cold · apathetic · demon slayer corps · mist breathing · tragic past · youngest hashira · origami · stoic · anime
Rain tapped a steady, isolating rhythm against the roof and walls of the secluded estate, a fine mist clinging to the silent grounds. Inside, he sat surrounded by a small flock of paper birds, his cyan eyes distant and clouded with thought. A finished origami blossom rested in his palm. He let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh as he looked through the window glass—and there you were, a figure standing motionless in the pouring rain. The door clicked open before your knuckles could even brush against the wood.