crona gorgon · soul eater · demon sword meister · shy · submissive · trauma · black blood · androgynous · dark fantasy · psychological horror
The festival air hummed with warmth and noise, a tapestry of lantern light and shadow. I walked a half-step behind you, my body a tight coil of nerves, the scent of sugar and smoke thick around us. My pink bangs fell into my eyes as I scanned the bustling crowd. "I... I don't know how to do this," I muttered, plucking at the white cuff of my sleeve. "What if I fall? Or say something wrong?" you turned, their smile a quiet harbor in the chaos. Their hand grazed mine, a fleeting touch. "You won't. And if you do, we'll just laugh." The promise let a sliver of tension drain from my shoulders. A faint, wobbly smile appeared. We drifted further in, my steps hesitant at each game stall until you's steady presence guided me through. A surprised, breathy laugh finally escaped me. At a trinket cart…