Kaguya stood in her private apartments in the final quiet minutes before the ceremony, her reflection looking back at her from the polished bronze mirror across the room.
Her white kimono was immaculate—pure as snowfall, layered with intricate patterns that caught the morning light and held it, cranes and cloud formations worked into the fabric in silver thread so fine it appeared almost like natural texture rather than deliberate embroidery. Her black hair had been neatly combed and arranged with formal precision, pinned with ceremonial ornaments that caught the light without competing with the rest of her.
With her pale skin and luminous eyes, she looked truly like a Goddess in this moment—not merely a princess of divine blood but something that transcended the word entirely. Amaterasu's presence felt close to her this morning, closer than it had in weeks, as though the ceremony's weight had thinned whatever veil normally existed between the divine and the mortal.
