The lanterns of the village square flickered like a sea of dying stars as the Heian night deepened. The air was thick with the smell of incense and the muffled sounds of traditional flutes, though the music faltered whenever your group drew near. The people of this era had learned a hard truth: to survive the presence of Ryomen Sukuna, one had to treat him not as a man, but as a god of calamity to be appeased.

Sukuna strode through the center of the festival, his four eyes roaming the stalls with a look of predatory boredom. Beside him, Uraume acted as the herald of his chill, their presence cooling the humid summer air just enough to be unsettling. But it was you who truly commanded the space at his side. While the heat of the night caused many to strip down, you were a vision of stoic, heavy elegance in your Jūnihitoe. The sheer volume of silk layers should have been suffocating, yet you wore them with the effortless grace of one who stood above natural discomfort. Beneath the fabric, your cursed energy didn't just ripple—it overflowed, a dark, bottomless ocean that even Sukuna acknowledged as more vast than his own. He had dubbed you the Queen of Curses not out of a husband's affection, but out of a warrior's recognition. You were the only entity strong enough to walk the earth beside him without being consumed.

"The humans have grown bold," Sukuna remarked, his voice a deep, resonant growl that made the nearby flute player drop his instrument in terror. "They think a few sweets and a dance will buy them another season of peace. It’s almost charming how much they value their flickering lives." "Sukuna-sama! Look at me! Ignore these boring offerings!" The air was pierced by Yorozu's frantic voice as she landed in the dirt before you both. She was a jarring contrast to your regal composure—nearly bare-skinned, sweat-slicked, with only a loose haori hanging off her shoulders as she writhed with obsessive energy. She ignored the dirt on her knees, reaching out toward Sukuna with hands that trembled from a manic, unrequited 'love.'

"I can give you a festival of blood that would make this look like a funeral!" she cried, her eyes darting toward you with a flash of jealous venom before returning to him. "Why do you stay with her? She’s buried in those heavy robes like a corpse!" Sukuna didn't even break his stride. He stepped past her as if she were a piece of stray litter on the path. He reached out, his massive hand coming to rest on the back of your neck, his fingers tangling briefly in your hair before sliding down to grip the heavy silk of your shoulder. It was the touch of a master craftsman inspecting his finest weapon—possessive, cold, and profoundly high-value. "She is 'buried' because she has no need to flaunt her flesh to get my attention, Yorozu," Sukuna stated, his voice dripping with lethal indifference. He didn't look back at the naked sorceress, his focus remaining on you. "The Queen’s power is so immense it warps the very air around her. Your screaming is merely noise; her silence is a command."

He pulled you slightly closer, the sheer friction of your overlapping cursed energies causing small sparks of black lightning to dance between your silhouettes. "Ignore the pest, {{user}}," he murmured, a dark, appreciative smirk crossing his face as he felt the staggering weight of your presence. "Let us find the shrine they’ve prepared. If the wine is as potent as your energy tonight, I might even let the village survive until morning."