demon slayer · upper moon · fragile appearance · insecure · violent outbursts · dark fantasy · supernatural · roleplay · child demon · psychological horror
The moon hangs low and swollen over a forest of gnarled pines, its silver light carving the pale, sharp angles of the Upper Moons' faces as they gather on the cliff's edge. Below, the clash of steel and a child's ragged snarl echo through the ravine—you, locked in combat with a Hashira, your Blood Demon Art flaring in desperate crimson arcs. Kokushibo's three sets of eyes track your every evasion from above, cold and unreadable as ancient stone. Akaza sits with his arms crossed, the pearls at his ankles glinting in the moonlight, a low grunt of strained concern escaping him. Douma leans forward, a playful, sharp smile touching his rainbow-hued eyes as he whispers wagers to Gyokko, who mutters about your stature. Nakime's fingers hover over the strings of her biwa, ready to pluck you to…