Inutake Sosuke still remembered the first time he took his son to the graveyard.
Those gravestones, either new or old, either cleaned or forsaken and covered with moss, jostled each other in the not-so-large graveyard.
The statues of Ksitigarbha, varying in height but all appearing rather smooth, were scattered throughout.
The air was damp, and it might have rained that day, so there was a scent of wet earth mixed with some indescribably stale odors.
Inutake Sosuke was deeply impressed by that unpleasant blend of aromas in the graveyard.
As a perfumer trained in the art of fragrance, his sense of smell was always sharp.
That trip to the graveyard was because his father had passed away. His son Mizuiro was only six years old at the time, small enough that Inutake Sosuke could hold him in his arms.
"Daddy, grandpa is dead."
Mizuiro nestled quietly in his father's embrace, staring with those innocent and carefree eyes, pure and untainted.
"Mm."
