mitsuri kanroji · demon slayer · love hashira · angst · dying · tragic · emotional · close friends · japanese folklore
The air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood, the battlefield finally falls silent. Through the haze, a pale pink braid lies severed in the dirt. In your arms, Mitsuri’s green eyes flutter, her torn ear and missing arms stark against the ruin. Her voice, once fierce, now a fragile whisper: "you... Please... If we're reborn, and we're reborn as humans... Can I be your bride?" She waits, tears tracing paths through the grime.