Poppies were a symbol that always stood for you and Tanjiro's closeness ever since you were little. The older you grew, the closer became, the more poppies you'd bring to decorate his kitchen table.
Tanjiro always said how they smelled happy and sw...
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Your POV
In some cases, we concentrate so much on our fears and horrors, becoming paranoid by the very mention of their name, that we morph into the very being that terrified us from the beginning.
The final selection was held for the bravest of us to compete against each other in the act of demon slaying. I found myself attending this event in order to avenge my family's death, including my late brother's.
They perished, every last one of them, right under my nose. I was weak, terrified, confused, and orphaned. Weighing my options, I decided to slay the monsters who dared to hurt others. I would never make a living doing anything else, so I trained.
My body revolted: blood, sweat, tears, despair-all odds were against me, yet I persevered. And in two years I was built. I forgot all about Tanjiro, blocking him from my memory. His kindness, fearlessness, compassion. I was no longer able to reminisce on that, for it was no longer lingering in the back of my mind.
He was gone to me. Just like my family.
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The wisteria danced to the tune of the breeze as I made my way up to the gate, my father's sword at the ready, already unsheathed. I quietly stepped out from the boundaries of the guarding wisteria into the territory of the lurking demons. I was in their land now, at a highly plausible disadvantage.
In a flash, a demon hurdled itself in my direction. In response, I promptly dodged, jumping into the air. I gripped the handle of my father's precious blade, eyeing the demon in all its gut-churning glory.
I stepped further, careful not to over-extend in fear of losing my balance and focus. Closing my eyes, the scenery surrounding me flowed through my senses, alerting me of the demon's next move.
It lunged forth, looking forward to eating me alive. My eyes pierced into its own, glaring icily as my sword found its way to the demon's neck. I stopped just before diving into its monstrous skin.
"Breath of the Shadows: First form: Shadow Strike," I breathily called out into the lonesome dark of the forest as the beast before me cowered under the cloud of shadow overcast by my blade.
His head fell to the ground in a heap of defeat as his calls soon rang short and therefore, inaudible.
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Demons came and went. I defeated them, my focus only on passing this test, no longer feeling sympathy for the murder I caused. I'd sincerely forgotten how to, to say the least.
Throughout the duration of my quest, I'd grown tired and weary, only becoming alert when I saw a demon far away.
My sword lay on the ground, coated in demon blood, mixed with a bit of my own due to some of the more difficult brawls.
Tonight was the final night. All I needed to do was preserve. Maybe then I could finally achieve peace and become the demon slayer I always swore to become in order to avenge my family.
I sneakily tried to maneuver through your the forest, attempting to camouflage my scent from rendering demons.
Unfortunately, my silence was interrupted.
"Uh..excuse me? Could you please help me? I-I'm struggling a bit to find the path to the entrance."
I narrowed my eyes at the boy. He smelt familiar, but I couldn't pinpoint just where I had recognized his scent from. His skin looked almost as if it were fragile china—pasty and white. His red eyes looked down at me from his slightly taller stature, his black hair tied back into a sleek ponytail.
"I'm not sure if I can help you. It may go against the rules of the exam-"
"Demon slayers are supposed to help others aren't they? Isn't that your mission?"
His hand caressed the side of my neck. I looked to the side, unsure of how to reply. He was right afterall.
"I don't know-"
"You're all the same!"
Suddenly, his nails dig into my skin, slamming me onto the ground in attempt to strangle me. I clawed at his hand, begging for air, for the mercy of his hand.
"I should've killed you with the rest of them!"
My faced heated in frustration as his hand gripped harder.
"What do you mean the 'rest of them?'" I accused, anger pumping through my veins as a wicked smile danced on his lips. "Oh little one, do you really not remember me?" He cooed, taking my wrist in his death grip.
His nail dragged across my skin, sinking in as blood seeped from below, dripping down into the forest floor.
"It may not have worked on your pitiful mother, but, young lady, perseverance is always a plentiful trait."
The boy then sliced his own skin open. His blood slowly dropped down his wrist as the world stopped for a moment. The realization that this man was the murderer of my family hit me.
His blood trickled down, falling into my own wound. Pain surged from the cut, spreading it all around my body at an agonizingly slow pace. Tears filled my eyes as the man planted his foot on my father's blade, breaking it with just one step. His eyes bore into mine as he walked off.
My cries of despair echoed into the silent forest as morning rose over the mountain top.
No one was there to hear it besides him. Muzan Kibutsuji stood from afar, admiring his work as I struggled to hold on to my last bit of sanity.
That morning I became the very thing I fear the most.
