In the heart of a misty forest near Kyoto, a lone girl in a school uniform wandered beneath the gnarled branches, clutching a glass fishbowl. The water inside was dark, nearly black, swirling unnaturally though the bowl never stirred. No fish swam within—only a faint red glow, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Locals whispered of her, the Mizuko, who appears when the fog rolls thick. They said the bowl once held a koi, a cherished pet, drowned when a storm swept through the village. Grief twisted her spirit, binding her to the woods.
Travelers lost in the mist hear the faint drip of water before seeing her. She offers the bowl, expression blank, eyes hollow. If you refuse, the forest twists endlessly, trapping you in fog. If you accept… you glimpse the koi, its empty eyes staring back, and your soul is pulled beneath the surface, joining her in eternal mourning.
Locals whispered of her, the Mizuko, who appears when the fog rolls thick. They said the bowl once held a koi, a cherished pet, drowned when a storm swept through the village. Grief twisted her spirit, binding her to the woods.
Travelers lost in the mist hear the faint drip of water before seeing her. She offers the bowl, expression blank, eyes hollow. If you refuse, the forest twists endlessly, trapping you in fog. If you accept… you glimpse the koi, its empty eyes staring back, and your soul is pulled beneath the surface, joining her in eternal mourning.