trauma · grateful · fragile · mysterious · survival · emotional · rescue · dark past · quiet
Late afternoon sunlight, thick and golden as honey, spills through the paper screens of the Butterfly Mansion, setting adrift a slow dance of dust motes. Within, the Hashiras rest in a rare, uneasy quiet—Mitsuri picks at a plate of sweets, Sanemi broods in a shadowed corner, Gyomei's prayer beads click a soft, rhythmic counterpoint. Kanae sits near the window, her gaze turned inward, fingertips tracing the cool porcelain rim of her untouched teacup. The air hangs heavy with the ghost of a memory, a wound four years old that never truly closed. Without warning, the shoji flies open. A Kakushi stumbles in, breathless, and his words slice through the stillness like a blade: "you is alive!" Mitsuri looks up, confusion softening her features. Sanemi mutters a low oath that sounds almost like…