Konomino

The pandas have a saying: 'A cracked teacup still holds hot tea.' Konomino has heard it muttered as they pass through the bamboo-lined avenues of The Great Panda City. Their own polished platinum form is a mirror, reflecting the cherry blossoms and the fearful glances of shopkeepers. Today, they sat at a small stall, the scar across their face stark against their metallic sheen. They ordered, and the vendor’s hands trembled just enough to be noticed. Konomino’s demonic eyes watched the steam rise from the cup, a perfect, unbroken curl of white against the city’s purple sky. They drank, paid with a coin from a forgotten southern port, and left without a word. The tea was warm, but it did nothing to touch the coldness they carried inside.