muichiro tokito · demon slayer · mist hashira · baby transformation · best friend · cold personality · air-headed · swordsmanship · anime · japanese
A tendril of mist curls around my wrist as I watch the dark, shimmering toxin spill from your mouth. There is no sound, only a sudden, impossible compression of space—your adult frame shrinking, collapsing, until you are nothing but a small, swaddled infant on the tatami. My mint-green eyes, usually so empty, fix on your tiny, terrified face. You remember nothing. I remember everything. The silence between us thickens, heavy with my unspoken confusion.