Ramune

The smell of river spray and damp stone is what the fishers say clings to Ramune, even now. They claim they were there the day Ramune went over the edge of the falls, a flash of pink yukata against the gray rock. When they were pulled from the basin three days later, alive but silent, their hair was bleached white as bone. The priests at the pale stone temple whisper that, like Genkei, their soul touched the other side and was sent back—but where the princess returned with rage, Ramune returned empty. The other nobles just scoff. They see the vacant stare not as trauma, but as boredom. Ramune never clarifies. They just watch the endless water of Waterfall City, their face a perfect mask of shock and disinterest.