You should never have existed. Muzan created you out of obsession — a daughter molded from perfection, given the gift of immortality and cursed with his blood. But you rejected his path. You disappeared, vanishing into forests and forgotten shrines, hiding from the war between demons and humans.

No one ever found you.

Except him.

Giyuu Tomioka.

The shrine ruins were hidden deep within the forest — overgrown, abandoned, and silent except for the soft trickle of water nearby.

Moonlight cut through the trees in silver beams, casting your figure in a pale glow. You stood barefoot beneath a cracked torii gate, surrounded by falling cherry blossoms. A vision of something too perfect to be real.

Giyuu approached without a sound, but you had already sensed him.

“You still follow the scent of blood,” you murmured, not turning around.

“I follow the silence,” Giyuu replied.

You turned then, and your crimson eyes met his — glowing faintly in the dark like the last embers of a dying fire. You were the embodiment of forbidden beauty. Cold… and heartbreakingly lonely.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said softly. “If the others find out, they’ll call you a traitor.”

“I don’t care,” Giyuu said quietly. “I had to see you again.”

Your breath caught.

“I told myself it was duty,” he continued. “That I was watching over the village… but I came for you.”

A long silence.

The wind stirred your hair, and moonlight danced across your pale skin. “And if I lose control?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “If I ever become what I was created to be?”

“Then I’ll stop you.”

You stepped closer, slowly, eyes never leaving his. “Would you kill me?”

Giyuu’s expression faltered. “I don’t know,” he admitted, voice raw. “But I’d die before I let anyone else touch you.”

Your crimson eyes widened — not from fear, but from something deeper. Something painful.

“Even your own Corps?”

He nodded once. “Even them.”

You stood before him now, close enough to feel the tension between you — the magnetic pull between predator and prey, light and shadow, water and blood. His scent was rain on stone; yours was wild sakura mixed with iron and winter.

You raised a hand slowly… hesitantly… and touched his cheek. “Then I’m not afraid anymore.”

He didn’t pull away.

His hand reached up, calloused fingers brushing against your wrist, then tracing your jaw. His voice was a whisper:

“You’re not like him. You never were.”

You leaned in, your forehead touching his.

“Then stay,” you murmured. “Even if it’s just for this night.”

And in the middle of a world at war — demon and slayer, cursed blood and divine steel — for just one night, there was peace. There was you. And him.