pages of attraction [kny x reader|oneshot]

seasons - muzan (fluff)

"Of all things real, I found that our love was the truest of them all."

___

He was still just a wandering demon when he first saw you.

You never struck him as someone that could appear time and time again in his life - you were beautiful yes, but you were just another passing soul, another human.

Muzan would've never thought that your string of fate would be tied with his, and they were tangled in a messy knot that took centuries to unveil.

Perhaps he knew that deep in himself that you were important - and your continuous reoccurrance in his life reminds him so, yet he willingly played dumb from such obvious picture that whenever he looks at you, he wanted nothing more but to travel back in the past to save you from the life you've had.

He will take this feeling until his next life; but he regretted not saving you once, but twice in your lifetime.

At first, it was winter.

You were being carried off to a palanquin by men dressed in white, followed by monks playing the fluid airy song of their shakuhachi with the rhythm of their march. They were being guided by the head priest sitting gracefully atop a high horse being pulled by a young man - the old priest chanting Shinto prayers that boomed over the villagers' voices and waving his staff with the golden ornaments dangling with a crinkle of its bells.

It was not his first time to see these kinds of processions, as they are frequent in his travels - but Muzan tipped his straw kasa just enough to look at the woman being carried in such a stylish palanquin.

And he watched with interest at the person he saw.

You were the embodiment of innocence and stillness. Someone young, and a flower partly bloomed in a valley of white. You weren't old enough to marry – but you were near the age.

Your whole face was an illustration. Any expose skin was covered in rice powder. Eyebrows drawn in beady beaut, and it was painted by an artisan's fingers. Your lips were tinted with a bloody red that shines with the grey sun, and were brushed to make you look like you're smiling even if you're not.

You might've been a daimyo's daughter, with a noble face like that. Even under the thickness that covers your real visage – he knows that you were beautiful with the shape of your face.

The farmers whispered their disappointment at the sight of you, the wives gossiped their envy. The children merely pointed at you with interest and questions that were quiet by those older than them, and the old shook their heads and pitied your fate.

Amidst the loud chatters, you did not give the peering crowd the luxury of a glance.

You had your eyes drawn dutifully on your lap. Those pair of orbs were captivating, saddened, but they were wide with purpose. They shined with unspoken duty, even without the sun's full rays to illuminate them.

They were the most notable feature you had that he remembered; (color) eyes that rivaled the beauty of rainbow chrysanthemums he once saw in a crazed painting.

You looked like a doll sitting so still like that, and you dressed all in white like the snow around you. You were missing a husband on your side - but everyone knew you were not to be wed.

You were a sacrifice.

It wasn't an uncommon practice to offer a maiden when in face of difficulties, the people in this land took it upon themselves to do such when cornered.