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〖 the calm before the storm 〗
HOW STUPID IS it to be jealous of something that has no conscience? To wish to be something that can't think, that doesn't live, but only exists? Yet she envies the wind and yearns for it's freedom.
The Gojo estate is gorgeous with its endlessly rolling garden of cedar trees, azaleas, hollies and traditional minka homes, topped by beautifully decorated gable roofs, precisely placed across the vast property. The Gojo estate is beautiful, it is spacious, and it is Kanako's personal prison. She is but a beautiful rare bird caught in a cage and flaunted by her captors.
Servants mince around the lot, footsteps noticeable but light, catering to her every need. Honestly, with their light footsteps and hushed voices, the servants were easy to forget about. Kanako wouldn't mind the silence if the quiet didn't give way to intrusive thoughts. She is aware of the faux privacy granted to her. She notices the servants' plain smiles, meaningless movements, soft murmurs, and heavy gazes. While they don't speak to her, they do speak of her. Where they avoid her eyes, they watch her hands. It's the smaller details they try to hide that Kanako notices, and with their faked placidity comes Kanako's unease.
The only person Kanako knows she can trust is Gojo Saturo. It's due to this aforementioned knowledge that the jujustu council—her captors—keep Saturo busy. Despite being the strongest sorcerer of their generation, killing curses do take up time, whether that be measly seconds or a hefty hour. Either way, time away is less time spent influencing a potentially dangerous teenager whose heart pumped the blood of the world's worse curse through her veins.
Kanako lays nimbly across the grass admiring the twinkling stars above and wishing she too were thousands of miles away from her glorified hell. She can already hear the scolding she'll endure for messing her kimono with grass stains, but she doesn't care. The clans love to follow the traditional Japanese culture. The culture is reflected as much by their prestigious homes and gardens as in their clothes and outdated depictions. Ruining her kimono, while deplorable, is Kanako's way to rebel. It's pathetic and petty, but she hasn't seen Saturo in almost a week and her patience is wearing thin.
Of course, one should expect their pet to get rowdy if you take away their one play thing. Gojo Saturo is Kanako's only joy and it's unfair and cruel that he is constantly taken from her for no justifiable reason.
Now, Kanako must find refuge in the stars and she'll continue marking her kimono in the grass as some sort of weak retaliation until she reunited with that white haired, baby blue eyes moron. As her fingers stretch up to the sky above her, the stars bleed away.
Literally.
The sky above her slowly gives way to a lucious bloody red. Quickly sitting up, Kanako watches in struck awe as the black night seemed to singe away to crimson like a paper set alight. The soft pods of the grass beneath her fade and is replaced with something wet. It coats her fingers, her hair, her kimono—painting them all red.
At the unmistakable stench of blood, Kanako's mouth goes sour.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
The voice alone sends a jult through her body. Involuntarily, her hands start to tremble, and she digs her fingers into her palms to keep herself situated as she slowly turns around.
First, her eyes land on the person standing beside her with a face that mirrors her shock, confusion, and fear— a slender boy with spiky pink hair and curved marks under his eyes.
Then, she turns to the man lounging before her atop a throne of bones. His fingers caress his chin as he rests on the arm of his seat, eyeing her with interest. Kanako realizes this man looks exactly like the boy besides her. From the pink hair to the caramel eyes to the slender but muscular physique. Besides the tattoos across his wrists and face, this man and the boy were one and the same.
The name of the man—no, the demon—before her hangs on the tip of her tongue. At the realization of who stands before her, Kanako feels the bile rising from her stomach to her throat.
When his lips part to reveal his pearly white canines and crinkle the corners of his blazing eyes, revealing with one look, the absolute monster suppressed in that body, Kanako finds herself bent over her knees, hurling in the pool of blood at her feet, right in front of the most powerful cursed spirit in the entire world: Sukuna.
