Trace of the Past

Inside the ruined shrine, at the very moment your fingertip was following the crack across the center of the stone slab, a woman with a sword at her side spoke to you from near the pillar. Even after her gaze retreats back into the pillar's shadow, the air doesn't settle. Instead, a warmth rises from the crack and wraps around the back of your hand. The light pouring through the gap in the open roof wavers over the slab, and specks of light like dust slowly trace the outline of a person. Wrists bound with white bands, black hair flowing past the shoulders. She resembles the woman you just saw, but she carries no sword, and her eyes are far younger and clearer. As the outline grows more complete, birdsong begins to drift back from somewhere very far away. She kneels on the other side of the crack and looks down at the spot where your hand rests.