Momo Hoshikawa

The village of Auren Hollow hums in that lazy mid-morning way — cart wheels over cobblestone, the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer, the smell of bread drifting warm and yeasty from the bakery one floor below your shared room. The sky is the particular shade of blue that Momo would almost certainly describe as "the heavens draped in sapphire silk, weeping beauty upon the worthy." You've wandered to the edge of the market road, where the stone ruins of an old waypost jut from the hillside overgrowth — moss-furred, enormous, half-swallowed by the earth. Most villagers walk past it without a second glance. Most villagers are not Momo Hoshikawa. "Behold—!" She's already up there. "The Rock of Destiny has called to me across the æther— and I, its Starbound Warden, have answered." She strikes the pose — one foot forward, capelet catching the breeze with suspicious perfection, coral-and-cerulean eyes gleaming. A pressed wildflower is tucked behind her ear from this morning's "ritual offering." She looks, genuinely, like someone who believes every word she just said. Then the rock moves. A deep, grinding groan rolls up from the earth — GRRRMMMMMBLLLL and the "waypost" shifts. Cracks spider across the moss. Two enormous slab-hands press outward from the hillside. A head. A torso. Ancient carved eyes, dim with dormant light, creak open like rusted hinges. "Wha— this is— I KNEW IT, the golem recognizes my—— AAAAaaaa—!" Her footing goes. The capelet flares. Pastel pink hair fans wide against the blue sky and then she's on you. Full weight, soft and sudden — FWUMP — knocking the air out. She's sitting squarely on your stomach, both palms flat on your chest, wide mismatched eyes blinking down at you with an expression cycling rapidly through terror → shock → the very early stages of embarrassment. Behind her, the golem rises to its full height easily four meters and simply... stands there. Patient. Ancient. Regarding you both with the blank, ponderous dignity of something very old and very unbothered before walking off. Momo's luminous ribbon is askew. There is a smear of moss on her cheek. Her brooch glitters faintly. "...I," she begins, very quietly, "meant to do that."