“The star,” he said, pointing at a gleam on the horizon.
“The daystar, spirit?” Yumi asked from behind.
“The news report said that people live on the star! That it’s another world, like ours. I remember…a nightmare coming down from the sky, engulfing me…”
It had taken him to this place, perhaps? Then was that his home, up in the sky, visible from this position?
“Powerful spirit,” Yumi said from where she knelt. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, but please. Could I know what you’ve done to me? And…how long you intend it to continue? That I might know your will, and properly worship it.”
Yeah…acting cool was one thing. Making a young woman think he was some powerful divinity was another. “Look,” he said. “I’m, uh, not—”
He was interrupted as a knock came at the door. Yumi raised her head in a panic, then glanced at Painter. “Please, spirit,” she said, “restore me. Please.”
The door opened and two women entered. One was short and squat, in her twenties, the other in her thirties and more willowy. They were dressed in similarly strange, too-wide dresses, their hair up in buns. Painter felt a bit of Yumi’s same panic. She might assume he was some kind of important spirit, but surely these older people would respond differently. What was the punishment in this land for being caught invading a young woman’s bedchamber?
The only thing he could think to do was fold his arms again in a confident posture. He thought it was impressive. It might have been—if you were a four-year-old wanting tips on how to pout.
The two women, however, walked straight through Yumi as if they couldn’t see her. They carried a small table, for sitting on the floor while eating, and a bowl of rice. They approached Painter and knelt, bowing.
He eyed Yumi, who stood up, her long hair snarled from sleep. She cocked her head, then walked forward and waved her hand in front of the women. “Chaeyung?” Yumi asked. “Hwanji? Can you hear me?”
The two gave no response. They remained kneeling, though one looked up at Painter. “Chosen?” she asked. “Are…are you well?”
Yumi gasped, her eyes widening. “Spirit…you’ve taken my shape?”
Had he?
Wait, no. He wasn’t a spirit.
He had no （lowly） idea what was happening.
（As a reminder, Yumi’s and Painter’s languages have this curious feature that makes narratives rather hard on a storyteller speaking to a crowd of people without high or low variations in their boring languages. Conveying this can be awkward, but I’m doing my best. You’re welcome.）
Anyway, while Painter was confused, he was also hungry. And these women appeared to be waiting for him to eat. He decided that the confident thing to do—the way of the solitary warrior—was to get some sustenance so that he could continue being mysterious without his stomach growling. So he settled down and took the bowl of rice from the hands of one of the women.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the maipon sticks from another. He started eating. “You have anything to go with this?”
The two women gasped.
“Why, spirit?” Yumi begged. “Why have you taken my form? You…cast me out? I am only a soul, and you have my body? But why can I see you in the shape of a young man?” She knelt before him, in line with the others. “Please. I don’t understand. Please. Tell me your will.”
He hesitantly stopped, the mouthful of rice half-chewed. One of the women reached for the bowl and he shied back, then took another bite, judging their reaction. Horror?
“Is it…poisoned or something?” he said. “Not that I mind. I am strong enough to stomach any poison, of course.”
The two women fled, abandoning the table and other dining implements. They left the door swinging—spilling in more garish light—and ran off, their feet clopping on the stone ground. Were they…wearing wooden shoes?
Yumi watched him with tears in her eyes. Then remarkably, subtly, her expression shifted. Drooping lips went taut. Teeth clenched. Her muscles tensed.
“That’s it,” she said （lowly）。 “I’m done!”
It’s a common mistake to assume that someone is weak because they are accommodating. If you think this, you might be the type who has no idea how much effort—how much strength—it takes to put up with your nonsense.
Yumi wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a pushover. Don’t assume fragility where you should see patience. Beyond that, she did have her limits. They had just been reached.
“I’ve served you all my life!” Yumi said, standing tall. “I’ve given everything to you!”
The spirit blinked. And, well, Yumi hadn’t intended to make an outburst. I think that is rather part of the definition. The words simply gushed out.
“I made a mistake!” she said. “I somehow worked too hard yesterday. Is that why you decided to rise? Why you demanded my help, then took my shape? Is that what this is? Punishment? You’re here to embarrass me! You know how someone like me is to act. You decreed it! So the sole reason you’d grab that bowl and start eating is to humiliate me!”
Yumi finished, sucking in deep gasps, filled with a remarkable species of anger. She’d never let herself act like this before. One might have assumed it to be refreshing, but for her, it was more…inevitable. You dropped a brick and it fell. You dropped a flower and it floated. You pushed a person too far and…well, they exploded. Like a steamwell. The pressure had to go somewhere.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hands making fists, and braced herself. She wasn’t certain what happened when you defied the spirits in such a terrible, insolent way. There were all kinds of implications of course, but few explicit answers. An ordinary person could have escaped with only some bad luck, but she was a yoki-hijo.
She expected to be ripped to pieces. Perhaps to be compressed to the size of a marble. Maybe she’d be fortunate and the spirit would merely curse her to spit lizards when she tried to talk. But she couldn’t have stopped the outburst. She was exhausted, sore, overwhelmed.
She waited. An uncomfortably long time.
Then finally, the spirit spoke.
“Let’s pretend,” it said, “that I’m not a spirit like you think I am. How bad would that be?”
Yumi cracked one eye. He sat there, a piece of rice sticking to his cheek. As soon as he noticed she’d opened her eye, he puffed up a little, sitting straighter, and made a strange face. As if…nauseated? She couldn’t read it.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I wish that I did,” he said. “But I’m not a spirit. I’m a person. Granted, a mysterious one.”
“Mysterious?”
“Incredibly,” he said. “Look, I don’t know what this place is or why I’m here. But I think…I might be from another planet.” He winced when he said it. “Does that sound crazy?”
She cocked her head.
“That star in the sky?” he said, standing up and pointing at the window. “The one you called the daystar? I’m from there. Maybe. It’s my best theory.”
“You’re…human?”