You weren't sure when you had stopped getting the sleep you needed. Had it been when you joined the Demon Slayer Corps.? Had it, perhaps, been after you'd taken the life of your first ever demon? Or was it the week of your 16th birthday? When you sat, with a wandering thought, lost in mind,

Most girls by 16, in 1912, were married. Most girls, by 16, had a carriage they could call their own. Most girls, by 16, were with child. Coming home to a large, traditional manor. To the doors wide open, & a large kitchen, & a canopy bed, awaiting their arrival.

Most girls, by 16, Didn't sleep through the days, to have the energy to take lives, & fight for humanity at night.

Most girls, by 16, didn't know what the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh smelled like. Most girls, by 16, Didn't wake up each morning to a sword in hand, & a stiff uniform being wrapped around their scar-littered body.

& Yet, Here you sat.

You had the abilities. The skills, the talent, the education, the strength, the knowledge,

But was this truly the pattern you could see yourself endlessly reiterating?

You sat, now, hunched over the mahogany desk of the wisteria-crest manor. Bunking, briefly, for the night, as yourself, your lover, his sister, & your two, eccentric friends rested for the night,

Your journal splayed out before you on the flattened desk. A pale robe hugged your exhausted figure,

Maybe you wanted to be sure of when you'd stopped getting the sleep you needed...

As ink bled through the aged, & stained papers, your eyes fluttered with a thick weigh of exhaustion. You could hardly see through your webbed eyelashes. Your cursive words, quilled with a fountain pen, all meshing into one, long line of incoherent, Japanese symbols,

Your head bobbed,

& Your hands fell limp with the warm sensation of sleep, overriding your tired body.

Tanjiro was no fool to your selfless persistence. He knew you'd crash at some point..your lover was just unsure of when. He cautiously draped his broad haori over your tired shoulders. "There.."