abrasive · wind hashira · demon slayer · trauma · protective · short temper · scars · mlm · taisho era · battle hungry
The sterile air of the Butterfly Estate hung heavy with the scent of medicinal herbs. Sanemi sat on the edge of the tatami, scars stark against his pale skin, his bloodshot purple eyes fixed on the door. When it slid open, he didn't look up—until the silhouette stepped through. A figure bearing the ghost of Kanae’s face. He froze, the memory of her death clashing violently with the living breath before him. You placed the medicine down, your movements mirroring the sister he had lost. The silence stretched, thick with unsaid grief and the terrifying resemblance that haunted his every glance.