𝑫𝒀𝑵𝑨𝑺𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑺 ⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓

THE ATMOSPHERE SHIFTED BETWEEN THE TWO WOMEN, whatever hatred had been brewing suddenly evaporating into thin air as they shared a look. Himari's remaining eye was covered in shadows, her golden vision dulled by the ages, but the intensity of her stare was still there. Meanwhile, Mikazuki's own gaze was like an endless waterfall of incomparable power, all the might of the Kinzoku pooling in her golden irises.

Himari held her breath in her lungs, the pain long gone as she held on to her granddaughter's stare. The older Kinzoku wasn't sure what she expected to see reflected in Mikazuki's sunset eyes – maybe she wanted clarity. Or maybe all she craved was an inkling, a thread she could pull from to unravel the soul of the sorceress in front of her. But Kinzoku were not easy people to read and while Mikazuki's expression was calm and collected, it did not betray a single thought. She was like an impenetrable fortress and, for the first time in a long while, Himari couldn't help but feel a proud sensation filling her chest.

She was right. Mikazuki was everything the clan had hoped she would be and more. She was the beautiful nightmare crafted amidst the storm, the piece of ice-cold serenity carved from marble. She was the inevitable consequence of centuries filled with hatred and greed, and although she was wrapped in a layer of vengeance and retribution, the fire that lived inside of her was the same colour that she so despised.

Everything about Mikazuki was gold. She could fight it all she wanted, but at the end of the day, the power of her bloodline would blossom through the cracks and spiral out of her like an unstoppable force. That's what Kinzoku were made of. Resilience. Durability. Strength. The gold was just the pretty bow to wrap it all up.

Mikazuki would kill them all, of that Himari had no doubt. But her punishment wouldn't come in the form of another exile concocted by The Magistrate nor a figurative hell that would await her once she crossed over. No, Mikazuki's punishment would be far worse. For her, death would be too kind. For her, death would be release. But she didn't deserve the eternal slumber that came with it. Instead, her punishment would be far worse, and Mikazuki would be forced to wake up every morning and look at her reflection in the mirror... and know that she has become everything she hated.

Mikazuki will then know. She will know that, the person looking back at her with wide eyes and cracked lips, was none other than an amalgamation of everything she despised, every wretched soul she fought to break down, living in the shadows of her eyes.

This was the punishment she deserved. And yet, at the same time, it wasn't. Himari had been right, after all. As had she.

I am what you made me.

Himari slowly turned her head, neck craning toward the heiress while the silence between them grew heavy and loaded with a hundred other secrets. Mikazuki could taste it in the air, all of the things that Himari hadn't said, all of the secrets she hadn't dared spill dancing between them like invisible threads of golden strings. The weight of it was nearly suffocating, but neither woman yielded to the power they held, the tensions merely growing. Himari looked at her granddaughter, something akin to pity flickering on her remaining eye.

"Your father will punish you for this." She stated, her tone quiet and matter-of-fact, whatever hatred had grazed her words before completely gone now.

Mikazuki bowed her head, lips curved upwards. The sorceress wasn't naïve, she'd known her father would retaliate as soon as she made the choice to step into the chapel. But she did it anyway, Asahi's threats somehow not dire enough to make her stop. His punishment would be severe, but it was nothing compared to what Mikazuki knew she would have felt had she walked away from this moment. This moment – this conversation, this confrontation... – was meant to happen from the start.