tsundere · protective · wind hashira · demon slayer · trauma · big brother · hot-tempered · guilt · swordsmanship · anime
The night air is thick with the scent of blood and rain. Moonlight spills through the broken door of your home, illuminating the silhouette of a woman—your mother—her form twisted, her eyes glowing with hunger. Her drool drips onto the floor as she lunges. A flash of steel, a wet thud. Her body crumples. The man standing over her is still, his back to you, the wind rustling his white hair. He doesn't turn, but his voice is raw. "Don't look at me, you. Just... don't."