𝓡𝓔𝓓 (𝓜𝓾𝔃𝓪𝓷 𝔁 𝓞𝓒 𝓡𝓔𝓦𝓡𝓘𝓣𝓣𝓔𝓝)

𝓒𝓗𝓐𝓟𝓣𝓔𝓡 𝓞𝓝𝓔

🄻🄴🄶🄴🄽🄳🅂

The Legend of the Red Lady

It was not uncommon for families to end their day early, the fathers returning home to welcoming embraces, the mothers preparing a hearty warm meal for all to enjoy, and the children hogging their parents for a bedtime story before bed.

There were many different stories shared, but only one that always had children captivated and glassy-eyed, desperate to hear the story, again and again.

The Red Lady's Legend.

Many variations were made throughout the years. Some say she was once a sickly young woman left to die due to her family's inability to afford medicine. Some say she was abandoned. Others say she was ruined by the same person she fell in love with.

But all of them had a few common points to build off from.

The woman was known for the extravagant red kimonos she wore, always dressed in a stylish way with jewelries in her hair, around her neck, ears and wrists. The red kimono was a sign of bad luck, a sign of death, coming from the woman.

She was also known for her hellishly beautiful appearance. The legends varied, each culture describing her in their idea of perfection. She was said to have flawless skin, pale and smooth as porcelain, lips small and pouty, and features alluring enough to lay entire countries to ruins.

Her eyes as gold as the jewelry she wore, said to enrapture you, enchant you, hypnotize you, brainwash you the moment you lock gazes with her.

They called her Ayaka, the Lady in Red. The Red Lady.

⛔   ⛔   ⛔

"Kills from the same demon."

The clearing was basking in the warm sunlight, the leaves on the trees swaying and scattering the light across, sending shadows flitting everywhere. It was a scenic landscape, worthy of being transferred into paintings, if not for the gory scene that layered over the beauty.

Dozens of corpses laid sprawled on the ground. All of them dressed in similar dark clothes, some with a haori or cape over their uniforms. Their eyes lifeless with death, blood streaking their entire faces and body, puddling around them in dried splotches of brown; Their hands, some of them detached from the arms, still held the Nichrin weapons they were equipped with, their last moments of life spent fighting a losing battle, trying to stop their opponent.

Demon Slayers.

And in the centre of the clearing stood two people, almost motionless as the kakushis around them worked to clean up the gory mess.

One male, one female.

The female possessed long, luscious black hair that swayed and flowed along with the occasional breeze, her bangs held back with two matching pink-and-green Butterfly Hairclips, and shimmering lavender eyes that shone with kindness. She wore the Demon Slayer uniform, tinted purple, under a clean butterfly haori. Despite the bloodshed around her, she was relatively calm, ordering the kakushis to clean up the carnage as best as they could with a sweet, small smile.

"Oi, this one's still alive. Barely."

The male called out to his companion as he bent over a heaving figure, gesturing for the other to come over quickly.

He had the same uniform as his colleague, with his being tinted green and unbuttoned at the front. He was heavily scarred, his arms, chest and face all littered with marks from previous battles. A mop of unruly white hair hung over his sharp purple eyes, which was aglow with anger and hatred towards the demon that'd done all this damage.

The woman hurried over, kneeling down next to the single survivor of the massacre as she began emergency first-aid, trying to stop the flow of blood from their wounds. He was a boy, barely older than sixteen, who whimpered in discomfort as she rolled him over gently.

Silence. Stillness.

The woman and her coworker drew back, both of their eyes wide with shock and horror at the impossibly bloody, gory scene in front of them.

The boy's entire front was painted red with his own blood, which still spluttered and flowed out in inconsistent times despite the woman's best efforts to slow it down. His gut was almost unrecognizable as human, having been sliced and chopped to the point it looked more like minced meat, mixed with pieces of his organs.

"Oh. My Goodness." The woman murmured, her fingers hovering over the horrific sight yet never touching it, "What type of demon could've done this?"

The boy heaved, spitting out blood onto his front, "H...H...Hashiras-sama..."

"That's us." The woman gave a troubled smile, not wanting the boy to know about his terrible injuries. He was beyond rescue, but the least she could do was let him die without him seeing the mess that was created from his innards, "What is it?"

"The demon..." The boy hacked out another cough, "It was a- a woman." He saw past the smile that the Hashira had plastered on. He knew he was dying; his wounds too severe for even the best doctors to heal. The least he could do was aid in the defeat of at least one demon, "She..." He slumped backwards, breathing heavily from the mere effort of talking.

The male Hashira supported the boy up with one arm, "Oi oi! Get up!"

The boy's eyes were growing unfocused and hazy. Darkness was blotting out his vision, and, in his heart deep down, he knew he wouldn't wake up this time, "She...She's the lady...The Red Lady...is a demon..."

The boy's head fell back, tongue lolling out as his ragged breathing stopped and his eyes taking on the glassy gaze of death. His grip slackened, the already snapped Nichrin sword slipping from his hands and landing on the ground with a dull clang.

Another Slayer, lost to the violence of this seemingly peaceful world.

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉, 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓉𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝒹 𝐿𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒𝒹.

𝒮𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉, 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎.