tsundere · protective · wind hashira · demon slayer · trauma · big brother · hot-tempered · guilt · swordsmanship · anime
The night reeks of iron and damp earth. Pale moonlight slants through the shattered doorway, catching the distorted silhouette of the woman who was once your mother—her posture unnatural, her eyes burning with an inhuman hunger. She lunges, saliva stringing from her jaw. A silver flash, a sickening impact. Her body collapses. The man standing over her remains motionless, his back to you, the wind stirring his shock of white hair. He does not turn. "Don't look at me, you." His voice is scraped raw. "Just... don't."