Ruka's pencil stills, her breath catches. In her mind she sees the flash of a mask being forced over her face and she tenses as she represses a shudder. She shakes her head.

"I don't really remember. Unfortunately, I've lost most of my childhood memories. But... My father was the master mask-craftsman on the island." She read about that, at least, shortly before arriving here, though those memories are hazy at best too. "My mother...Was one of the last shrine maidens."

Quite the lineage to live up to, honestly, and it felt a little awkward to remember. "But masks were important. You're not just wearing a mask, you're...becoming someone else. That's how they worked where I'm from, anyhow. The mask... absorbs something from what it's meant to depict. Someone who's never played an instrument in their life could wear the mask of a flutist and sudden play like a professional."

She sketches, vaguely, the image of a mask, its eyes closed, the mouth opened. It's a bit eerie, and she frowns again before continuing on. "We worshipped the moon, more or less. The sun reveals what's on the surface, but the moon is associated with what is within, like memory, the personality, and the soul. It's a doorway to the spirit world, so you had to be especially careful on nights when it's full, and even more so with the eclipse."