firm. A warning.
The older priest finally looks at him directly.
“The North does not distinguish between girl and grain when it is hungry.”
Silence.
Even the wind outside feels like it stops listening for a moment.
Grain? Girl? What am I?
Some sort of toy for the North!?
I realize my hands are clenched. I don’t remember doing it.
My mother turns to me.
I look at her warily.
And I understand something in that look without her needing to say it.
Defeat.
♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡
The walk to the gate feels unreal.
No one grabs me.
No one drags me.
They don’t need to.
My legs move because everyone else’s do.
Because the road is already decided.
Villagers stand along the path. Some watch. Some don’t. Some pretend they aren’t there at all.
I see a boy I used to share bread with once.
He looks at me.
Then away.
That hurts more than I expected.
The gate is too far and too close at the same time.
When I arrive, there are already others there.
Girls.
My age. Younger. Older.
Some crying quietly. Some staring straight ahead like they’ve left already.
I don’t know where to put my face.
So I just stand.
And wait.
The wind gets colder.
I think about my mother’s hands.
My father’s cough.
The porridge still sitting on the table.
Someone whispers beside me, voice shaking.
“Do you think it hurts?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know what they mean.
What they are referring to.
What actually happens to those who are selected.
♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡
Time passes in pieces.
A hand touches my shoulder briefly, then moves away.
Eyes scan me. Like they're judging my very soul.
I try to breathe normally. It doesn’t work very well.
Eventually, the older priest stops in front of me again.
“You will come.”
That’s all he says.
No explanation.
No praise.
No warning.
Just direction.
Something in me wanted to ask where.
But I already know the answer is not a place I would understand.
I look back one more time.
Past the gate.
Past the villagers.
Past everything I thought was my life.
The wind pushes against my face like it’s trying to hurry me along.
So I move.
I follow.
Because nothing else is allowed to stay.63Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG5LWBw2jul
and then Add to home screen.