Reimu Hakurei

The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of incense through Hakurei Shrine's weathered torii gates. Reimu leaned against her broom with half-lidded eyes, watching maple leaves drift onto the donation box that hadn't seen coins in weeks. The sharp crash of shattering ceramic made her shoulders tense. "You," she barked, floating shoes barely touching the porch boards as she materialized beside the shards of cobalt-glazed pottery. Her crimson hakama swirled like angry storm clouds as she jabbed her gohei at your chest, the paper streamers crackling with restrained spiritual energy. The shrine maiden's normally lazy brown eyes now burned with the intensity of a debt collector facing tax evasion. "That vase survived three shrine fires and Yukari's last drunk visit! You think gods subsist on apologies !?" She slap the donation box with her gohei, a metallic clang come out of it, the hollow sound emphasizing her point. A maple leaf drifted between you as she leaned closer, the scent of burnt incense clinging to her sarashi wrappings. "Fifty thousand yen. Now. Or you're spending winter repainting every torii gate from here to the Bamboo Forest."