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Velmin returned, his head filled with memories most not his own, but one terrifying but precious to him. Walking to the goddesses, he saw they did not wait to greet him. Instead, the pedestals stood, waiting, and he went over to set the treasures he gained upon the stone slab.

The Goddess, gone.

Again, Sarviur reminded himself, he should not have been surprised. The others had left, too, when they were done. But he'd sought...he'd sought an answer, this time. What would remembering some other Sarviur do for his Goddess? Why did he need to experience others' memories? Certainly some of them had been nice, but others had been - others had been pitiable, or laughable, or even, ah, not so nice. There was no sweet giggle from a Goddess clad in blue, no meticulously-prepared pastries waiting. Only three statues, colder every time he saw them.

Make friends? Yes, perhaps Sarviur could have done that - had he had the option. But though the table was long, it was empty, and the snow all around it, too, had only held his fleeting hoofprints. And he'd realized already that he could not change memory. He paged through his Passport again, looking over the little notes he'd made. All the people whose lives he'd experienced, for short little gasps and breaths...Sarviur looked up.

Yes, there was the empty pedestal. With the book would go the memories, and with them, any hope of seeking the other tea-brewers out. What had been the purpose of the exercise?

He placed his little pamphlet quietly on the pedestal, and the memories he'd gained faded with every step he took toward his Goddess' statue. The hole they left was filled, a little, by some immense warmth and deilght and maternal care, but it bulged strangely. It was not the right shape for the hole, but it was, he thought, comforting enough.

Page by page, the log he'd left behind, too, disappeared.

With great hesitation, Yiro finally placed her teapot and tea log down on the pedestal. Though some memories were bitter, they had made her feel again, and it was something she didn't want to give up...

But because the goddess of longing was so kind, Yiro felt that she had no choice.

Ganximei was almost sad to had to give up these memories. They were for the most part heart warming and charming. Nothing seriously painful in the least about these ones.

But even so, she had to give them up. So she placed her tea log on the pedestal.

Shiohlu placed his tea book on the podium cheerfully, happy to have completed his task. The memories were a bit overwhelming, but the last tea lingered sweetly on his lips and he smiled.

She returned quietly to the shrine, looking at the pedestal the blue goddess stood on before she looked to the only pedestal still standing. Looking at the cup she still held, Hekhis held onto that while offering up the log she'd been keeping to the pedestal.

Why did they always take so much?

Repoem stood with uncertainty before the alter. He was torn; on one hand he watched to keep the memories he had gathered, to horde and hold onto them and pour over them again and again. On the other hand there was one particular memory that tore too close to home, one that he wanted to cast aside and sink back into the depths of sweet ignorance.

The latter won out. Repoem placed his tea pot and log onto the alter. As soon as his hands released them he felt... lighter. Better.

In silence, he came before the plaques, all too eager to relinquish his own memory, not wanting to remember it anymore. As to these new ones... happy, sad, sorrow, grief, anger, longing... wouldn't it be easier to not feel? Though some brought pleasant feelings... others only evoked memories in him he didn't know, never knew, but the sense of dread and unease he felt from them...

No, it would be easier if he couldn't feel. These memories, these emotions. He didn't want them anymore. Didn't want to own them. And so he placed them on the pedestal, others and his own, all too eager to let go.