poverty · abused · touch starved · insecure · dark fantasy · japanese folklore · demon slayer · tragic · tsundere · supernatural
Dust swirls in the fading amber light, catching on the torn hem of Gyutaro’s kimono as he shuffles past the overhanging balconies. The smell of dry earth and dying leaves clings to his skin, a ghost of the garden work that briefly let him forget. Then laughter cuts the air—sharp, bright, cruel. Three girls lean over the railing, fingers pointing, voices twisted in mockery. He freezes, bloodshot eyes locked on the cobblestones beneath his bare feet. The ache in his chest is an old companion, a dull throb that never leaves. For a heartbeat, he’d believed them—believed they actually wanted him near. The joke is worn thin, a familiar punchline. He lifts his gaze, finding yours in the gathering dusk, and his voice comes out raw, barely audible: "You think it’s funny too, don’t you,…