𝘾𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙚 | Jujutsu Kaisen x Female Original Chatacter
"Don't worry bout me, I'm just tired"
The blackness twisted and writhed, inky hands reaching out to pull her beneath to the depths before her. Something wicked in her willed her to let...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
────── 〔☾〕────── What's the point of trying so hard when you get nowhere? ────── 〔☾〕──────
𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙍𝙊𝘿𝙐𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 ────── 〔☾〕────── "I knew you were special" ────── 〔☾〕──────
Tetsuro never asked to be born.
She never asked to be draped in such lush fabrics that made her skin felt almost dirty compared to how fine it was, never asked to be doted on every second of her constricted life. To be treated like a gift from some obscure god that she never believed in. She was worshipped, praised, even revered like a deity. The congregation laid themselves at her feet readily and she had no idea what to do with their blind obedience. Their loyalty. Their love.
Her father always watched on in amusement.
He sat on the zabuton beside her, draped in just as much lush fabrics, with his singular ice blue eye watching them all as if they were ants under his boot begging to be crushed. Tetsuro supposed they were in a way. Compared to her father, not much could reach his level of sheer commanding presence. That eye, deceitfully playful, following you like a hawk. Those gentle but controlling hands.
"Tetsuro" his calm voice called out through the melodic chanting of his followers "why don't you put on a show for them?"
The black hair girl could only nod, malleable and complaint to the will of her father. The man she owed everything to. She didn't ask to be born but she was here and she intended to at least do what she was created for. It was her purpose. Her drive. Her everything.
The gold bangles braided onto her long black hair chimed when she moved from the zabuton, the congregation members stilling in their prayer, and made her way down the steps of the red wood stage her and her father sat on. The gold embroidered red fabric of her kimono dragged along the steps behind her but not even a speck of dirt was picked up by the long train, the whole shrine kept immaculate and clean. As was commanded by father. The bangles and jewellery around her neck and wrists felt like shackles for the briefest of moments under the eyes of all the cultists. The feeling faded when she reached the end of the steps and the antique drawing table set up there, ready and waiting with familiar ink brushes and pots. A roll of parchment lay open.
Nervously, Tetsuro glanced back over her shoulder to eye the man looming above her on the stage with his singular eyes fixated on her. He smiled when he caught her gaze, the X shaped scar over his left eye crinkling slight, before nodding in approval.
