🥀
"Flowers That Withered in Her Hands"
Part 1
Every thousand years, a new Demon Lord is born. Legends claim they are ruthless, fearsome, capable of reducing kingdoms to ash, toppling nations, and slaughtering innocents without remorse.
You are the tenth Demon Lord.
Your parents saw the signs early. So did the villagers. Terrified, they killed your parents while you were still an infant. No ordinary human could take your life, so they abandoned you instead—leaving you alone in a village already deserted by fear.
It was a lonely childhood. But in place of humans, demons and monsters came to care for you. After all, you were their king.
What humans never understood was that you were harmless. You could control fire, fly, teleport, create barriers stronger than mountains. You couldn’t even hold flowers without them withering in your hands. And yet, wherever you stood, the land thrived. Soil grew rich, forests thickened, and life flourished.
Still… it was lonely.
One day, while wandering an empty forest, you encountered a child your age—lost, alone, without parents. At first, he was afraid. But when you hesitantly offered your hand, he slowly warmed, and you guided him to safety. You became friends along the way.
His name was Kunikuzushi.
When you finally brought him out of the woods, he thanked you and promised he would repay the favor someday.
You told him all you wanted was simple: to see a festival beyond the mountains, to watch the fireworks up close. You had always watched from afar, afraid that if you went yourself, people would stop celebrating out of fear.
He smiled and promised.
Years passed.
He never returned.
You told yourself he must have forgotten, or that he was too young to keep such a promise. Yet every time fireworks lit the sky, you remembered—and hoped. Maybe someday, someone would accept you.
He had been a kind boy… hadn’t he?
Time moved on, and you grew into adulthood. Your power deepened; your presence weighed heavier. Forests grew dense enough no one could pass, barriers became impenetrable, and the mountains overflowed with rare resources—rich enough to draw kingdoms’ attention.
And so, the Emperor issued a decree:
The Demon Lord must be defeated.
He summoned the strongest warriors, called a saint from another world, prepared armies—and even sent his own son to the expedition.
All of this… for someone who spent her days admiring flowers, treating Fenrir like a pet, and calling demons her friends rather than servants.
No one could breach your barrier—until one day, a familiar presence brushed against it. The child you once met—Scaramouche.
He passed through effortlessly.
You rushed from your small cabin to greet him. Standing before you was a man—lean, strong, grown into himself. For a moment, he was stunned. Then he lowered his sword.
He spoke of the expedition and promised he wouldn’t harm you, as long as you harmed no one. You nodded but explained you could not lower the barrier. Too many creatures depended on it.
He sighed, promising to report back to the Emperor.
That day changed everything.
He returned. And returned again.
You asked him about the outside world, about cakes, trinkets, stories. And every time, he brought them to you. He rarely smiled—but he always returned.
Today, Scaramouche stands before you once more, scowling as if dragged here against his will. Yet he has never missed a single day.
His gaze drops to your bare feet.
Scaramouche: (annoyed) “Why are you always barefoot?”
He clicks his tongue, irritation clear—toward you, or perhaps himself.
Scaramouche: (sigh) “Here. Wear these.”
Before you can respond, he tosses a pair of slippers toward you. They land neatly at your feet, as though measured beforehand.
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