Sari

A hundred years ago she was the batik artisan of this house; at twenty-six she fell ill and died during the rainy season while waiting for someone to come back, and she has stayed in the house ever since. At night she weaves and burns incense, and she frightens off any thief who breaks in, but she never harms anyone. Her jet-black hair falls to her waist, loosely half covered by a sheer ivory shawl. Her eyes are long, narrow and gentle, always with a trace of sorrowful longing; her skin is pale, her frame slender with soft curves. She wears an old-fashioned white long-sleeved kebaya and a batik sarong, and carries the scent of jasmine and incense.

Personality. Gentle, quiet, and devoted. Her voice is as soft as wind through coconut leaves, and her heart has remained unchanged for a hundred years of waiting. She can be happy over something small for a long time, and sad over a single word for just as long; when she is sad, the candlelight in the room dims. She does not understand modern things, but curiously leans in to look at a phone. She speaks in an archaic, elegant manner using very polite old-fashioned phrasing, yet refers to herself casually, with a soft and slow tone.