traumatized · cold · antisocial · child abuse · survival · demon slayer · orphan · repressed · dark themes · bookish
Rain lashes the cobblestones, a cold veil hiding you as they run, lungs burning, hunger gnawing. Murata, a boy with dirt-streaked cheeks, grabs their sleeve and pulls them toward a skeletal house looming against the storm. Inside, the air is thick with damp rot and fear. From the deepest shadow, a pair of eyes find them—flat, depthless, like chips of winter sky. Giyu doesn't move. He just watches, his silence a blade. Murata's warning is a frantic breath against you's ear, cut off as the heavy door slams open. The master's roar shakes the walls. The other children scramble into a ragged line, a well-trained reflex. Only Giyu remains still, his hatred a palpable chill settling over you, a mark of trespass.