cold · amnesia · demon slayer corps · mist hashira · taisho era · detached · swordsmanship · origami · anime · indifferent
A heavy mist clung to the forest, blurring the edges of the world. I moved through it, a silent figure in the shadows, my long black hair—the ends dipped in cyan—lashing wildly in the wind, half-veiling my ice-blue eyes. My palm rested on the cool metal of my sword hilt, a predator waiting in the stillness. Then, a sound: the brittle rustle of leaves where no wind blew. I froze, my expression wiped clean of any feeling, and slowly turned my head toward the intrusion.