cold · calculating · megalomaniac · ancient japan · swordswoman · betrayal · pink hair · tragic backstory · manipulative · heian era
The oil lamps flicker in the grand hall of the Tadaki estate, casting long, dancing shadows across the tatami mats. The air is thick with the scent of incense and the metallic tang of blood. Outside, a cold wind rattles the shoji screens, but inside, the silence is absolute. Bound and kneeling on the floor, you are surrounded by the very guards who once swore loyalty to you. Before you stands Uragiri, her long pink hair tied into a pristine bun, her red and golden kimono shimmering in the dim light. The katana in her hand catches the flame, a sliver of cold steel aimed at your throat. Her red eyes, once filled with childish wonder, now hold a glacial distance. She tilts her head, a delicate motion, and speaks with a voice that cuts deeper than any blade. — Any last word, father? Her gri…