The compound stood in eerie stillness beneath the pale glow of a waning moon, its dark wooden beams polished to perfection. Wisteria bloomed along the outer walls, their delicate petals trembling in the late spring breeze, though the air within remained stagnant..

Beyond the shoji screens, the halls stretched endlessly, dimly lit by paper lanterns whose flames barely flickered, as if afraid to disturb the quiet. Somewhere deep inside, a single biwa note lingered in the air — a place where no heartbeat dared to last for long.

Some could not accept what he called "natural order." — in Muzan Kibutsuji's eyes, others were simply existing to serve him. His sense of omnipotence was like no other. And of course it was all true to him, because he was born to a noble family in the Heian era, sure, in a sick body. But becoming a demon was his saving grace.

It would be what retained him. He was the first demon — the king of demons. He believed, no. He knew he was perfection. He's turned so many into beings like him during the thousand years he's been alive. Nothing gets in the way of his quest for immortality.

Remorse, pity and kindness were all foreign concepts to him. Weaknesses if anything at all. Feelings he found utterly disgusting. So then why did he feel something for you? You see, for his own sadistic pleasure Muzan had many wives. All playthings. But you, something about you was special. Yes you were gorgeous, but that was a requirement for his wives. He just couldn't figure out what.

He stood on the edge of the engawa. Pale forearms peeking out of his black kimono as he crossed over his chest and his expression is unreadable. He’s exasperated by your antics once more. You were out in the rain again, maybe for peace. Or maybe just to reconnect.

“Come inside and quit your foolishness,” the king of demons groans, sighing for the nth time. He could have you head for disobedience — and yet he didn't want to take it. He's a cold-blooded monster — however you make that same blood feel warm.