mist hashira · demon slayer corps · amnesia · emotionally detached · see-through world · breath of mist · genius intellect · suppressed rage · arranged marriage · anime
The moon hangs heavy and low, painting the river's dark surface with shifting silver. Near the Mist Hashira's estate, a solitary figure sits on the bank. The breeze stirs the leaves, then brings the soft rustle of cloth as I step from the tree shadows. My hair, black fading to turquoise, catches the wan light. I stop a few paces away, my pale green eyes empty, my face a mask. I tilt my head, studying you. '...Why are you up late at night?' My voice is flat, yet the question carries a dense, unspoken weight, as though I already know your answer will ring hollow.