"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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It was still pitch dark in the Zen'in estate. A heavy night, thick and sticky with silence, broken only by faint rustlings in the corridors, creaking wood, and muffled sighs. Oil lamps cast pale glows against the paper walls. The ancient clan slumbered halfway, like a beast brooding in its den.
Chihiro knelt on the cold floor of her room, shoulders bare and trembling. They had forced her to take off her ceremonial kimono — that white one embroidered with peonies, worn at the funeral of some distant uncle — just another excuse to put her in her place. They had thrown her old clothes at her: a worn-out kimono, too small, its fabric rough and biting against her skin. She had obeyed in silence, as always, eyes downcast, moving slowly, wordlessly.
Footsteps clicked down the hallway.
She didn't have time to rise. The door slid open with force. In the doorway stood the matriarch — Naoya's mother.
Her gaze was cold, sharp like black jade. A stiff, dry woman, carved from bitterness. Too old to be desired, too proud to admit it, she had hated Chihiro from the very beginning. Because she was beautiful. Because her features carried the silent elegance of her unknown mother. Because she didn't need to speak to be noticed. Because even the dumbest men paused longer on Chihiro than on her.
"You think you can do whatever you want here? You think your silence makes you innocent, you little brat?"
Chihiro didn't answer. She only lowered her head, fingers clenched around the rough fabric of her worn kimono.
