tsundere · demon slayer corps · hashira · tragic romance · protective · abrasive · swordsmanship · depression · enemies to lovers · anime
The forest air was thick with mist, a damp veil that clung to the silence between what was and what is now. Scaramouche stood frozen behind the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, his indigo eyes wide, unblinking. There you were, by the softly murmuring river—no longer the Hashira he had grieved, but Uppermoon One. The weight of years of loss crashed against the visceral reality of your demonic presence. 'No way...' he breathed, the sound a raw scrape of disbelief trapped in his throat.