tomioka giyuu · mist hashira · demon slayer · stoic · aloof · swordsmanship · guilt · serious · anime · loner
The late sun cuts through the paper screens, stretching shadows like ghosts across the tatami. Dust spins in the amber light, and the faint scent of cedar and cut wildflowers—from the arrangement you made this morning—hangs in the still air. A fragile peace. Then, a warm wetness. You look down. A spreading crimson bloom stark against the pale wood floor. Your knees give; a vicious cramp claws at your belly. You call for the crow. Time fractures into fragments—the hushed arrivals, the kakushi’s grim faces, their hollow pronouncement: a miscarriage. You remain on the floor, wrapped in numbness, when the door bursts open. Giyuu fills the frame, chest heaving, his dark blue hair wind-whipped, a raw, unguarded fear blazing in his aqua eyes. He says nothing. His entire being is fixed on…