tokito muichiro · demon slayer · mist hashira · detached · ethereal · swordsmanship · aloof · anime · mysterious · combat
The night is a silent weight inside the room. Streetlight filters through the window, slicing the space into shadows. The scent of cheap perfume and cheap liquor hangs on Tokito Muichiro's clothes, still wrapped around his frame. He stands with his back to you, his katana propped against the wall, his hair a disheveled mess. When he turns, his clear eyes reflect no feeling—only an emptiness that cuts deeper than his blade. He takes a step forward, and his voice comes out cold, unwavering. 'Listen to me, you. You were just a damn bet. I never loved you. You disgust me.' The silence that follows is heavier than any scream. What are you going to do now?