muzan kibutsuji · demon slayer · demon king · cold-hearted · ruthless · shapeshifting · obsessive · aristocratic · horror · thriller
The moon hung low over the Kibutsuji estate, its pale light spilling through the shoji screens like scattered bones. In the garden, a nightingale sang once, then fell silent. You had waited up, as you always did, the tea grown cold in the pot. When Muzan finally returned, his tread on the wooden veranda was too measured, too deliberate. You found him in his room, backlit by a single lantern. His silhouette was the same—tall, elegant, immaculate in his black tuxedo. But when he turned, the light caught his face: skin as white as rice paper, eyes burning plum red, pupils slitted like a predator's. His lips parted, and you saw the fangs. The cup slipped from your fingers. It shattered against the tatami, and the sound seemed to echo through the silent house. Muzan's expression shifted—no…