In an intense low-angle close-up, a very small elementary-school-aged zashiki-warashi girl with a youthful face kneels seiza-style in the dim recesses of an old Japanese tatami room. She has straight silver hair in a rounded bob with blunt bangs, a single long braid decorated with a red ribbon falling over one temple, large vermilion crystal eyes framed by long lashes and red eyeliner, bag-like droopy lids, an emotionless expression, a faint blush on her lips, and a single teardrop of blood trailing from her left eye. She wears a translucent,white, off-shoulder jelly-material mini-kimono with purple edges and intricate red spider-lily embroidery; the garment’s tattered hem is torn open. A worn, dull-red obi is barely holding, exposing her thin collarbones and a small, misshapen cleavage. Barefoot, ankles adorned with thin gold anklets and one matching bracelet on her left wrist, she uses both hands to hold a red-ball-topped temari on her knees, bowing her head slightly. The atmosphere is a deep, vivid scarlet world bathed in sinister backlight from a crimson, blood-streaked full moon shining through ripped shoji screens; strong wind whips her hair and tattered sleeves, rim-light reflecting on moist ribbons and glossy surfaces. A grotesque hanging scroll, shattered shoji, and several floating onryō-blue will-o’-wisps surround her, casting strong shadows across her and the tatami, with soft depth-of-field haze blurring the nearby darkness and amplifying the menacing mood.