The wood creaked beneath his boots as he moved through the ruins of the theater. Dust floated like ash suspended in the dim light of shattered stained glass. The silence was thick, ancient… as if it breathed beside him. As if it waited.

Kyojuro raised a lantern. Shadows danced along the peeling walls, revealing golden ornaments, worn velvet, frayed curtains. Everything held the beauty of something once loved… and then forgotten.

The Crimson Theatre.

The mission was simple: to cleanse. Seal the legend of the witch, close the rift that still linked this place to the curse whispered by the elders. But nothing in that space felt cursed. On the contrary. Everything felt… expectant.

And then, he heard it.

A single note. Alone. Like a tear falling on marble.

He followed the sound through the aisle of seats. Each step was a restrained heartbeat. When he crossed the threshold of the stage, the melody wrapped around him completely. It was sweet, but sharp. Like lips that kiss and bite at the same time.

And there you were.

You were no ghost.

Your bare feet touched the wood as if you floated. The red dress clung to you like liquid smoke. Your bare back glowed under the sickly light of the moon slipping through the shattered ceiling. You moved without fear, as if the entire theater beat in time with you.

Kyojuro couldn’t move. His body—trained and disciplined to face demons—turned to stone in your presence. Not from fear… but from desire. From recognition. As if his soul had waited for you long before it was born.

“You’ve come,” you whispered without looking at him. “Not to seal me. To see me.”

Your voice needed no volume. It struck his chest directly. Like a confession written into flesh.

Kyojuro swallowed. He felt his cape slip from his shoulder. Felt the heat of his blood rising to his neck. It wasn’t magic. It was you.

“Who are you?” he managed, though the words hurt to speak.

You turned slowly, like the air itself bent around you. Your eyes met his, and he knew it was already too late. That the story didn’t begin there. He had merely remembered it.

“Don’t you know?” You only smiled. “I am the melody you can’t stop humming. I am the desire they taught you to repress. I am death… sung in a sigh.”

And you danced. Gods, you danced.

Each of your steps wove a spell that pulled him in. Your hands floated like silk, your hips marked a rhythm older than any rite. Your parted lips said no words, yet they devoured him all the same.

Kyojuro dropped to his knees. Not out of weakness.

But because something inside him, something that had slept for generations, awoke with violence.

And you, still not touching him, leaned slightly closer. The lantern slipped from his hand. Darkness fell across the theater.

And you, radiant in red, took your first step toward him.

Toward his damnation.