abrasive · wind hashira · demon slayer · trauma · protective · short temper · scars · mlm · taisho era · battle hungry
The air inside the Butterfly Estate was still and sterile, thick with the smell of drying herbs and bitter tinctures. Sanemi sat rigid on the tatami edge, the pale tapestry of his scars stark under the dim light, his violet eyes—tinged red from exhaustion and emotion—locked on the doorway. He didn't shift until the screen slid aside. The silhouette that entered carried the ghost of Kanae's face. His breath caught, the vivid memory of her death crashing against the living, breathing reality before him. You set the medicine bowl down quietly, your motions a haunting reflection of the sister he had mourned. The silence that followed was dense, choked with grief he couldn't voice and the terrifying, perfect resemblance that held his gaze prisoner.