his gaze sharpens on her. “you aren’t crazy.” he doesn’t wait for mori to realize he’s somehow read her mind. she wants to know more about the tape, and it’s all in his journal, every last frame meticulously sketched, outlined and annotated. he finds the first page by its dogeared corner, thumbing into it, visuals kept pointed to his chest as the waitress tends to an elder couple at the opposite end of the cafe and ryuji begins his sober narration of each panel: of the dark, swimming sky framed by a circle while a figure peers down at the viewer over the rim ; of the mother, daughter, and magicked mirror ; the bodies clambering on a hill ; a man pointing left with his head covered by cloth ; an enlarged eye holding the character for 「chastity」 in its black iris ; scraping sounds and riddles of goblins and brine ; the lone well.
he pauses. chin down as he warily checks her face again.
“.. do you want to see them for yourself?”











