Ghost || Jujutsu Kaisen

『 3: Your Name 』

Strange that it was... to long for warmth—to be left starving and begging for such a thing by the very people who were meant to blanket you with it. How could it be so? To feel so estranged in a place supposedly filled with familiar faces; to walk hallways, turn corridors—know which way leads to where for hundreds and thousands of times yet feel as though you... you're still left alone adrift in the midst of an infinite canvas of darkness; to have been isolated, feared, and disregarded by one's kin, the people whose veins carried the same blood rushing through his.

Perhaps it was the price to pay—to be brought upon this world clouded by the shadows of such a family, to be a part of a renowned ancestry of sorcerers, to have been born into the Inumaki Clan. It did not come with the luxury of sunshine and comfort, the blessing bestowed by his lineage had cursed every single opportunity before he even got the chance to know what could gift him happiness. Within its ravaging wake, it left only the weight of expectations and the crushing pressure to stand on a pedestal alongside the best of the best.

And with that also came solitude...

The unbearable loneliness that loomed over him every which way he went.

Growing up, Inumaki never once questioned the ways of his home (if you could call it that): the tight grips on his forearms, cold words spoken to him by his relatives, the impermeable distance put between him and the rest of the world as if he carried an incurable disease—as if he was cursed. He had never wished for it. Inumaki had never asked to be given this destructive ability yet, in the same way, he had never voiced his complaints... the same way it was that everyone around him crossed a bridge to a place he could never set foot into. His ability—the one he worked so earnestly to master in order to protect others from curses, made people create ways to protect themselves against him.

He held power, power that was feared and coveted by many. The strength to curse anyone, to make them submit to his wishes even if they held qualms to obey.

Inumaki has that power, but he had paid a price not many would be able to willingly give.

For who could ever bear such a forsaken existence? To hear people say they care about you yet feel as their statements drip with fear as if stars would collide with just one of his commands. To see people look at you with pity, with sadness yet never take even a step forward in his direction. To achieve so many great things yet never hear a single word of appreciation.

Inumaki was used to it—at the very least, he liked to think he was used to it—yet every time it happened... it still hurt. It hurt a whole lot.

"The snow," amidst that blinding darkness, a mellow voice echoed, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, "The snow is pretty, isn't it?"

Violet irises broke free from the sea of haze. The memory, which he kept close to him for so, so long became blurry with tears and felt numbed by time. It faded as nothing more than a distant echo, traveling far into the forgotten depths of his soul, forever resting there, remaining as treasures despite the ages that have passed them by.

Inumaki's eyes mapped out the face of the Spirit before him, strangely trying to memorize every crevice and outline she had to offer. For what reason? He remained unsure. Right now, as he gazed at the way her translucent body became rigid and unmoving, arms crossed firmly over her uniform-clad chest, (e/c) irises blazing so adamantly with opposition...

"You know, for a guy who's always alone, you're pretty mean." She commented.

... the Sorcerer was blanketed with the feeling of warmth.

As quickly as that comfort was welcomed by his being was it replaced by that biting terror that came with the realization that his power did not subdue her. Inumaki, still flabbergasted, could not form his fancy magic words correctly, settling for incomplete 'You--', 'How--' and 'Why--'s. He wanted to ask her so many things, question her about everything that she was, tell her off—anything...