The Demon Queen

Human Food

Muzan was brushing my hair when the servants arrived with our food and tea. When we were interrupted during what somehow an intimate task to Muzan, he seemed rather disturbed. He kept his eyes locked on the servants as they placed down the dishes, not saying a word and waiting for them to leave.

When we were alone again, he sighed and put his hands on my shoulders, leaning in towards me from behind. "Sometimes I feel my parents aren't strict enough with them," he said. "They didn't even warn us before entering."

"I don't know. They knew we were expecting them," I said. "It doesn't matter. I'm just hungry."

Muzan snickered a little. "Just a few more seconds," he said as he continued to carefully brush my hair. "The past few years I had been so ill that I didn't even have the strength to do this."

"And so, you're happy being my hair maid?" I asked him.

He laughed. "Very. I get to be close to you, smell you, and make you beautiful." He brushed my hair some more. "Almost done now."

"The soup will get cold," I said.

"And done." He put down the brush and planted a kiss to the back of my head. "I'll fix it again later, if you'd like," he said and sat back beside me.

I looked at him. "I don't think you'll need to." I smiled a little. "But your hair ..." I reached to his now loosely tied-back, long, wavy hair. "It needs some help."

Muzan nodded. "I'll study a bit after we eat and you can do it then," he said and reached for a bowl of soup and metal spoon.

I rolled my eyes.

"What's that for?"

I picked up a bowl containing some marinated fish and a pair of chopsticks. "After all that happened, you're back to studying again."

"Why not?" He leant towards me. "Besides," he continued in a low tone. "I have a list of everything that doctor put into my medicine. If I can make sense of it, maybe I can fix this sun sensitivity problem we've developed."

I didn't have anything to say to that.

"Sure. You're right."

Muzan said nothing more and sat up straight next to me. Simultaneously, as if we were subconsciously connected, we both started to eat.

I chewed the fish in my mouth. It tasted ... wrong. Something wasn't right about it, even the smell wasn't inviting. It was incredibly strange. Everything placed in front of us were typical dishes I had eaten at Muzan's for years upon years.

I swallowed.

The bowl of soup suddenly fell from Muzan's hands, the liquid and its contents splashing onto the floor and spreading towards his knees. In an immediate, snapping motion, he bent over and vomited in front of himself.

My head turned to face him.

"Mu --"

Just as I started to voice his name, an uncontrollable vomit surged up my throat. I turned away from Muzan and vomited right in front of myself. As I bent over, the remaining fish in the bowl I had been holding spilt out into the pool of disgusting, brownish-coloured liquid.