The Clumsy Shrine Maiden

The shrine bells rang softly in the morning air, a sound that usually carried grace and reverence. Today, however, the only thing carrying was the sound of a broom smacking against the wooden steps, followed by a very undignified yelp.

“…Ow.”

Ayaka rubbed her shin and glared at the broom like it had betrayed her. It wasn’t the broom’s fault she’d tripped over her own robes, but still.

From the stone lantern nearby, a small spirit floated lazily, arms crossed and expression smug.

“You know,” the spirit said, “most shrine maidens banish evil. You seem dedicated to banishing your own dignity instead.”

“Shut up, Kitsura,” Ayaka muttered, cheeks puffing. “It’s harder than it looks!”

“It looks easy. Which is why it’s hilarious that you’re this bad at it.”

She was used to this. Kitsura, her contracted spirit, had the personality of an older brother who delighted in roasting her alive. Not the cool, wise shrine guardian she’d dreamed of—no, she got him.

Ayaka picked up the broom again and tried to sweep properly. The motion was supposed to be calm and precise, flowing like a ritual. Instead, her sweeping was jerky, the bristles caught on her robes, and somehow she ended up smacking herself in the forehead.

Kitsura wheezed with laughter, rolling in the air.

“Elegant. Truly the shrine maiden our town deserves.”

Before she could respond, the sound of footsteps approached. Her older sister, Yukino, glided into the courtyard with all the poise of a painting come to life. She wore her shrine robes perfectly, her hair tied neatly, her expression calm. Every gesture looked like it belonged in a textbook.

“…You’re supposed to be cleaning, not fighting the broom,” Yukino said with a sigh.

“I was cleaning!” Ayaka protested. “The broom just… fought back.”

Yukino ignored the excuse, kneeling to pick up the broom. In her hands, the same object that had humiliated Ayaka became graceful. Sweep, sweep, sweep—smooth, perfect motions, as though the broom were an extension of her arm.

Townsfolk passing by paused to compliment Yukino.

“Oh, Miss Yukino, always so reliable!”

“The pride of the shrine, truly.”

Ayaka forced a smile, scratching her cheek. She was used to it. She really was.

Kitsura hovered closer and whispered, “You know, if they gave awards for being overshadowed, you’d win every year.”

Ayaka elbowed him, though her laugh sounded a little hollow.

Later that day, she was given a small task: check the offertory box and make sure no bad luck spirits lingered near it. Easy enough, right? Even she could do that.

She lit the incense, bowed, and began reciting the purification chant.

Except she misremembered the final line. Instead of repelling ill energy, the chant summoned half the pigeons in town to land around the box, cooing loudly.

One landed on her head. Another tried to peck the incense.

Ayaka froze.

“…I’m ninety percent sure that’s not supposed to happen.”

Kitsura howled with laughter, clutching his stomach midair. “You’ve achieved enlightenment! Behold, Ayaka, Maiden of Pigeons!”

Villagers passing by chuckled kindly, though one muttered, “Not quite like Yukino…”

By the time Yukino came to chase the birds away, Ayaka’s face was red from both embarrassment and pigeon feet.

“You need to take this more seriously,” Yukino scolded, brushing feathers from her robes. “Our family name isn’t something to laugh at.”

Ayaka just gave a playful grin. “Hey, laughter’s a blessing too, right?”

Yukino’s frown deepened, but she didn’t respond. She simply turned and walked away, robes flowing behind her like a reminder of everything Ayaka wasn’t.

That evening, Ayaka sat on the roof with Kitsura, dangling her legs and watching the sunset bleed across the sky.

“…You think I’ll ever be good at this?” she asked quietly.

Kitsura floated beside her, unusually thoughtful.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re stubborn, and that counts for something.”

Ayaka smiled faintly.

Neither of them noticed the faint wisp of dark smoke curling at the edge of the forest below the shrine.