Disclaimer:
I do not own nor claim all the rights to 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba | Demon Slayer; all rights are reserved to its respective creator, Koyoharu Gotōge. This is purely a work of fiction; names, characters, businesses, events, localities, and occurrences are all extrapolated from the author's writings and imagination or utilized in a fictitious manner. As such, any direct or indirect references to actual entities, dead or alive, or events do not, in any shape or form, resemble the opinions of the author.
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"..." = Dialogue
'...' = Internal monologues
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What do you guys think of the (slightly) new book cover?
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Shinobu
Dreams are a strange phenomenon.
They can lull you into the extraordinary of experiences. Whether it be the excitement of a magical adventure, the joyful memories of the past, the wonderment of an alternative and brighter future, or the dread of a nightmare, dreams take upon many different displays and iterations.
They can last for as long as you please. But, in the end, they will always end.
In reality, dreams only last for about a few hours—even if you might be stuck for days.
The human mind is an enigma; it's very puzzling and no one understands it one bit.
This is why something like a 16-year-long dream, harboring all the explicit and implicit characteristics of the material world, only lasts for about two hours or so.
It tricks you into believing that THIS is reality.
I managed to escape it though. But at what cost?
The memories of a life forty years into the future are conflating with the memories of a life ten years in the past.
I know words such as "television", "cinema", or "nuclear", even if such terms don't exist in the current Taishō Period.
When I think of my house, I don't think of our Meiji-era traditionally-style abode, but more along the lines of a westernized, modern structure.
When I think of my parents, I only remember the tremendous grief of losing their eldest son at a young age, but not the vague grief of losing that exact same son due to a miscarriage.
And when I think of my dear sister, I can only recall a fastidious student diligently studying for the college entrance exams, but not the one who diligently trained for the Hashira nomination process.
I remember loved ones being alive and well, not dead and sullied.
And even though those fake memories are slowly fading, I still like to hark back to them from time to time.
They give me something to smile about.
"Hey, Shinobu, when the man at the reception asks for your age, just say that you're five," Otōsan propounds.
The four of us—father, mother, Kanae, and I—were making our way to the movie theaters. Friday movie nights were always the best; we had time to spend together as a family.
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