❝I respectfully decline, alphas. ❞
꧁━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━꧂
➽ 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘙𝘌 you're a maid, trying to live your life in peace, but you end up catching the attention of the notorious alphas.
ᴊᴊᴋᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜsﾒғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
↝ ℜ𝔶𝔬𝔪𝔢�...
Darkness pooled in the corners of the room, thick and stagnant, pressing against the walls like it had weight. The air carried a rotten stillness, something old, something festering.
He sat upon his throne of bones and decay, fingers drumming idly against the withering flesh of his current vessel. A body, crumbling by the second. Despite his annoyance, it amused him in a way.
Flesh was always so fleeting.
"Mahito," his voice slithered through the silence, smooth, measured, curling like smoke in the cold air. "Do you believe I got here by being impatient?"
Mahito tilted his head, his face a perfect mask of mocking apathy.
"You have no body," he said flatly. "You have to rely on one vessel after another."
Kenjaku's lips curled, slow and malicious. Not a smile. A warning.
"Touché," he murmured. Then, his eyes opened.
Mahito's breath caught.
A ripple. His soul recoiled before he could stop it, before he could even understand the sensation. Fear.
It sank into his bones like ice water, crawling up his spine, gripping tight at the very essence of his being.
Kenjaku saw it. Felt it. Relished it.
He sighed, long and drawn out, leaning back into the rotting comfort of his throne, his vessel's skin already greying, splitting, its life force dwindling beneath his will.
"Patience, Mahito." he said, gaze flicking to the darkened skies beyond the crumbling temple walls. "We will wait for the Blood Moon." His fingers tapped, deliberate, methodical. A countdown to something inevitable.
"The festival will be the perfect distraction. They will drink, they will dance, they will laugh." His smirk deepened, slow and vicious. "And when they least expect it—"
His voice dropped lower, softer. A whisper laced with finality, with certainty.
"We will strike. And she will be mine."
BACK IN THE RYOUKU TERRITORY
You coughed—loudly, dramatically—clutching the thick furs tighter around yourself as Uraume loomed in the doorway, clearly unimpressed.
They didn't say anything at first, just stood there, arms folded, expression blank. Waiting.
You let out a weak groan, rolling onto your side like a fragile, wilting flower.
