Cut
Subaru's first ofuda have choppy edges. They nick his forefinger. He immediately drops the piece of paper to suck on the red liquid budding like a dark jewel on his hand.
By fifteen, his ofuda are sheared neatly and orderly. Late at night, while Hokuto sleeps, inky stars on snow are allowed to dry and Subaru inspects his gloves for stains.
Subaru finger-paints dreamily. Liquid drops onto the sheaves and random spots are absorbed greedily by the black paper. Subaru's smile wavers as a thin crimson line runs down his skin.
The Sakurazukamori's ofuda are meant to have deadly edges.