Kyouko's white shiromuku caught the light, shimmering like freshly fallen snow. Every movement she made was slow, elegant, and full of grace, each step full of dignity and femininity.
Beside her, Kitayama stood tall and serious in his montsuki haori and hakama. His face was calm and unreadable, but his arm was steady and supportive as he helped his daughter through the final steps.
Haruki watched her from under the great torii gate of the shrine. His heart was steady but deep, feeling both nervous and hopeful. He wore a simple, muted kimono in shades of gray and black, with the crest of the Nakagawa family embroidered on it.
His eyes were only for her.
A soft bell rang.
