"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 Mute Sacrifice
The trees closed behind her like the jaws of a trap. Chihiro ran barefoot, her linen dress torn by thorns, branches whipping her pale skin. Her breath was ragged, her heart pounding like a drum inside her silent chest.
She couldn't scream.
And no one would hear anyway.
Behind her, a laugh. Long. Hollow. Religious. Like a funeral hymn whispered from the depths of a grave.
— Little thing, chuckled the voice of the curse, where are you going? You're so pretty. So pure. Heaven itself wants you offered.
Chihiro stumbled, scraping her knees, wet soil clinging to her bare skin. She rose again, panting, eyes wide, burning with fear.
She was running toward nothing. Toward oblivion. Toward the altar.
The curse walked slowly behind her. His figure was towering, hunched, cloaked in a black robe covered in pagan symbols, bones tied to his belt, an inverted crucifix nailed into his palm. He was humming a twisted psalm, a heretic prayer to the god of entrails.
— The ritual demands a virgin, beautiful as spring, he whispered. And you are perfect.
She tried to climb a small hill, but he was already there. A huge hand crashed down on her back. She collapsed. Her head struck a stone. The world went dark.
