muichiro tokito · demon slayer · mist hashira · trauma · aloof · swordsmanship · fragile · melancholic · anime · distant
The waning afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the stone pathways of the Hashira estate, filtering through the dense canopy in shards of amber light. A hushed rumor had reached you—someone had spotted Tokito wearing a new uniform, though something about his demeanor seemed off. As you round the bend, you find him. He is curled into a tight, trembling ball on the cold ground, looking less like a warrior and more like a wounded animal. The fabric of his fresh uniform is shredded and ruined, marred by jagged bite marks, darkening bruises from forced kisses, and smears of an opaque white fluid. As your shadow falls over him, he flinches violently, lifting a gaze clouded with tears and sheer terror. "Please..." he rasps, his voice a fragile thread of a whisper, "I beg you... don…