Chapter 2 – That Scent of Jasmine

The next morning, I woke to a fresher air. Jasmine. That fragrance filled the room, and inevitably, it pulled me back to thoughts of Mari—my daughter, my princess.

Locking myself inside the inn wouldn’t do any good. I hadn’t come all this way just to waste my time in an old room in the middle of nowhere.

I stepped out and wandered through the silent streets of Shiomori. The first rays of dawn filtered through the crowns of the pines, drawing fractured beams of light that broke against the fog. That was when I saw the first villagers: elderly folk sweeping their front walks with slow, mechanical motions.

It wasn’t hard to imagine why there were so few young people here. Anyone with a future must have escaped to the big cities—Tokyo, Osaka. Staying here, among these mountains, among the old… it was almost like declaring surrender. To become part of the landscape, to slowly fade away with it.

I kept walking without direction. The wet cobblestones glistened faintly in the dim light of morning, and every so often a stray dog crossed the street without so much as a glance at me. I felt like a ghost myself, drifting through a town that barely remembered how to breathe.

One old man bowed his head as I passed him. He clutched a straw broom, sweeping at leaves that weren’t there. I gave a clumsy nod in return, but he didn’t acknowledge me. He just kept on with his routine, as if I didn’t exist.

The silence was so heavy I could hear the echo of my own footsteps. That silence unsettled me. Tokyo never slept—not even at dawn. There was always a motor running, a siren in the distance, a neighbor’s TV spilling through the walls. But here? Here silence stood like a solid wall, pressing me inward, forcing me into my own mind.

When the stone path opened toward the forest, I saw it.

Beyond the tall pine trunks stretched Lake Tsukuyomi, dark and glass-like. Mist coiled around it, forming a perfect ring. No birds. No insects. Not a single sound. Only still water, far too still—like time itself had frozen on its surface.

I froze as well, staring at it from afar. Something inside me stirred—a mix of fear and strange attraction.

The brochure had promised “an inspiring lake, a source of creativity for artists.” Inspiring… what a lie. That place didn’t inspire anything. If anything, it gave me the certainty that I was standing before a giant mirror waiting to devour me.

I stepped closer. The air shifted—colder, denser. I felt, absurdly, as if I’d crossed some invisible border.

The reflection stared back at me. But it wasn’t quite me.
That smile… I hadn’t seen it on my face in years.

“Just my imagination…” I whispered.

The sharp crack of a branch snapping underfoot made me whip around.

“Who’s there?” I asked, fumbling inside my backpack, fingers searching for the pepper spray.

Silence. No reply.

This wasn’t supposed to be an area with dangerous animals… and that sound had been closer to a bootstep than a claw.

I swallowed hard and turned back toward the lake.

My reflection was gone.

A wave of dizziness hit me. My breath quickened. Another anxiety attack?

I leaned forward. I had to see something—anything. Even if it was distorted. Even if it was broken. I needed proof that my image was still there.

That was when I heard it.

A laugh. Light. Clear. The laughter of a child, right behind me.

My heart lurched in my chest as I spun around.

Among the trees, I saw her. A little girl with long chestnut hair, wearing a crown of white flowers. She ran barefoot, and with every step, the world seemed to regain its color: the ground, the leaves, the faded trunks… all of it painted back to life, as if her white dress were a brush dripping with light.

“Mari…” I breathed.

It couldn’t be. Maybe it was just some girl from the village. Or maybe my exhausted mind was simply projecting my daughter’s image onto her.

But that way of running—that scent of jasmine hanging in the air… how could I explain that?

I ran after her, chasing the trail that briefly shimmered where her feet had touched. She was so fast… she always had been. I never could catch her. The jasmine wrapped around me, pulling me forward like an invisible thread.

“Mommy!…”

I stopped dead in my tracks. That voice. There was no mistaking it.

The path was empty—the girl had vanished. But that voice… that voice had been my daughter’s.

Then I heard the splash of water.

I broke into a run, pushing through the undergrowth until I reached the edge of the lake. In an instant, the world drained back to its dull tones. Everything turned gray again. Only a couple of crows croaked from the branches above. The water lay still, like a bottomless black mirror.

Without thinking, I waded in up to my knees, as if searching for something that could never be found.

“Mari! Mari!” I screamed, my throat raw and tearing.

The water returned an impossible reflection: my daughter, exactly as she had been that day… the day of the accident.

“Why did you do it, Mommy?”

The words spilled from her reflection, a scream so real, so visceral, it tore straight through my chest.

A flock of crows burst into the sky, scattering like a dark omen.

All I could do was run—flee at full speed back toward the village.

Fear consumed me.

But the worst part wasn’t what I had seen…

It was that part of me still longed to see it again.