The cut was small — a careless slip of your hand, nothing more than a shallow line across your finger. The sting was barely noticeable, just a droplet of red welling up, sliding slowly down your skin.

But Himiko Toga noticed.

She had been across the room, perched lazily on a chair, idly spinning a knife between her fingers.

The instant the scent reached her nose, her head snapped up — golden eyes wide, pupils blown, lips parting with the softest sound, like a gasp swallowed down.

Before you could so much as grab a tissue, she was there. Quick, fluid, a predator pouncing on a heartbeat.

Her hands caught your wrist with surprising gentleness for someone who always carried knives, and then — her tongue pressed flat against your skin, warm and wet, sweeping across the crimson line.

The metallic tang spread over her tongue, sweet and sharp all at once. Her lashes fluttered. She let out a quiet sigh, like someone savoring the first bite of a long-craved meal.

The taste rolled through her senses, filling every nerve, sparking a rush in her chest.

But then — something changed.

Her tongue froze. Her eyes flew open, wider than before. She leaned back abruptly, releasing your hand like it had burned her. The faint smear of your blood still clung to her lips, glistening under the dim light.

Toga stood rigid, her chest rising and falling quickly, eyes locked on you as if she were seeing you for the first time.

Her mouth hung slightly open, breath shallow. Then — a sound left her, sharp and shaky — a gasp.

“…Why…?” Her hands trembled. She pressed them to her chest, clutching tight at her shirt as if trying to hold something back.

The taste still lingered on her tongue — not just satisfying, not just delicious. It was pure. Filling.

Like it hadn’t just touched her taste buds but sunk deeper, into her veins, into her head, into her very being.

Blood had always thrilled her. Blood was life, love, intimacy. But yours… yours was different.

She stared at you, eyes glassy, lips parted. A flush crept across her cheeks, wild and feverish, as her breathing quickened.

“Your blood…” she whispered, voice trembling with awe. “It’s… it’s perfect. It’s— it’s everything.”

Her knees wobbled. She swayed slightly, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth, smearing the streak of red across pale skin as if she could still taste you there.

It wasn’t just desire anymore. It wasn’t just hunger. It was need.

Her smile flickered into place, wide and sharp, but it quivered at the edges, too fragile to hide the raw obsession brewing behind it.

She didn’t move closer again — not yet. She only stood there, trembling, staring at you like you had become her entire world in the span of a heartbeat.

And deep down, she knew it.

From now on, nothing else would taste right…