Yuzume had started leaving tasks unfinished.
She didn't mean to. A half-swept floor, a cup of tea forgotten on the porch, offerings left slightly crooked on the altar, things she would've fussed over just a few moons ago now quietly slipped past her.
She moved slower, like the air had thickened around her. The distance between the shrine's gate and the garden felt longer. She often found herself resting against the peach tree in the afternoons, eyes closed, trying to catch her breath without making a sound.
She never told Riku.
He noticed, of course. How could he not? But he never asked, and she never offered. Instead, they settled into a soft rhythm that didn't need words.
They cooked together, badly.
She teased him when he burned the rice again, and he rolled his eyes when she accidentally spilled flower petals into his bowl. At night, they sat on the steps and watched fireflies blink in the lavender fields.
"Do you think they're little lost spirits too?" she asked once, chin resting on her knees.
Riku glanced at her. "If they are, they're better dancers than me."
She smiled, small and tired. "Everyone's a better dancer than you."
He bumped her shoulder. "Not fair."
She leaned into him, just for a moment. "No one said I was fair."
She stopped going beyond the courtyard. The first time she tried, her knees buckled, and her head spun like she'd stepped into water too deep. She brushed it off, saying the heat was getting to her, but she didn't try again.
Instead, she sat beneath the moonstone at night, humming old songs to herself. The spirits still came, gentle and quiet, watching her with the kind of fondness usually reserved for fading stars. She smiled at them. Waved. Sometimes whispered their names as they passed through the veil.
She didn't tell Riku how her reflection no longer cast light in the river.
Instead, she asked him to plant more lavender. Said the scent helped her sleep.
He didn't argue.
One night, he found her curled up on the porch, dozing off mid-conversation. Her tail was draped over her lap like a blanket, her ears twitching gently in dream.
He sat beside her and didn't wake her.
Instead, he whispered, "You're still glowing. Just a little softer."
She stirred, but didn't open her eyes. A small smile pulled at her lips.
And the shrine, for that night, stayed still.