✻|| 𝓡𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮 ||✶ - 鬼滅の刃

【𝓜𝓾𝔃𝓪𝓷】

Requested by: nezucoat

↠Spoilers for Muzan's past!
↠Fluff
↠Angst
↠Fem Reader

Word Count - 5027
Athazagoraphobia - Published 10/06/20

Athazagoraphobia: The fear of forgetting, being forgotten or ignored, or being replaced.
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Memories.

The man often found himself wandering back to unwillingly follow the beckoning trails, pain and hatred only seeping from the source. Millions upon millions of memories, forgotten towards the back of his mind, as they only kept the secrets from resurfacing.

Yet there would be times like these where they couldn't help but break free and wash over him yet again. No matter how much he'd prepare or brace for the impact, the memories would land a lethal blow and he couldn't shield against its tremendous force.

It made him question at times like these, why the very creatures he brought life into were so incredibly weak from these simple thoughts, because they were destined to be powerful and terrifying—anything but the weak creature he once was. But the more he reminisced, the quicker he came to the conclusion that even he was weak to these feelings.

Simple memories, which evoked the deepest darkest passion lurking within, waiting to drown all his feelings of divine supremacy. It made him crumble, and fear cast an icy chill down his spine at the thought. The great Muzan, invincible to nothing but the blinding sun, was weak.

Occasionally he'd think about the man who had managed to cause his eternal suffering, or perhaps that lone swordsmen who brought him once to his knees. Regardless, he pushed them off as trivial, because now he was much stronger in comparison to the past version of himself.

Muzan liked to believe that with the crimson blood pulsing through his veins, he could become someone so leading and powerful, to erase all past images of his weakness. Yet they always resurfaced. Especially those from his lowly human days.

At this particular moment he found himself hunched over his previous studies, gripping tightly at his inky locks. Throughout centuries the daunting task of his research always managed to get the better of him, no matter how diligently he tried. It seemed the desired solution was impossible.

If only he could feel the warming rays of sunlight without being accompanied by a burning death—because he'd do anything to walk the earth once more. How long had it been since Muzan last saw a glimmer of light bathe upon him, or simply slip unnoticed through a curtained window?

The burning star sneered at him now, taunting him, reminding him of his past sins, forever destined to wander alone in this darkness. The price for eternal life, in return took everything away from him. However, the sickly appearance that forever haunted him of his past, remained.

It was a reminder of his slipping hold on this world, because although he managed to instill such fear in society, he had no control over the rising sun, or the lives he lost. If only he could gain such a blessing, then maybe he could feel the comforting touch of the sun, and maybe it would remind him of that hazy face he had forgotten.

But those days were long gone, burned away before the mention of his own uprising. Those were the days he had simpler things to worry about, because frankly Muzan was weak then as well. A life of solitude—thinking over it now bored him, but there was something about those days that he wanted to relive.