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to recite what's needed.
to recite what's needed.
simple, it should be, anyhow. what was assumed to be an intact book was nothing of the sort, water had damaged it too much. the diagram of the sigils needed to be marked on the floor were ruined, the ink completely bleeding into each other— resembling more of a blob rather than anything important, anything like a sigil. some words were blurry, fuzzy, from decay.
just, how long had you been gone? you've assumed a few centuries, but perhaps it's been longer. the plants seemed to be brighter outside, more plentiful and of life, unlike their ancestors. even the building you've once called home seemed to have seen better days, however, it's now come to be a shelter of various critters and animals. the past became something new, something of more than just a lesson — but as a rebirth to life.
your hands find themselves moving to cling onto the strands of your hair, practically trying to grip the strands and rip them out. the old, original and now ruined copy of sukuna's summoning, thrown across the room to smack against the wall. the sound loud enough to reverberate through the cracked walls, allowing all critters to make sounds of acknowledgement or move entirely.
exasperated sighs, the slamming of furniture, the sounds of scattering metal booms throughout the rotting wood. the only thing the nature is good for as of now is casting upon you, revealing everything of your reaction.
the sound of a sigh, different from yours and coming from behind, snaps you free of your tormenting thoughts. as quick as you went to snap your head around, the voice was already a step ahead, beginning to speak:
"are you done with this little display, now, y/n?" the man, from earlier with the scars, asks. he's leaning against the side of the door frame, arms crossed against his chest as if he's a disapproving father and you're a toddler throwing a tantrum.
"may i be of assistance to you?" you snap back to him, allowing for your voice to raise slightly. your brows furrow on your face, as your grip on the athame merely tightens. he may have brought you back, but there's no room for you to be trusting — not after the burning.
"you do know we aren't in older times, correct? no need to speak like ... that," a sigh leaves the man as his fingers maneuver up to the bridge of his nose, pinching at the skin, "kenjaku, that's what you can call me. i could've told you that these little books of yours would be completely useless."
"you ought to learn to speak up, then," you say back, waving your hand dismissively towards his comment about your speaking patterns. who would really care if you spoke as if you're from older times?
"you ‘ought’ to not walk away when one's speaking, then, now, why do you wish to be reunited with the curse anyways? he's hardly worth a dime."
"do not utter such filth about him again, you will never begin to understand that man as i," you say to him, using your athame as a pointer to gesture about the man, whom you've come to know as kenjaku.
silence over comes the two of you. anger from disrespect radiates off of you whereas anger from provoking radiates off of kenjaku. perhaps, bringing you back wasn't the brightest of ideas — but again, the past must be remembered for life to continue. something told the man this was how you were to be remembered, not as a number in some history book for the witch burnings.
"he's just quite useful is all, i have no other reason for desiring him to be about my presence," you say after taking the moment of silence to gather yourself — anger wouldn't be of any use. you haven't the slightest idea of how modern society operates, so why make enemies with the one man willing to speak to you?
a small sound of acknowledge leaves the lips of kenjaku, arms resuming their spot across his chest as he shakes his head. his brows remained furrowed, as he stared off — as if like some being in a trance. dazed, if you will.
"you have quite the attitude, which i'm not too keen of," he groans, shaking his head and allowing his longer black hair to flow with his movements, "come with me. allow me to help you adjust to society, you won't survive a day like this."
with no better option in clear sight, you grasp the hand he had offered to you. allowing for him to help you, despite everything inside you wishing you wouldn't do such a thing.
not your fault, though. he made quite the point. you speak like some mad man from olden days, who would take you seriously? or even acknowledge you?
besides, maybe this can be used in your pleasure and not his.
afterall, sukuna is all you want. as much as you'd hate to admit it, being around him back then was quite fun. he always had something snarky to say while being handsy with you, which some would take his actions as flirtatious. you, naturally, were amongst that group of people.
however, feeling such a way for a man is against the eyes of society. against the eyes of the god above, and all between him and the realm he's created. you were made for a reason you have yet to understand, but you knew it wasn't for a man. especially not one like sukuna, one of such malevolence.
he's killed with his bare hands and then touched you with that very same flesh. all of the blood of the innocent would smudge onto your own skin, infecting you with his sin. a disgrace by the eyes of your creator, is all you were. allowing for such a brute to guide you into manipulating the creator's word for your craft — for your own selfish gain.
despite however much guilt you possessed, you couldn't help but desire the crude man. wanting to feel those sinful hands upon you once more, to feel the way they would caress you and treat you so kindly — yet killing and slaughtering the lives of everyone else.
another chance, a revival of the spark you both had is all you desire. you know feeling such a way for a man is wrong, disgraceful, a sin, even. however, you can't help yourself. you remember moments with sukuna as if they occured just yesterday.
your favorite being the time you were walking around the forest around your cabin, interacting with the blossoming life around you. never once going into town to interact with the people there, as you lived quite the recluse life, but all other life was welcomed. you would watch as animals would come running up to you, seeking solace in your presence as they know you're a sanctuary of safety.
sukuna would come up behind you, as a small rabbit had hopped into your lap. you used to never be able to tell when sukuna would sneak up on you, but as time progressed you became quite good at it; always knowing his little tells. on this specific day, you recognized the sound of his footsteps in contrast to all other beings moving about you (which was quite a handful.)
his, sinful and dirty, hands would come up onto you and place themselves onto your shoulders. just lingering there, occasionally rubbing the flesh as he sat himself behind you and moved you up on into his lap ; rabbit still in yours, content to be with you despite the presence of such a disastrous man.
never one for salvation or to truly doubt your belief in the creator, but this one occasion you find yourself doubting. doubting that such a horrible being could make your heart swell as it had then — you weren't made for love, nor were you made to love a man.
but like a fool, you love. constantly betraying your creator for that of a curse and a killer, a mass murderer, an abuser of man. a manipulative spider that has spun its web and encased you inside it, already having prepared the silk needed to entrap you forever. and like a fool, you're running right into the silk;
"i'll... allow you to do so, kenjaku," you say, finally breaking your trance as you give his hand a gentle shake. all before releasing it.
and like a fool, you're running right into the silk just to betray your divine being.
____ * the internalized homophobia does not reflect my own values. the contrast of the memories between sukuna & y/n is on purpose, there's a reason they're seen in a different light.
