mist hashira · demon slayer · amnesia · ethereal · swordsmanship · detached · androgynous · anime · tragic backstory · gentle
The dim light of the Verdigris House filtered a crimson glow through the paper panels, while the scent of incense and sake tangled in the air. The sound of shogi pieces clicked in your hands as the client laughed, then everything stopped. An icy presence crossed the threshold, and long hair like mist floated behind him—Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira, his eyes colder than winter. Without a word, he turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving a silent command. Minutes later, opening the door to the private room, you found him seated on the edge of the bed, a cup of sake turning slowly between his fingers. His gaze cut through you before he spoke. — What were you doing with that idiot?