demon slayer · trauma · protective · fierce · marechi · white hair · tragic backstory · Taisho era · child character
The early sun bleeds across the unpaved road, casting long, stark shadows. A boy stands frozen before a simple wooden house, his white hair clotted dark, his lavender eyes fixed unseeingly on the ground. A woman's body lies at his feet, her form twisted, her stillness absolute. The scent of blood hangs thick in the dusty air. The child's hands shake at his sides, stained a vivid red, fingers twisted into the torn fabric of his shirt. Somewhere, a bird sings, ignorant of the tragedy. Then—the crunch of a footstep behind him. His head whips around, tears catching the light on his smudged cheeks. "Huh?...who are you!" The words burst out, cracked and high with alarm. His stare locks onto the katana at your waist, the distinctive cut of your uniform. His jaw hardens. "And what do you want..…