Your mother was very excited as she dragged you into a newly decorated room. Today, after all, was your wedding date...and you would meet your husband for the first time.
Even your housemaids beamed with joy. The many young girls that lined the halls of your traditional Japanese mansion—all holding baskets of gold bracelets, pearl earrings, and diamond necklaces gifted from family and friends—parted as you, the bride, made your way to the bamboo mat across your new partner.
With eyes fixed on the floor, you, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel sorry for yourself. The ceremonies were later today, but you realized that you never intended to get married so early.
You still had so much that you wanted to do that you simply couldn't once you would become a wife: solo travels to the city gardens, weekends in your private courtyard, late nights studying plant sciences. You hated the idea of being tied down to some person that you have never met before.
In the 1910s, though, you knew that at eighteen, you would soon be considered "old" for marriage. Many of your other girl friends had weddings ages ago, and some were even toting their toddlers around.
So, your mother had the brightest idea to play matchmaker.
In your place, your mother went on an all-out hunt for every potential suitor in the Tokyo area. She would come home day after day talking about different eligible bachelors, but then seemingly forget them as quickly as she had brought them up.
After a long search, your mother finally returned home last month raving about someone—Muzan Kibutsuji—that a family friend knew. Like you, she hasn't personally met the man until today, but apparently, he was charming and well-educated.
You flinched when your mother smacked your hand, and you shifted your gaze to her. She had been annoyed that you had only been staring at the ground.
She scolded through her teeth, "Well, at least say something to him."
A deep voice filled the room instead. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."
Taken aback, you turned to your husband and got your first good look at him.
The man was in his twenties. His curly black hair tumbled to his shoulders, and his dark groom attire contrasted greatly with your floral kimono. He had the most intense, plum-red eyes you've ever seen, and the orbs seemed to glow against his pale skin.
There's something about the way he positioned himself across from you and the way that he stared at you that drew you in. He was mysterious.
Nonetheless, you were grateful that your mother did not set you up with some fat, short man that could very well be your great-grandfather.
Your thoughts were interrupted when your mother smacked your hand again. Right, you had almost forgotten to respond to him.
"N-nice to meet you too, M-m...." What was his name again?
"Muzan," your mother whispered to you, obviously very annoyed that you had even forgotten your own husband's name.
"Muzan-sama," you repeated.
The corners of your husband's mouth turned upward. "I heard you have quite the green thumb."
(A/N: green thumb = good with plants)
"I do." You were a little surprised that he already knew that much about you. Did your mother tell him that your family ran a prominent herb shop, here in Tokyo? That you loved spending your days tending the exotic plants in your family's garden?
There was nothing that you knew about him, come to think of it. Instead of asking, you curiously watched as his eyebrows twitched. His face also depicted a mix of emotions: anger, satisfaction, joy, mischief.
Your mother chimed in. "Well, I'm glad that you two lovebirds seem to click right away! But, I promised the priest that we would head to the shrine right about now so that we can perform our wedding prayers. What do you say?" She stood up.
Muzan turned to your mother. "Of course," he answered. He got up, then looked at you. "I would love to continue our conversations some other time. Is that okay?"
You slowly nodded.
"Great," he replied. Right before he followed your mother outside, he flashed something at you: a smile.
No, it was more like a smirk.
The way that his lips were slanted ever so slightly...there seemed to be something just a little bit sinister about him. Of course, you weren't going to bring that up. Not when you were about to get married to the guy.
But even as you left the guest room, one question remained lingering in your head.
Muzan Kibutsuji, just who are you?
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I UPDATE ON FRIDAYS! I also appreciate your votes, comments, and shares a lot!
Just to let you know, I love (I mean, yes-I-would-love-to-be-your-wifey-please-marry-me LOVE) both Muzan and Giyuu, so I'm pretty excited to see where this fanfiction goes! :)
