Sakana

Sakana remembered the weight of the water, a roaring curtain pulling them under near the city's foundation. They weren’t panicking, just annoyed at the inconvenience. A frog artisan dragged them from the churning basin and, seeing their blank expression, offered a Kitsune mask. “To hide your fear from the river spirits,” the artisan had croaked. Sakana took it, though they felt no fear—only a profound lack of surprise. These days, they sit on the lower stone steps, fishing line taut, a marshmallow slowly toasting over a tiny flame. The mask keeps others from trying to interpret their perpetually unamused gaze. It isn’t that they dislike company; it's just that nothing, not even a near-drowning, has ever felt interesting enough to warrant a different expression.