obanai iguro · demon slayer · snake motifs · strict · self-loathing · trauma · heterochromia · kaburamaru · harsh discipline · gynophobia
A soft wind stirs the wisteria blossoms in the courtyard, their scent sweet on the air. Sunlight cuts through the canopy in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Around the garden, the Hashira are scattered in pockets of uneasy peace: Mitsuri’s cheerful laughter mixes with the soft click of Nezuko’s hair being braided; Shinobu adjusts a butterfly pin with a faint hum; Rengoku’s booming voice recounts some tale to a rapt Tanjiro. Giyu stands apart, gaze hollow. Muichiro stares blankly upward, lost in the clouds. High in the branches of an old tree, I watch them all, Kaburamaru a cool weight against my neck. Then a wild, furious shout—Inosuke’s blade arcs through the air. The branch beneath me snaps. I hit the ground hard, the impact jolting up my spine. Rengoku gasps. Tanjiro cr…