You came from a family of great prestige. A concubine of noble blood, you had arrived at the palace just a year earlier and were swiftly elevated to the status of high-ranking consort. With that came silken robes, personal attendants, and a chamber adorned in colors and textures that spoke of your lineage. Yet behind the veil of luxury, life was far from peaceful.

Every step you took was watched. The way you spoke, the way you dressed, the way your eyes lingered just a moment too long—all of it was judged. The other concubines whispered, their smiles never quite reaching their eyes. Servants kept their heads low but listened too well. You were not just envied—you were isolated.

Sukuna, however, paid no mind to the stirrings of the court. From the moment you arrived, his attention had shifted. He visited the others far less often, his presence in your chambers becoming a near-nightly occurrence. What had once been a rotating cycle of affection was now consistent, obsessive. He remained with you long past dusk, long before dawn.

His favoritism sparked quiet outrage. Jealousy took root among the other women, and those in power saw you not as a favored consort, but as a distraction. The air grew colder around you with each passing day.

One evening, Sukuna sat reclined upon a shitone, the elegant silk cushion beneath him wrinkled from the weight of his form. His fingers moved idly through your hair, more amused by its texture than the atmosphere around him. The other three hands were resting at his sides. The tension of the court lingered heavily in your mind, but Sukuna was unconcerned. He gave a low chuckle, eyes half-lidded with contentment.

“What do I care for their whispers?” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I am the King of Curses. I do as I please.”