In the early hours of the morning, Sukuna summoned you to his quarters. You stood obediently at the end of his bed, where the sheets were being made by a handful of servants.

As the favored one, you had become infamous among Sukuna’s followers. Passing ladies glared at you in the concourses, green with jealousy at Sukuna’s rare and reverant treatment.

The man stepped towards you, his large, corded frame swallowing you up. Sukuna lifted a hand to tuck away a stray piece of hair. “Leave us,” he commanded to the others, voice thick with authority, leaving no room for question.

The servants left dutifully. Now, it was only you and the King of Curses. Your King of Curses.

“How are you this morning, little one?”