"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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Rain lashes the Gojo estate in icy blades. Thunderclouds swell above the temple roofs, and the wind moans between the wooden pillars. The scent of wet earth seeps into the conjugal chamber, carrying with it a stifling humidity.
Chihiro is there, crouched beneath the garden eaves, hands clenched around her thin knees. Her hair clings to her nape. Her oversized linen kimono slips from her shoulders, revealing pale skin stretched taut over sharp bones. She has lost weight. Too much. She eats little. Her body is abandoning her, slowly, in a quiet surrender.
And then, a spasm.
Violent.
Her insides twist, her muscles seize, and she folds forward, forehead nearly touching the ground. But nothing comes. Her empty stomach refuses to yield. Only that dull ache pulses in her belly, that sensation of being hollow, gnawed away by something unseen.
She weeps in silence.
Thunder rumbles above, masking the sound of approaching footsteps.
He is here.
She feels him before she sees him.
A presence, oppressive, vast, making the air tremble around her.
