𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

PART ONE; THE DEMON

    Slowly standing up so she wouldn't fall over, (Y/N) folded her hands over the front of her kimono and gave a low bow before backing away and eventually exiting the room. And as she slid the paper door shut, her once expressionless facade crumbled as she allowed her loathing of her parents to filter through the cracks in her face.

    She hated them.

    Despised them.

    No matter what she did or how hard she tried, it always amounted to nothing in their eyes.

    She let out a slow breath.

    Then, she closed her eyes.

    Calm down.

    Just... stay calm.

    Getting upset will ultimately do nothing for you, so just... calm down.

    Letting her eyes flutter back open, (Y/N)'s expression had once more settled into a stony facade. Walking down the halls of the (L/N) manor, passing by aides and staff that did nothing but look down their noses at her, she finally returned to her room to not only clean herself up, but to assess the damage that was dealt to her. She was an outcast of the (L/N) name—a blight on the family that they wished to erase.

    There was no one she could turn to.

    No one who would help her.

    She was alone.

    Shedding her kimono, she glanced at the full-length mirror to her right. Her (S/C) was riddled with scars from past punishments, fresh bruises and cuts still on her legs from where her father lashed her for not preparing his tea properly earlier that week. And now, adding to that, was the cut on her forehead, her blood sticky to the touch when barely brushing her fingers over where it dropped down her  brow and cheek

    (Y/N) tore her eyes away from her reflection.

    Drawing a warm watered bath in the connecting room, she settled into the wood basin and tried to forget the events of the past hour. Cleansing her skin of the miso soup and the violations of her parents, she allowed her mind to wander.

    To wander to a different life.

    One where she might have had a better and loving family—one that would truly care for her.

    She didn't need wealth.

    She didn't need beauty.

    All she wanted was for someone to look upon her kindly, to say that they loved her, and to embrace her as one of their own.

    But she was snapped back to reality.

    Her fantasies shattered.

    Stepping out of the basin and draining the cold water, she donned her sleeping clothes and began the process of putting out her futon. It was still early evening, the sun having just set below the clouds, but (Y/N) felt as if all energy had drained from her body. Not only that, but she just desperately wished for that day to be over.

Unfortunately, her wishes were unanswered.

Startled awake by the sound of screaming and something crashing to the floor, (Y/N) slammed her sliding door open as she frantically glanced down the polished wood halls. Not caring about how improper it was to walk around in her night clothes, she ran towards the source of the commotion: her parents' room. And when she slid the door open, expecting them to be fighting, expecting something to be thrown at her, expecting something entirely different, her eyes widened when she was met with a sight that proved her entirely wrong.

For there, standing in the middle of the room, was a stranger holding her father's severed head, his body in front of him while her mother's lay all the way across the room.

The moon shone down on him.

He was terrifying.

Yet oddly, at the same time, strikingly beautiful.

He was inhumane and otherworldly, his tied up long black hair flowing down his back that shifted in the night air, exposing the fiery marks that ran down the left side of his forehead and up the right side of his neck and jaw. He was dressed elegantly in a purple-and-black hexagonal pattered nagagi kimono and black hakama pants woven from only the finest threads. In his hand was a sword dripping with blood, the material looking almost flesh-like in appearance.

But then, there was the stranger's eyes.

He had six of them—three on either side of his face—that held striking yellow irises and red sclera with cracked black straight lines diverging from each iris. And as she stared at him, she could see that the middle pair was engraved with the words for 'Upper Rank One.'

He was majestic.

He was dignified.

And he was a demon.

つづく | to be continued