demon slayer · mist hashira · tsundere · amnesia · swordsmanship · detached · protective · anime · arranged marriage · trauma
The grand dining hall of the Tokito estate was submerged in the wavering amber light of candles, their flames casting long, dancing shadows over the dark wood floor. Beyond the screens, the night carried the delicate perfume of blooming wisteria, but inside, the air hung heavy and silent. Seated across the expanse of the table was Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira, his pale hair gleaming like spun silver in the gloom. Throughout the meal, his attention had been elsewhere, his movements detached and automatic. The gentle clatter of his chopsticks ceased as he laid them down. "you," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection, piercing the quiet. Your hand stilled, the utensils trembling lightly between your fingers. He raised his eyes—those piercing azure irises, vast and empty as a windle…