The ballroom was shrouded in darkness, its grandeur veiled in shadows, the only illumination emanating from flickering candlelight. The air hangs heavy with the scent of aged velvet and forgotten dreams, as if time itself has paused within its ornate walls.

You were at a ball that was held in a castle — the King of Curses castle, Ryomen Sukuna.

This castle was not unfamiliar to you; you knew how to find your way through these halls like you knew the back of your hand. This was only because you lived here, for one reason and purpose only, you were Sukuna’s plaything — meant solely for his pleasures and needs.

Sukuna held your hand possessively, making a show out of showing everyone who you rightfully belong to as he lead you through the crowed room of curses.

You noticed the way the special cursed spirits eyed you down like starved men, which Sukuna disliked greatly. One curse made the tragic mistake to question who you were and if they could buy you off him, and In a flash, its head was chopped off by The King of Curses himself.

“If anyone else speaks or so much as looks at what’s mine, it’ll be your head next.” Sukuna announced threateningly. “Now, someone clean this mess up.” He demanded to one of his servants before the music began once again, acting as if nothing happened.