"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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✎⋆｡°✩₊˚⋆✎°｡⋆
— The Sanctuary of Concubines, Night of Ceremony
Night had fallen over the sanctuary of the priestesses — that sacred place with curved rooftops and stone paths worn by time, veiled in incense and murmurs. It was the night of the Selection — when the oldest families of the occult aristocracy came to choose their concubines, wives, or servants among the girls raised in shadow. The sanctuary, hidden among ancient cedars and drifting prayers, buzzed with uneasy excitement. Silk robes rustled, forced laughter echoed beneath porcelain masks, and torches cast golden flickers on the painted faces of the young priestesses, offered like mute flowers to the jaws of the great clans.
But Chihiro was not among them.
She had not been invited. As always. Neither truly priestess, nor truly Zenin — a stranger to both worlds. Her room, a modest cell with lacquered wood walls, sat at the end of a quiet corridor, where silence reigned supreme. Behind the sliding screen, she sat cross-legged on her futon, a simple white linen robe draped over her shoulders, her hair messily tied. An old, dented MP3 player rested in her delicate palm. Two earbuds pressed into her ears — her only escape, her only possession.
La Vie en Rose. Edith Piaf's trembling voice drifted up, veiled, as if from another century, another world. Quand il me prend dans ses bras... il me parle tout bas... je vois la vie en rose...
