"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐰." - 𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒚𝒂 𝒁𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏
⟶ He was born a king, and he reigned as a god. Gojo didn't walk-he crushed. His laughter slapped the w...
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The rain fell in a freezing curtain, crashing against the stone of the inner garden with a dull roar. The storm tore through the sky in blinding flashes, casting shadows over the silent onlookers. Chihiro was still standing, on one foot, her left leg tucked against her, trembling under the downpour. Her lips, blue from the cold, barely parted, releasing short, ragged breaths. Her black hair, usually smooth and neatly arranged, was drenched, plastered against her neck and fragile shoulders.
Her white dress, simple and light, was now nothing more than a transparent veil clinging to her frozen skin. Each raindrop carved icy trails down her shivering body. The night was dark, thunder rumbled, but in her mind, another melody played, obsessive.
"Cheri, cheri, lady..."
The lyrics looped in her head, drowning out the sound of the rain, covering the murmurs of mockery and the insistent stares.
A little further away, sheltered under the wide porch of the main pavilion, a small group of men observed her in silence. Naoya's brothers. They had been there for a while, trapped in hesitant unease. Some exchanged worried glances, others stole quick looks at their mother, the ruthless matriarch who had imposed this punishment.
"How long has she been standing like that?" one of the eldest whispered, arms crossed over his kimono.
