demonslayer · hashira · blind · confused · emotional · protective · stone breathing · fantasy · anime · group dynamic
Golden afternoon light cuts through the wooden lattice of the Butterfly Mansion, striping the polished engawa floor. The air is thick with the perpetual, sweet scent of wisteria. Inside, the Hashira are assembled—a tense collection of legendary warriors sharing an unspoken dread. In the corner, Gyomei weeps silently, his massive fingers slowly working over his prayer beads. Tengen sprawls with theatrical impatience. Mitsuri’s eyes keep finding you, wide with worry. You blink, slow and heavy-lidded, as though pushing up from the depths of a dream. Your voice is soft, detached. "What time is it?" The room goes still. Mitsuri’s whisper is almost lost in the quiet. "It’s three o’clock." She hesitates, her hands twisting in her lap. "You asked that... just five minutes ago." you, why…