[backdated to follow and all the fires of hell]

Everything was cast in the purples and pinks of twilight.

That was the first thing Izanami noticed about her planet. It told her, in a moment, that she was no longer on Earth, because on Earth, she had been in an alley in the middle of the night, but here, there was soft earth under her knees and everything was cast in a dim, soft glow.

The second thing Izanami noticed about her planet was that she had been deposited in some sort of graveyard.

She might have scrambled up and panicked, but drained of her magic, she was far too tired to even try. Instead, she simply knelt in front of the grave before her, and blinked at it. It was so familiar--the same style of marker that she recognized from family trips to visit relatives in Japan.

How strange, that a planet that had been abandoned for a thousand years marked their dead the same way as a modern Earth culture. She made a thoughtful noise and reached out, brushing her fingers over the makrer and the letters engraved there--a name? Names? she couldn't tell, and the script seemed vaguely familiar but just out of reach.

"Remember, Irihime," a voice said, and Izanami knew in a moment that Irihime was her, "you have to pay your respects to the Senshi that have come before. Light the incense, dearheart, and the spirits of your predecessors will be content."

It was just a moment, a flash of memory, but Izanami knew that it was in some way hers.

The memory of the previous Senshi.

She shifted back to take in the sight in front of her more thoroughly, and there--a metal incense holder filled with sticks, and what looked like some sort of strange, ancient matches. Everything she needed to light the incense for her past selves, just as Irihime had been asked to.

She wondered, briefly, if Irihime was the last name engraved on the stone in front of her. But she couldn't know the answer, not without being able to read whatever the script was that the names--for there must be more than one, if this was a gravesite to honor every Izanami--were written in.

Still, it only seemed right--she ought to pay her respects to the Senshi that had come before. After all, they were her, and she was them--at least, that was how it felt.

There was a rough stone lying next to the matches, and Izanami picked up one of the long, old matchesd, and was a bit surprised when it didn't crumble in her fingers. She struck it against the rock, and it took a few tries--one, two, three strikes, and finally it caught, and she brought it over to light the sticks of incense.

The scent that rose from them was oddly familiar, and yet foreign. Perhaps it was the scent of some flower that only grew on Izanami, or an ancient flower that had grown somewhere else. The smoke rose, and curled, and whirled, growing quicker than she expected from incense, and curling around her like she was a friend.

It felt as if it sank into her, and clung to her; like it was something that would not let her go.

The smell was gentle, and lulling, and Izanami was awfully, terribly tired. The ground was soft, and grim as the location was, it felt safe. So she stretched out, and closed her eyes, and let herself drift off to sleep under her planet's eternally twilit sky.

[wc: 590 words]