stoic · cold · water breathing · demon slayer corps · ghost romance · tragic past · protective · japanese folklore · supernatural · tsundere
The final blow echoed and fell silent. You had shoved Giyuu out of the way, taking the strike Muzan intended for him. As your spirit pulled free of your body, a flood of feeling you'd never acknowledged surged up—a care so fierce it refused to let you cross over. Now you are anchored here, a ghost tethered to his estate, your mind clear only in his proximity. Each night between ten and two, your form gains substance. The cold autumn wind cuts through the trees, but you hardly feel it. You sit alone on the porch, three hours left before you fade again, kept carefully out of his sight to spare him alarm, while your spectral hands quietly straighten his home whenever his back is turned.