InsaneBrit

Steam wafted from the pile of white jasmine rice. Generating a warmth that relaxed her muscles and coaxed an exhale from the depths of her chest. Gingerly gripping the sides of the ceramic bowl, she pulled it towards her form. The plushness of the cerulean cushion cradled her bruised knees. 

“I hope you like Karē Raisu. It’s the first thing I thought of to make you.” 

She looked up at the older woman standing in the doorway. A tired smile graced her wizened face as she looked over (F/N). 

“I do. Thank you, Mrs. Aoki.” She whispered and grabbed the spoon next to the bowl. 

The clinks of the metal hitting the ceramic resounded in the otherwise quiet room as she mixed the darkened spiced roux with the rice. Thick cuts of beef with onions, carrots, and potatoes raised a potent aroma that made her stomach growl. Aoki beamed and the wrinkles around her mouth became more prominent. 

“I’m glad.” she meandered her way to sit across from (F/N). Setting her bowl down before slowly lowering her body onto a cushion. (F/N) studied Aoki, noticing the dark blemishes that almost looked akin to welts blooming across her arms, sun-kissed patches dotting her face, the droopiness of her skin as it weighed from aging, and the slight tremble of her hands. 

She sucked in a breath as the corner of her mouth ticked a ghost of a smile before settling back into a line. “Thank you for helping me. I am in your debt.” 

Aoki hummed as her shaking hands grasped her spoon. “Nonsense, I was merely passing through and heard your distress,” she blew gently on the pile of rice and broth. “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you were a dying animal.” (F/N) choked on her rice. Feeling it lodge itself in her throat as she coughed and flushed from embarrassment. Thumb grazing the corner of her mouth as she covered the lower half of her face.

“I apologize.” 

“No need. You were quite shaken, and I couldn’t leave you there,” Aoki sighed. “How are your bandages? Not causing any trouble?” 

(F/N) looked down at the carefully wrapped dressings. Her hands were covered in the cream-colored woven fabric. “They feel great,” she reached over and gently grazed the wrapping on her elbow. “What did you use?” 

“A salve I got from a nice young woman in Asakusa. I wish I could’ve acquired more things, but the young man accompanying her seemed less than pleased for me to be near her,” Aoki looked down at her bowl dejected. “But I’m happy this finally came in handy.” 

A benign smile crossed (F/N)’s lips as she set her spoon down. Today’s events weighed heavily on her mind, and it seemed her body was just now catching up. Fatigue settled into her bones and her eyes burned. The pads of her fingers rubbed the feeling away as she raised her head to look around. 

Aoki’s Minka was simple but pleasant. From the moment she helped her and Seiichi, paranoia, and all, to the front door of her home she was a delight. The lanterns adorning the rooms gave off a hue of glittering gold and sparks of amber. Exactly like most fixtures in people’s homes, but Aoki’s was much more inviting. It reminded (F/N) of flames licking at chopped timber; a sentiment to the nights her and the other Hashira would gather and reminisce, and the musty, earthy smell of pages being turned; memories of when her grandmother would read her old fairytales. 

The older woman even had bundles of wisteria hanging here and there in rooms. A few shrubs of the woody vine clung to her home and (F/N) wondered if she knew of demons. If she did, Aoki didn’t mention it to her. Nor look at her with any difference as she took the haori off her shoulders and set her katana off to the side before inspecting her wounds. In a way, she was grateful to not be looked upon in awe and bombarded with questions. She didn’t have the energy to answer or feel deserving of such a gaze. 

The rustling of fabric and slight grunt had her snapping her neck towards Aoki. The woman was standing with her empty bowl and picking up the miscellaneous things scattered on the table. (F/N) reached her arm out to aid her, but Aoki held a hand up, effectively halting her extended arm that was about to grasp a ceramic teapot. 

“I can do it dear. You’re my guest.” 

(F/N) furrowed her brows and her tongue ran over her dry lips as she spoke. “I insist. Please let me help you. You’ve done so much for me already.” 

Aoki shook her head and arched her brow. A teasing look in her eye. “I don’t think so. If you move an inch from your spot, I’ll make sure that crow of yours never hears the end of it.” 

The younger woman gawked at Aoki before a small snort sounded from her nose. (F/N)’s body shook as she tried to contain her laughter. The back of her hand rested over a smile that cracked over her face. The older woman teetered between scowling at the girl and joining in on her amusement. 

In the end, she hummed and chuckled to herself before staggering away to another room. “I’m being serious.” 

(F/N) took a deep breath trying to reel in her merriment. When Aoki was tending to her, Seiichi busied himself by stealing pieces of jewelry and even coins from the older woman. Flaunting them around and hopping away when either of them would try and snatch the items from his beak. She could still hear the older woman berating the bird in her mind, and she swore from the look on Aoki’s face that she was ready to wring his neck. 

“I hope you know how to play.” Aoki hobbled back into the room with a bag in her frail hands. She handed the cloth over to (F/N). The Hashira opened and poured its contents onto the table. Eyes widening a fraction seeing it was Men’uchi. 

“Of course, I do,” she said staring at the engraved clay pieces. “It’s been a long time.” The kind gestures from the older woman had allowed (F/N) to momentarily forget everything. She felt warm and something akin to safe here. 

“Then I suppose we should change that,” Aoki began separating the pieces before pausing. “Right, here.” She reached into her pocket before placing something on the table. It clinked when it touched the wood, and she slid it over to the young woman. (F/N) trailed her hand before seeing a thin gold pin poke out. The metal curved up like vines wrapping around a pale sea foam-colored gemstone, jade. An even thinner gold chain dangled from the stone and branched off into mismatched lengths. A cerise-colored bead held the trains at the branching point and at the end of each, a milky glass teardrop hung. 

Her mouth parted and she held up her hands as if afraid to touch the ornamental hairpin. “Why are you giving me this? I can't take it. It’s too much.” 

Aoki made no move to take it back and hummed. “Well, I’m not taking no for an answer. I promise it's fine so don’t question or fight me on this.” 

(F/N) gingerly picked up the delicate item and ran her fingers over the smooth metal. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” the older woman continued to separate the pieces. “Oh, and please share it with that crow. Maybe he’ll stop taking my stuff.” 

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Muzan stood on the tatami flooring. His body hunched over his desk as his nails pierced into the wood grain. The vastness of the Infinity Castle caused echoes and creaks to magnify and drone. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows. His eyes were sharp and shrewd as he glowered at the line laying in pristine condition across his workspace. Books were thrown open and some pages torn; shredded to ribbons. 

The surroundings felt suffocating. Desolation whispered sweet nothings in the expanse, and a looming presence stood stoic and ominous not far away from Kibutsuji. His aura felt heavy and stifling. As if zapping any energy or spirit from one’s body.  

“To think, after all this time,” Muzan said straightening up his posture and turning to face the man behind him. 

Kokushibo did not waver. His fist circled the hilt of his blade and the other rested at his side. All six eyes that resembled carefully soldered stained glass bored into his master's slitted claret ones. 

“It is… strange.” He drawled. His eyes flickered from Muzan’s to his wrist. A very thin thread, only visible in certain angles of light, shone and connected his lord to someone far off. It glittered like a spider’s silk. Spindly and thin; stronger than steel but looking as if it could break with the slightest tug. 

Muzan’s face remained constant upon looking at Uppermoon One. Though, the warmth that fury carried crept along his collar. “You can see it?” 

“Yes,” Kokushibo shifted slightly. The fabric of his purple-and-black kimono ruffled against his hakama. “I suspect…it is the lifeblood’s doing.” 

The progenitor’s brows dipped downwards but an inch. Festering anger bubbled like molten lava. The ambrosia: rich velvety fluid that ran through his core, that had Oni’s imploring their master for more, was what granted them the sight of what he despised. Slipping a pen ornamentally engraved from his pocket, he clicked it open. The tip scratched the smooth paper in the book he now clutched. His apprehensiveness showed faintly from the bone-breaking grip he had around the cool metal. 

It made perfect sense. His creations were an extension of himself. Remade into cutthroat violent things with the weight of his ichor circulating in their undying bloodstream. They were him, but also themselves. 

“How does it appear to you?” Muzan hissed through his teeth. 

Six eyes and their cracked black pupils focused studiously on the filament. “Like… a phantom. Clear and… barely visible.” 

The sound of ripping reverberated through the endless wooden rooms as Muzan’s pen tore through the paper. His knuckles were white, and his jaw clenched. This did not bode well for him; however, a trace of possibility crossed his mind. If the upper ranks, who pulsed with his vitality, could barely bear witness to the tie, then maybe beings less fortunate to receive generous amounts of his blood could not at all. It was a stretch, but one that seemed likely. 

This thought eased Muzan’s pride. He would not be perceived to have a weakness of any sort. His Kizuki knew better than to assume such foolishness, but others he could not be so sure of. Muzan would be damned if some sly little vermin thought they could exploit something the progenitor had no control over appearing. Much less presume that he cared for the woman connected to him. 

“The woman… was a Hashira, was she not?” Kokushibo queried. 

“Yes, but I doubt her abilities considering the cowardice she expressed,” the book slammed shut with a loud crack. “She must not be very valued.” 

Kokushibo’s voice thrummed in his throat. “Valuable or not… she poses a threat. Or… an opportunity.”  

Muzan’s lip curled back into a snarl and his eyes narrowed. He was not blind. The desire to sever the bond even if it was in vain, and the ire that overcame him when he saw the mockery that was the slayer consumed him, but he remained conscious of the possibilities. If that spineless woman were to open her mouth, it could be detrimental to everything he’s worked towards. 

“That Hashira can lead the corps to us. Ubuyashki will make sure of that.” he bared his teeth. 

“Even so… if he were to be eliminated… they will tuck their tails between their legs and run to the hand that feeds them. Without him, they are nothing.”  Kokushibo uttered lowly.

His subordinates’ words weighed heavy on Muzan’s mind. Ubuyashki was skilled in eluding even his most capable forces, however, the slayers had a weak spot for him. It was clear in the way they held themselves, and it was no secret how deep their loyalty ran. He could see it on their faces and when they would speak. Granted, it was rare that Muzan ever came across a swordsman that would divulge anything regarding their master, but in his over one thousand years of existence it has happened, and once was all it took. 

They were soft at their core, and regardless of whether he located Ubuyashki’s estate and sunk his claws in his tender flesh, tasting the coppery substance on his tongue, or dangled an empty threat over their heads they would scramble and wail to his side. 

“You propose a possibility that none of you have been able to achieve. Yet, your strategy pervades you Kokushibo.” 

The man in question tilted his head down slightly in acknowledgment. 

“Misleading the Kisatsutai into thinking their lord is in danger would divert their attention to him and not locating us but preventing the woman from speaking would sever the chances completely,” Muzan took a few steps towards Uppermoon One. His posture was rigid. “In turn, the wretch could provide an advantage.” 

Kokushibo studied his lord’s stature. The abhor was formidable and bled through his skin. He had seen Muzan’s wrath many times but the moment he had disclosed what the Uppermoon had understood upon being summoned, he had never felt animosity such as this. It was explicit as to why, and he would feel the same if he was bound to a mere mortal. 

“What are your orders?” he asked easing the grip on his blade. 

“Follow the thread. Find the slayer and do what you must to ensure her silence, but don’t kill her,” Muzan growled. “Don’t disappoint me.” 

“I will not… is there a reason why I can’t end her life?” 

“Don’t be daft,” Muzan seethed. “You know why, and I will not leave it to chance.” 

Kokushibo mulled over Muzan’s response before it clicked. “I’ll see it done, my lord.” He lowered his head in respect before his aura faded. His presence no longer there to cast a baleful weight. 

Muzan curled a finger under his tie and pulled, loosening the silk. He had the notion to take care of this matter himself, but he was not about to risk revealing himself more than he already had. The boy with the Hanafuda earrings and now the Hashira woman was enough to pose a risk. His hair flitted over his jaw as he ruined the tomes sitting on the umber shelves before moving to tear into the desk with his nails. The timber screeched in agony as long marks were formed on the unblemished surface. 

The stench of rot permeated through the orifices of every human that he encountered. Death walked hand in hand with them as they decayed with each passing minute. Demons were much the same but dulled. Their aging halted and cells regenerated in a never-ending cycle until their head was severed or body burned. Flaws in his creations and himself.

Muzan’s carefully crafted work, hand-picked from the hundreds and thousands of demons over the ages, the Upper and Lower moons had defects in their own ways. Dismantling the Lower ranks proved to ease the spreading desperation in his subconscious. They were worthless beings. Unfit for their stations and yet the Upper ranks manifested to be just as disappointing as the rest. Failing for centuries at annihilating the family bound to him by blood and unearthing the blossom that would grant him the ability to conquer the sun. The amaryllis.

The only reason they proved to be of use was they kept the Kisatsutai on their toes. Terminating the lives of their most powerful and stripping them of their morality. Despite him wanting to rip the ranks to shreds and gnash his teeth on their bones, they were his strongest. He would let them carry on with their lives if they served and attested themselves to be worthy of the position so graciously bestowed upon them.

Walking the various winding concrete of Yoshiwara was not Muzan’s ideal pastime. Though it was vital to remind his Jūnikizuki where they stood and to oversee the progress, they had made both for themselves and his sake. Situating himself near a wall, his eyes observed the lowly human creatures. Their affairs exhibited in the confines of the residence they were assigned to and sought out. Women and men alike with their sultry gazes swept across the bodies that passed them. Muzan was no exception. The impure burn of their eyes had him clenching his jaw. It was revolting and he would rather them be looking upon him in other ways. They were ignorant, but one day they would understand. If they were capable of such a feat. A soft gasp from behind him had him tense.

“Aren’t you pretty?” A woman brushed the side of his arm before stopping in front of him. A smirk curled on her face as she tilted her head. Eye’s tracing over his features before going lower. 

“I know just the woman who may interest you,” her nail tapped her lower lip. “And she may be interested in return.” 

Muzan glared at her, expression stoic and lips in a tight line. “No, thank you.” 

She pouted, sticking her bottom lip out in a display that left him with a foul taste in his mouth. “Oh, come on. I promise we’re not that bad, and besides,” she drawled, smoothing out the front of her layered kimono. “I can show you a good time if the others don’t meet your expecta-.”

Her skull cracked against the building. Stone dug into her scalp as little pieces opened the skin, blood streamed from the wound. A choked sound bubbled up from her throat as Muzan tightened his grip. 

His face was mere inches from hers. “Courtesans just don’t know when to quit.” Her throat bobbed as she clawed at his wrist. Pupils blown and eyes swelled, she sounded pitiable. “Know your place.” 

His expression was callous. Complete disregard for the woman’s life. In one swift motion, her vertebrae splintered underneath the skin. The crack reverberated under his fingers as she paled. Sweat beaded near her hairline and her pulse dropped. The thrum lagged in intensity compared to moments ago. Practically tossing her against the wall, he stared down at the nearly unconscious body. The rise and fall of her chest ceased at the loss of function and urine trailed from under the slightly hoisted garments. 

Muzan stepped away from the body. A look of repugnance danced in his eyes as his shoes clicked against the alley. The sheer commotion of the streets and people engrossed in their activities served to cover the deed. No eyes to behold the barbaric and heinous force that now lay with the crumpled cadaver. Not that it made any difference to him if someone bore witness or not. The action wouldn’t beget any kind of repercussion. He had killed thousands and the sole individual who could strike him down for his immorality was long gone. 

Rounding the corner of the brothel yielded another side road. Livelier than the alleyway, but not as bustling as the main street. Muzan’s gaze swept over the scene. The mix of Chouchin and modern cast bronze lanterns emitted a golden tint. Shadowing the timber structures inlaid with ornate decor and carefully crafted sliding doors. In the time since his birth in the Heian Era, Muzan had seen the rise and fall of many and their attempts at jurisdiction. From the brutal Onin War between the Daimyō and Ashikaga shogunate to the collapse of the Tokugawa shôgun. Modernizing and progressing the country into the complex order it is today. 

He wouldn't normally immerse himself in the trivial matters of the government, especially with them being substandard compared to himself, however, it was vital to his continuity. Being knowledgeable in the ever-changing systems, inventions, and styles granted him more expertise in the art of blending in. Offsetting the swordsmen intent on his demise for over a thousand years.

Observing the bleary silhouettes of people through the translucent paper on the shoji windows, he tipped the edge of his white fedora to the side. Eyeing the Kyogoku House, where Upper moon six, Gyutaro, resided. Daki may be the outward appearance and has some finesse in fighting, but that is all she’ll ever amount to. A mere child whose sole purpose is to keep her brother under control. A pitiful feat that she thinks her lord cares for and believes in her. On her knees and practically drooling over his approval. It's pathetic.

Narrowing his eyes, Muzan strode down the street. He had more pivotal things to execute rather than linger in these vulgar places. A puddle splashed as his shoe struck it. The ripples reflected molten gold from the lanterns. He looked down at the undulating liquid before his eyes sharpened. The tightness in his wrist and the scintillating flicker of the cursed filament did not go unnoticed. Muzan felt the cavity of choler dig itself further as eyes burrowed into his stature. Halting his movements, he could feel the emotions coming off the person like waves. Kismet had its way of interfering with his aspirations as of late, and it appears no matter how hard he disregarded the incident many nights ago, resilience persevered. Nails sharpening, he turned and eyed the human ogling at him.

Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes wide. Skin pale as if she had seen a ghost. His gaze dragged over her body, and he glowered in realization. The all-too-familiar black uniform with white accents stood out like a sore thumb. The haori that encapsulated the kanji on the back of the uniform was a mix of snow and sable. Swirls of what looked to be smoke and other intricate designs littered the bottom, but Muzan didn’t put much care into what the woman was wearing. His sole focus was on what she was. A Sureiyā. A Hashira.

If there were any gods or Buddha in his thousand years of existence, they were surely trying his patience.  

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(F/N) felt like her blood had been turned to ice. The glassy veins froze her in place as she owlishly stared into the eyes of her supposed soulmate. Hearing shot, ringing reverberated in her ears and the thronging behind her sounded muffled. As if she had been pulled into the unforgiving deep as her lungs screamed and begged for an end. 

He did not move, and from where she stood, she could not discern an emotion on his face. It was phlegmatic. Unwavering, constant. It unnerved (F/N) as her feelings swirled and compacted into what felt like a ticking bomb. Fury, horror, uncertainty…. contentment? It was all too much and didn't do anything to ease her palpitating heart. Eyes darted down to the thread, soaking up every single fiber and shine it emitted as she stalked its trail. It ended at his alabaster skin. Gouging itself into the flesh, and if his eyes weren't enough evidence, that's when she noticed his nails. They tapered into an acute point where deep indigo melted into pale blue. 

Breathing ragged, she took a few shaky steps back. Gaze never leaving him. (F/N) was jolted out of her stupor as a body rammed into her hard. The force sent them both tumbling to the ground. Her head and elbow cracked against the pavement. Grit dug into her flesh and tore it open as her vision doubled. Groaning softly, (F/N) brought her other hand up to cradle her head. A weight was pressed onto her torso, and it felt suffocating as it moved around. Muffled voices resonated around her, and as her vision cleared, she observed the multitude of bodies surveying the scene. Beady eyes pierced her soul, and some looked on with pity. Others glared and whispered in hushed voices like secrets carried by the wind, and she felt her face flush in embarrassment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” A voice hissed and handfuls of her uniform were jerked forward. A man hovered over her dazed form and shook her harshly. “How dare you wench! Where is your procurer? You should be punished for your insolence.”

(F/N) clenched her teeth and slammed her fist into his chest, effectively shoving him off her. Blood oozed from her elbow and stained his hakama as he fell into the surrounding crowd. Women shrieked and men howled with laughter at the display. She staggered to her feet, clutching the laceration, and glared at the man seething on the ground.

“Nothing is wrong with me.” she spat at him. Her nerves were firing. The adrenaline from the collision, that she laid eyes on the progenitor, and that he was her soulmate no less had her on the verge of a breakdown. Something that she had not felt in years. The feeling of all these emotions flowing had her choking back the ball that had formed in her throat. “Watch where you're going next time.” She hissed. (F/N) knew it was her fault but at that moment she could care less. Her eyes darted back towards the side street. People’s bodies presented to be an obstacle as she tilted her head frantically to inspect the spot where he once stood.

There was nothing. No trace that he was there and that only served to make her panic more. The only verification that his presence remained was the line connecting the two of them. It was slack, but barely compared to the tautness of it mere moments ago. Pivoting around she shoved people out of her way as she bolted down the road. The man on the ground cursed her form which was swallowed by the sea of people.

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(F/N)’s back pressed against the cool bark of a maple. She clutched the front of her uniform as choked sounds escaped her cracked lips. Her vision warped from the tears she held back; her hands shook with force and her feet tingled.

She didn’t know how far she had run from the district, but she had to get out. She ran until she couldn’t anymore and collapsed in the emerald grass and darkened trees. The thought of those eyes drilling into hers and the shifting cataclysmic ambiance that surrounded his physique had her struggling to breathe. The air came in short bursts as her chest tightened.

It was hard.

Breathing was hard.

The only relief she felt was the sight of the thread loose and gathered in ringlets on the swaying grass. He hadn’t followed her. She was out of sight of anything besides the surrounding fauna which she no doubt scared away with the distressed sounds pouring from her mouth.

Thoughts raced from Kibutsuji to her mission.

Her failed mission.

Grabbing the nearest rock, (F/N) screamed in rage and brought it down onto the blood-red tie. Beating it repeatedly into the ground. Each hit sent a shock wave of what felt like needles through her arm as a warning. Yet, it stayed constant. No fraying, no cut, no snapping. It remained in perfect condition, and she swore it glowed brighter, mocking her. Grinding her teeth together she continued to strike it until the palms of her hands bled from the grip she had on the stone.

Panting from the energy exerted, she chucked the rock at the nearest tree and watched it break into pieces and dust. Her nails dug into her slick palm as she sat there hunched over on her knees.

The thought of the pillars and her Master’s crestfallen, disgusted faces haunted her mind. If they were to see her in this state, abandoning a mission, and fleeing from their sworn enemy when she had every opportunity to launch an assault on him, well, she could only imagine the contempt that would stem from their hearts. (F/N) imagined Master Kagaya exiling her for breaking the oath she swore her life to the moment she passed Final Selection.

“I swear to battle valiantly, not show hesitation, doubt, or cowardice in the face of danger, and place the needs of the Kisatsutai before my own.”

She placed a quivering palm over her mouth as nausea threatened to overtake her. Everything she worked towards, dedicated her life to, everything, destroyed in minutes. Obliterated by her selfishness and pusillanimity. She was no valiant swordsman. The prowess she claimed to have died the moment realization sunk in. Snuffed like a flame.

A soft flutter and pitter-patter of feet landed near her as she held back the urge to purge the contents of her stomach. The crunching of leaves and soft cooing drew closer until she had no choice but to look up. Seiichi, her Kasugai crow cocked his head and ruffled his feathers at her. A small talisman was wrapped around his neck with string, engraved with designs and different Kanji. An item her grandfather gave to her before he passed that she then gave to her crow.

“Tengen, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke are almost to Yoshiwara. You must meet them!” he cawed and made her flinch from the sudden loud noise.

“No. No Seiichi,” she took in a shaky breath before reaching out and picking him up. “I can’t. Not now.”

Setting the crow on her lap, she scratched the top of his head. Effectively making him quiet down and simultaneously began to clear the haze of panic that had been clouding her mind for hours.

“Please, don’t go to the Master. Not yet. Just stay with me for a while.” she whispered and hung her head low, hair falling in front of her face.

Seiichi didn’t make a sound. Nor did he move from his position on her lap. Indicating that he heard her plea and complied with her wish, going against his orders.

The sky steadily grew a lighter shade. A blue hue cast over the scenery before her and a few birds chirped. Beads of dew rolled off blades of grass and she shivered from the chill breeze that blew through the canopy of trees. Her body felt heavy and the wound on her elbow had dried. Pulling the skin when she would bend her arm. (F/N) observed her appearance, her haori was dirty and had a few rips in it from her fall, but for the most part, she appeared to be fine.

The sound of something being sat down had her and Seiichi whipping their heads up to look for the source. The hair on her nape prickled and she sucked in a breath. Hand reaching for her blade. The sun had not come up yet. Any demon still had the chance to strike if they so desired.

“Oh, are you alright dear?”

He stood there like a statue. Expression etched into one of apathy. Hollow and void of any emotion like the bottom of a sable sea. Her brows furrowed and pointed teeth bit her lip. Vermillion ichor leaked from the wound and dribbled down supple skin. Who was he to have done such a thing? To cause rapture in her world and one she couldn’t fix unless she embraced death in all his cold merciless glory.

The flare of his cells ignited through her body. A constant reminder that she was chained to him body and soul. Kibutsuji made sure she knew this fact with no resistance. Resisting caused pain. Pain is suffering. Though, what is suffering anymore? She had already endured so much over the ages she watched the sun rise and fall from the shadows. Never able to let its warmth coat her skin unless she wanted the smell of burnt flesh and scorched ruin to litter her body. Having to flee from those with blades on their hips hellbent on eliminating her kind. A transformation she never asked for. One of abomination and sin.

She had devoured countless bodies. Each time in a fury of erratic hunger. Her stomach and instincts were ravenous and crying out for more.

More more more

Salt would trail down her face as she heaved over the deceased. Saliva dripped onto their massacred remains. Hiccups bubbled in her chest as she cradled the faces of children, women, and men.

“Oh, I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…please I’m sorry.” Smearing the blood onto the fabric covering her chest. Tucking her head into their hair coated in the nutrients she so desperately needed to survive.

She was a beast with an insatiable hunger for the flesh of who she once was. Watching people live their lives as she ripped shreds of skin from her bones. Screaming in rage as it grew back only to be mutilated more the next. They had no idea how lucky they were. They weren’t chosen for this or more than just becoming a monster. No, he had her wrapped around his finger. Nothing was private as he knew everything. He flipped the pages of her back and forth never missing a detail. Tweaking the imperfections until satisfied.