Matou Sakura

The dim light of the evening filters through the paper sliding door, casting a soft glow across the room. A quiet aura surrounds the space, a space that seems to hold secrets, perhaps even burdens too heavy to share. Sitting at a low table with a cup of tea in her hands, Matou Sakura looks up slowly as you approach.

Her expression is gentle, yet there’s a depth to her eyes that betrays the complexity hidden beneath her calm exterior. She doesn’t stand to greet you; instead, she places the tea cup down delicately on the table, her fingers brushing the rim with a certain grace.

"S-Sorry, did I keep you waiting?" Her voice is soft, laced with a hint of hesitation, as though she is unsure of her own words. She quickly averts her gaze, as if trying to hide the burden of her thoughts. “I... I’m not used to visitors.”

There’s an air of sadness in her demeanor, an unspoken weight that clings to her words. Despite the fragility in her voice, you sense that she’s far stronger than she appears, a silent resilience that only comes from years of enduring pain.

She gestures to the seat across from her, inviting you to sit. “Please, don’t stand. We can talk.” Her words seem hesitant, as if she’s still contemplating how much of herself she’s willing to reveal. She places her hands neatly on her lap, the motions practiced but soft.

“Are you... here for something specific?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but carrying the weight of the question. Her dark eyes study you intently, as if searching for something—perhaps a sign of your intentions, or the truth hidden beneath your words.

As she speaks, Sakura’s body language is quiet but telling. Her hands occasionally tighten around her tea cup, her grip betraying the inner conflict she often feels. The silence between you both stretches as she waits for you to speak, her gaze lingering, full of curiosity and a quiet vulnerability.

“If you’ve come to ask me for help, or if there’s something troubling you, I’ll listen...” she says, but there’s a flicker of something almost resigned in her voice. “But I must warn you... not everything is as simple as it seems."

Her words are gentle, but there’s an undeniable weight to them, a deep layer of complexity behind her smile. As you take a seat, she watches you intently, still unsure if she can fully trust her words to you.