[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

She could let go, too. That was true... But she thought he should let go. She wasn't sure why. She was the host--shouldn't she do things like this? Mostly, it was just competitiveness and wanting to out-perform him, but even amidst her drunkenness she tried to find some reason to it. He already did it last, now it's my turn. Yeah, that seemed like a reasonable argument.
    Muramasa insisted that he did want to know what her reasons were.
    This is so stupid. She wanted to deny him any answer, to just shut him down and quiet his curiosity. It didn't matter. She'd had her reasons for shutting out those in her village, and keeping her teammates and all others she met at an arm's length--and while she understood it didn't fully apply to this situation... it still seemed pointless. It didn't matter if he knew--it wasn't anything he could hurt her with. It was all a thing of the past. But, still, what did it matter to him--what her motivations had been, in years past?
    Even now?
    "So dumb..." she muttered. Muramasa said that there was no shame in stepping down--something she largely agreed with, for anyone else. The lifestyle of a shinobi wasn't for everyone. "Agreed." Something she agreed more strongly than he probably realized. Even as a genin, she'd bullied her teammates into stepping down because they were ill-suited for the lifestyle. And she'd not shamed them for doing so. She'd shamed them for stupidly trying to be a shinobi when there were clearly other, better options for them.
    Thankfully, when she asked about his injury, he didn't fight her on it.
    And, as he confessed its placement, several questions darted in her mind. Is it recent? Has he reopened anything? Has it scarred over and is still just sore? How bad is the damage? It's in such a vulnerable place for muscle and tendons, does it need to be tended to at all? She pursed her lips and looked at him with a passive expression. "Okay... how about this. You let go of my hand, you let me look at your injury, and I'll tell you my long, boring, dumb story explaining what my reasons for being a shinobi were, all those years ago. Though I don't know why you're so curious, none of it matters at all... Sound like a deal?" She smirked, slightly. "Or, you could just keep holding my hands, and I don't tell you anything. Your hands are pretty warm, you know." And she'd done more humiliating things, before.
    She was willing to stoop to pretty low levels, to get her way.

---

440 words

MADE BY ★MEULK

[Muramasa Uemon]

scars, both old and new

---

A standoff. Neither side willing to back down. It was... a little silly, truthfully.

Sake drank the same no matter who poured it. Though perhaps it wasn't the alcohol that was in real contention here. Instead, the competition was in the mind. Prodding. Looking for answers. Drunkenness fueling their endeavor.

But he was interested. Intrigued by the woman. At first he thought she was little more than an abrasive cynic. That illusion cracked when she offered he and Kota a place to stay. Now after talking to her... it seemed there was much more going on beneath the surface. Something he suspected, but never had any real proof of. Intuition maybe.

Or just their seemingly shared ability to read others. Mikazuki was no true cynic. Spoke like a reformer. With an idealistic streak that stirred even his normally unfazed demeanor. She was an interesting one to be sure...

Yet, why? Sure, he was a naturally curious person. But normally he kept a decent enough lid on it. Especially if someone didn't want to share. Her answers had come easily enough though. "Everyone needs to vent, I suppose..."

Maybe it was just that simple. She laid out a proposal. A checkup for her reasoning. He hesitated as he thought... though her teasing about hand holding did make him puff out his cheek again. "Deal." He finally said, loosening his grip on the bottle. And her hand. "You're a curious person." Was all he gave as way of an explanation.

All he could think of. Glancing around, his brow furrowed. "I... don't think there's enough light out here." The last thing he wanted was to get poked in the dark. If she was willing, he would move inside. Taking his journal with.

Bathroom, living room, it didn't really matter. "Do you have a first aid kit?" Reaching slowly for his cardigan, Muramasa lowered it over his shoulders. "I think—" He winced. "...I know the stitches reopened." Sure enough, his white undershirt had a thin, long red spot on the back. Didn't need to see it. He could feel it well enough.

Tossing his jacket aside, his shirt was slowly raised. In the light, they would be easy enough to see. Scars. His body a host to its fair share. Most small and long since healed over. Cuts mainly. Mementos from his late master.

Others were not unlike those many shinobi bore. Signs of training. On his arms, hands, shins. He was lean, but fit enough. Toned. A long diagonal scar marred the right side of his abdomen. Stretching from his lower ribs to his hip. On his back? The source of his discomfort. A gauze pad covering his left shoulder blade. Hiding a vertical cut.

Bled through. The wanderer spared a glance over his shoulder. "So..." An expectant pause. Waiting. 

---

[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

-Reminiscence-

A curious person. Or, so he said. Her brow twitched in slight irritation. What a stupid notion... "You must lose your head in a crowd," she commented aloud as he suggested they move inside, and she rose to her feet, scooping up her belongings. As far as shinobi go, I can't think of a more boring candidate to get attached to. She glanced over her shoulder at him with an eyebrow still perked. I'm about as unremarkable as they come. That's probably why...
    "You were chosen as Gyūki's host precisely because you were a child. No more, no less."
    Mikazuki rubbed her forehead, irritation growing as she slid open the door leading them back in. Nothing, and no-one of importance. That is exactly why. What, did you think it was because you were a good candidate to deal with him? Of course not--it's because you were expendable. Obviously. And even more than that... She lead the guest into the bare living room, gesturing for him to stay put as she turned on the lights and wandered elsewhere to fetch the medical supplies from the bathroom storage. "Of course," she answered quietly in response to Muramasa.
    Though, perhaps it wouldn't be so obvious to him.
    Certainly, most homes had some deal of a first-aid kit to be found... somewhere. But her house wasn't exactly regularly decorated--and he had no way of knowing her extensive history of self-harm. Medical complications. Trauma and fear of the untreated... or any of it.
    So it was a fair enough question to make, she supposed.
    Returning shortly enough, she moved quietly throughout the house--not unlike a ghost. And when Muramasa began to lower his cardigan, Mikazuki knelt down behind him with medical equipment in tow. Even more than that... her gaze was steeled as she took a damp cloth to wash away the blood from his back. Her touch was gentle, but firm. You're worthless. Someone else would have been a better pick. Someone who was easy to manipulate, empty-headed. Not someone who over-thinks everything and is stubborn. Not someone who self-sabotages and wants nothing more than to--
    So...
    Oh, right. Muramasa waited patiently as she worked on his injury. She was supposed to tell him something. Why. "It's really not all that interesting," she mumbled with a sigh. Her hands moved quickly. Sterilizing, getting new stitches, cleaning... "The family I come from... are known as nothing more than..." She wasn't even sure what the right way to put it was. A slight shrug from her shoulders, hands steady. "A joke. Harbingers of their own demise and self-created misfortune. A legacy of civilians trying desperately to make a name for themselves among a world of gods and powerful shinobi. Numbers dwindling into nothingness, as they throw themselves against impossible odds and expectedly die off. Pathetic, really... With a history like that..." he gaze softened, slightly. Thinking on her father--what little she knew of the man. Thinking of her younger brother. "It's understandable why anyone would want to stand up to the challenge, and prove fate wrong. Defy the odds, be the first... Try fighting for honor, to prove to the world that you're worthwhile and can offer something good to others, even when it seems your fate is doomed from the start. I understand that mindset. Be it a curse of our kin, or what have you... I had such ideas when I was a child, too, I suppose."
    She finished up the stitches, sealing shut the injury that had re-opened and fortified its seal. Then, she continued cleaning up the skin around her working space--disinfecting and applying an ointment to the injury. Her voice was soft. Distant.
    "Pointless things, really. I was born sick. I should have died when I was an infant, or better yet, not have been born at all. My parents were quick enough to replace me, and my younger brother was born soon after. Healthy. Strong. And he was easy to love. He grew up kind, and selfless. Smart. Top of his classes. Our father would have been proud of him, if he'd lived to see him grow. Hotaru graduated the academy when he was only seven. I only continued to amaze my mother by my refusal to die." Despite her best efforts. "But there comes a time when one must accept truth. Some things can never be changed. Some goals can never be achieved. You can't force someone to love you if your existence is only a curse. You cannot bring the dead back to life. You cannot change your blood. You cannot change your nature. Eventually, I came to accept that." 
    Mikazuki leaned forward slightly once she was finished nursing Muramasa's wound. She lightly rested her chin on his uninjured shoulder--mindful not to so much as brush against his wounds after she had mended them. In the low lighting, his dark skin almost reminds me of Takao's... she lightly tucked an arm beneath one of his own, reaching out in almost an embrace. Though, his is far less marred than my beloved.
    "When my teachers found me atop a cliffside when I was eleven years old, I had nothing left to lose. And, likewise, I had nothing left to live for. There was no purpose. No intention. No dream of power or goal of honor. Nobody left to earn the praise or affection of. My mother was crushed in the ruins of our home when it was destroyed in a storm. My brother was killed on a mission when he was nine years old. He died protecting a teammate. Didn't even make it to double-digits." She exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment. "I only wished to be by his side again. I know of the horrors of the shinobi world. I would not suggest to anyone to take up their blade unless they were willing to die. Many have something they are willing to die for. Friends. Family. Their home. Their people. Even strangers. You wondered why I make sacrifice for my village, but I think you're mistaken. By that point, I yearned for nothing more than death. If I was killed as a shinobi, at least then, maybe I'd rejoin my brother in the grave. That's all."
    Simple.
    "When I die, I'm not sacrificing myself for my village. I'm finally just getting what I want. My only sacrifice is continuing to live in service despite my wishes."

---

1071 words

MADE BY ★MEULK

[Muramasa Uemon]

tell tales of struggle and woe

---

Hearing her response, his face went comically flat. Lose his head? "I don't ever lose my head." He said. Pausing as a thought occurred. "Well... I nearly did with you, at first." An admission. Normally he wouldn't have...

...but the sake had gotten to him. Truthfully he was a lightweight. And tonight it seemed was a night of truths.

Some, at least. "I blame that on weariness from the road though." It played a part for sure. Any other day he might've simply ignored her judgement. Left her to stew. But that day... Kota was hurt. And he had felt protective.

Of course there had been truth in her words as well. Warnings of danger. Comments on his fitness as a parental figure. Facts that he could not ignore. Still... he held fast in his conviction. No world existed where he would abandon the child to a Hidden Village. To be raised as fodder for war. "Never." The word echoed in his mind.

Not while he drew breath. After his shirt was removed and he had taken a seat, he felt her eyes on his back. At her touch he winced slightly. More so from the contact than any discomfort. Though soon enough, he relaxed.

One of his questions answered before he even got the chance to ask. "You've done this before."

More a musing than anything. She had been a ninja once, after all. Experience with first aid tracked. Muramasa grew quiet as her fingers moved. Skillfully tending to the cut. From the length and depth, it would be obvious it had been from a long blade. No work accident could explain it away. True to form, he listened to her tale attentively.

Solemnly absorbing the details. A cursed legacy. Notions of gaining reputation. Foolish childhood dreams. She could not see him, but a frown formed on his face. "Some of this is starting to sound familiar..." Parts of it, that is.

Not all. He was not so simple as to conflate his past with every person he came across. Though he couldn't deny the similar beats. Wanting to live up to expectations. Deaths in the family. Nature. Mikazuki finished up the stitches with only mild wriggling on his part. Alcohol made the blood thin, but it also numbed pain. A welcome boon in this case.

Speaking of acceptance he grew quieter still. "We can't control everything." Soft concurrence. Voice barely a murmur. "If only..." Muramasa was in the middle of a nod when he winced at the sting of disinfectant. Then...

Touch. Her chin on his good shoulder. An arm grasping under his own. For a moment he was surprised. She did not seem the type for such things. But then he thought of his own tendencies. As aloof and withdrawn as he seemed, even he wasn't above comfort. Skinship. One of his few remaining human wants, he supposed.

It was a heavy subject. So rather than pull away or mention it... he simply allowed it. Touch was not something he would deny her. Mikazuki spoke of being found on a cliff's edge. Implications obvious, even to his addled mind.

Death. A mother, a brother... herself. No lofty ideals of nation. Nor a noble guardianship. "You want to die." Simple release. As the words left his mouth they did not sound a question. Strangely enough, it almost sounded like he was thinking aloud. Repeating an oft-thought phrase to himself. "I can't afford it now..." Not at present. Not yet.

Yet somewhere deep down? He knew the truth. There was only one way a tale like his could end. When it came...

...he would not shy away. Longing to rest. For a time he sat there. Silently listening to her breathing. Contemplating it all. Then, finally... a hand rose. To grasp her own as she held him. "I understand..." He said softly. "...truly."

Notes of sympathy in his hushed voice. If he were capable he might have teared up. Sake certainly not helping matters. Though when it came to crying, he had no more tears left to give. Hanagisa saw to that long ago. 'Unfitting of a warrior' she said. Perhaps she was right. Even so long ago she had been able to see it. The price of his goal.

The need for self-destruction in a ten year-old boy's eyes. Absentmindedly, his thumb stroked the back of her hand. More out of habit than anything as he ruminated on her words. "I'm sorry about your brother..." Muramasa said. 

Just the brother. From her words now and before, her parents did not seem like particularly good ones. "Nine..." He thought as he sat there in silence. Clutching her hand. "Kota's age." A scenario he did not want to envision. Not now or ever. For a while he pondered her words. Family, death— all of it. Then... "...were the two of you close?"

---

[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

Muramasa insisted that he was usually skilled at keeping his cool--something she didn't doubt. While she'd been able to get under his skin, as he confessed to her, it was hardly any surprise in her experience. There were few who she couldn't anger. Even Lord Fourth, who was a steeled warrior, aloof, distant, cold, and strict... she'd managed to irk. "I'm veeery talented, if it makes you feel any better," Mikazuki whispered with a light smile, even as the teen gave his excuses. "Second nature, really."
    Effortless, truthfully.
    "Medics are critically undervalued in the shinobi world," she responded quietly in response to Muramasa's comment. She had, many times. Working on injuries--whether her own or others'--was not something foreign to her. "I used to volunteer often at the hospital. I'm no doctor, but I can be a decent nurse." And while she didn't know medical ninjutsu, her knowledge could still save a teammate in a pinch. At least, that had been her primary reason to adopting the skill.
    Her words had resonated, if only somewhat, to the young man. A truth she felt most people could understand. Not everything could be controlled. She didn't disagree with him, there. A part of her wanted to say that there was nothing one could truly control--everything was at risk of being manipulated by an external force, in one way or another. She had once naively believed that some things were sacred. Actions. Thoughts. Feelings. But even her body could be controlled and used against her will, she had found.
    Still, whether an absurd nuance or mere cynicism, it was a belief she kept to herself.
    Largely, she agreed.
    Most things couldn't be controlled, truly. Some things could be, but... most often, humans were small creatures, left to the mercy of greater forces.
    She didn't believe gods controlled fate, though she did believe in gods. But she did believe there were some forces that were too great to fight. For one strength, there was always a weakness--and where there was weakness, there was exploitation and ruin.
    Mikazuki in truth didn't know why she'd moved closer to Muramasa in the fashion that she had. Really, she wasn't a particularly touchy person--in fact, the contrary was usually the truth. Going so far as to threaten those who drew near to her, even. Touch had always been foreign and uncomfortable for her in years past. With her chest pressed against Muramasa's back, as close as they were, he could likely even feel the quick pacing of her heartbeat. Her breathing was steady--forcibly so. Limbs stiff and rigid--tense.
    Maybe it was the alcohol, though even that felt like a cheap scapegoat. Everything about her attempts were to test her limits, and keep herself as collected as she could despite outside influences. Really, even though she could feel its affects, she still felt sound of mind. So why...
    At first, it might have been something else. She wasn't one to shy away from personal space necessarily. Every action and behavior could have a purpose. She had once gotten close and personal with Sanosuke some years ago, too. If only to make a point to him, and to teach a lesson, and nothing more than just that. Muramasa was getting close and personal with his words, and perhaps she'd only filled the gap physically before delivering a painful truth. Symbolic of their conversation, in a way, but nothing necessarily more.
    But when the young man lightly placed his hand over hers, Mikazuki froze in her place.
    For so long, she'd been so... against it all. Physical touch always felt unnatural to her. Something she'd always recognized as cognitive dissonance. Her experiences prior had always been horrific. Beatings. Pain. Injury. Touch-starved. Even holding hands and other casual acts of affection had felt so intrinsically wrong.
    Further fueling her belief that she was never meant to be human.
    But when Takao held her hand, she felt safe. When Tatsuo had placed his hand on her back, she'd felt at ease. Even when Sanosuke had hugged her, she hadn't hated it.
    There must be something wrong with me.
    Muramasa's thumb lightly rubbed against the back of her hand, and any interest in pulling away and closing their conversation dissipated quickly enough. I miss him. The only thought that came to her as the two sat in silence for a short while. I wish Takao were here with me right now. I wish it was him and Botan that were here instead of you two. Her hand shook--slightly.
    When the young man offered his condolences about her brother, she gave a little nod. "Me too." It was all she could muster. All she really knew to say. She didn't cry about it anymore. She had learned to go on without him, and had long-since adjusted to his absence. But, still, even if she had grown accustomed to the loss, she had never found a way to quite be okay with it.
    "I think so," she answered his question, quietly. Her attention shifted back to the conversation at hand, away from where it had drifted outside the bounds of Amegakure. "About as close... I think... as we could have been."
    Given their circumstances.
    She had driven a wedge between them, and circumstances caused them to spend much time apart, too. But she couldn't remember a time before Hotaru. He'd been born only a year after her, after all. Her earliest memories still had him in it. "I usually wasn't allowed out of my bedroom, since my mother wanted to forget I existed. She didn't have it in me to kill me herself, but..." A pause. "Hotaru would slip drawings under my door for me. Sometimes he'd sneak me food. Many times he would come in just to check if I was still breathing."
    There were many times she hadn't had the energy to move or speak.
    "When he learned to read and write, he'd share stories with me often. Sometimes he'd accompany me to the library, and he'd carry the books back home. Even the ten-minute walk often left me winded and exhausted." They hadn't been able to afford a wheel-chair. It probably would have made things much easier, she recognized. Looking back at it all... "I hated everything about our relationship, though. I knew he'd only been created so that he could be all that I wasn't. And I... I was the older sister. I hated that he looked after me, when it should have been the other way around. I suppose we were close, though." She wasn't really sure what sibling relationships were supposed to be like.
    So many of the ones she'd heard had been awful.
    Brothers and sisters who hated one-another. Wanted to kill each-other. Or siblings who had natural, normal, and simple relationships. Merely two humans being raised in the same house, with many shared memories.
    Not caretaker and recipient.
    "Do you have any siblings?" Being a Muramasa, she was sure things had been quite different for him. Growing up, at least.

---

1171 words

MADE BY ★MEULK

[Muramasa Uemon]

carving out our sins

---

To her and the sake's credit, the response she gave nearly prompted a chuckle from him. The closest he'd come in some time in any case. "You do have a certain... aptitude for it." A smirk graced his lips. Only for a moment.

Nodding at her words about medics, he thought on his own training. Most of what he knew about medicine came from dusty old scrolls on flora. "If I ever need stitches again I'll look you up." A joke. Or his attempt at one anyway. Folksy poultices were his limit. No substitute for true medical knowledge. An invaluable skill to have.

If only his mentors had taught him some about it... then perhaps his back wouldn't have been so butchered.

Actually, it still would have. Yanosuke's stiches would have looked a sight better, though. In the end most of his training was dedicated learning how best to kill. Not heal. For his purposes? That suited him just fine.

Sitting there, he could feel her heartbeat against his back. Quickened. In time with his own. Yet their breathing was steady enough. "Aikawa..." He murmured softly. "You're warm." A less-than-sober reflection. It felt... nice. Oddly so. It wasn't exactly as if he expected her to be freezing. But to be close to another? Well, it had been a while.

Too long perhaps. Muramasa felt her go rigid as his thumb stroked her hand. Understandable considering how often he himself had flinched that night. Physical contact was strange for him. Normally he was averse to it...

...unless he wished it from someone. "It's probably just the sake..." A lie. One he was content enough to tell for now.

Feeling her hand tremble in his, he stopped his thumb. Giving it a gentle squeeze instead to steady it as she spoke of her brother. Mikazuki said they were close. As much as they could have been. Silently, he turned slowly around.

Out of sympathy or something else he could not say— but either way he pulled gently on her arm. Drawing her in closely against his chest as she spoke. The wanderer's arms wrapped around her, one gripping her shoulder and another her back. In a quiet embrace. To hold as she told her tale. For once in his life, he didn't dwell or analyze...

Simply offered a small kindness. To someone whom he figured was in need. "It sounds like he was a good brother..." Muramasa said softly, glancing to her for just a moment. "And that he loved his older sister."

Quiet. For a moment as he searched for words. "It really isn't my place to say, though..." His words trailed as he gazed at her face. "...I think he would want you to carry on." Honestly he did not know if she doubted it. Or if she still harbored such notions. Still, sometimes it didn't hurt to hear the actual words from someone else's mouth.

"And... perhaps find a real hobby or two." A slight nudge. Playful as it sounded, he meant it.

Mikazuki may not have wanted or anticipated an attempt at consolation but as someone with unhealthy ideations of death himself, he knew that support made a difference. And, often— that it could come from unexpected places.

Be they an elegant nukenin at a ryokan, or a wandering swordsmith with a seeming penchant for getting injured. 

Once she was done she asked him about his own family. Muramasa nodded, forgetting or otherwise not minding that he was still holding her. "Three sisters, one older and two younger. A brother, too." He said. Expression softening as he stared off into space. "All of them are overseas with my mother." Away from his mess. Safe.

For the meantime, anyway. As they sat, he continued to stare. Listening to the sound of her breathing. Coexisting.  

---

[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

-music-

Muramasa shifted his weight, pulling gently on her arm as he coaxed Mikazuki into an embrace. A proper one. And, a bit to her own surprise, she didn't resist the pull into his arms. His skin was warm against her own, and the quick racing of his heart was steadying in its own way. A gentle reminder. Grounding.
    It was nice.
    Unfamiliar, though not entirely foreign, and just like the last few times she had experienced such things, she didn't hate it. Not as much as she expected to, not as much as she used to. And she was... content. Content to stay like this with him, if only for a little while longer. Not to resist or fight back. A part of her recognized there really wasn't any reason or point in doing so.
    Muramasa would leave Amegakure behind, some day.
    Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps later. It was uncertain, and, really, she didn't expect him to even say goodbye. There would be no reason to. Even as she and Squeakers had invited him to stay in Amegakure--a weakness of attraction toward his proficiency in swordsmithing--there was no reason for him to. There was nothing tying him here to Amegakure--the village meant nothing to him. And, so, he would eventually leave it behind. She expected that much.
    And, so, it felt freeing.
    There was no consequences to be had for their shared moment of humanity.
    It didn't really mean anything, she was sure.
    "I think so, too," she replied softly in Muramasa's quiet commentary of her lost kin. She thought fondly of Hotaru. She wished he'd received better than what he had--parents, sibling, life, and all of it. He'd deserved much better than what he'd gotten. But he had been a very good brother. I hadn't deserved it. His care and concern and effort had all been wasted, in her eyes.
    But there was no point in dwelling on it, now. It was long in the past. Tragic, but unchangeable.
    Muramasa spoke again, and her gaze drifted up to meet his own as she remained cuddled against his form. Hands resting against his bare chest, cheek pressed against his collar bone. She was close enough that he'd be able to feel the rising and falling of her chest with every breath and the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinked slowly. Mikazuki smiled, weakly. "It doesn't really matter."
    She didn't know what Hotaru would have wanted of her.
    She'd wanted to be like him ever since she could remember. And he never gave up on her. Even though it was all hopeless, he still believed that somehow she'd achieve her dreams--which, at the time, had only went as far as becoming a ninja at all. Perhaps he would have been happy for her that she'd reached that goal--but would he have been alright with it if he'd known the circumstances that had driven her to do it? Would he have preferred she not try at all? Would he have been happy that she became a shinobi, but horrified at her transformation into jinchūriki?
    Would she have even accepted such things if he'd been around in the first place?
    Too many uncertainties. Too many variables.
    Of course, she was sure her younger brother would have hated to see her the way she was. He never wanted her to die.
    But it didn't really matter. There were plenty of other people who didn't want her to die, either. It didn't really change anything.
    "The dead don't have dreams," she commented lightly, closing her eyes. "And I've never been one to live my life in accordance to others' wishes." I don't think I'm drunk enough, the thought came. No, she was much too busy with other things to pick up hobbies. She was a jinchūriki. She'd be killed, eventually. Perhaps not as soon as she would have initially desired, but her fate was sealed and she welcomed it. And, in the meantime, there was much too much for her to do to waste her hours on pointless hobbies and playing pretend.
    The dream would always be there.
    Of what it might have been like, if things had been different.
    Perhaps if she'd been normal, she could have lived with Takao. She'd be a simple wife, and maybe they'd live in a small house that they built themselves. Or maybe they'd simply live beneath the stars and find their way day by day. Maybe without Gyūki's strength, she wouldn't have been for the world much longer after Botan's birth. And how much she would have hated to leave them both behind.
    But, still...
    It would have been nice to have known that quaint happiness, too.
    It sounded like something perhaps Muramasa could still have. Not fleeting and momentary daydreams like that which Mikazuki possessed. But an anchor--something tangible and real. A family in a distant land who were alive and well and waiting. A young boy depending on him. And whatever path lay ahead him, she was sure it was much brighter than her own.
    "That sounds nice," she commented quietly. I can feel his hands on me, she thought. And, so long as he's touching me or holding me like this, I think it's okay to keep my eyes closed. She dare not sleep. But, still... if he didn't reach for a weapon, and his hands didn't perform any seals... perhaps she could still rest like this. If only for a short while. "Are the lot of you close?" With a big family, it seemed more likely that they were.

---

929 words

MADE BY ★MEULK

[Muramasa Uemon]

an embrace; gentle

---

Quiet acceptance. Touching someone, let alone holding them like this wasn't something he did often. Not since...

Another. Gone some months ago. For a time his mind drifted to her. Memories of their first meeting flashing before his eyes. Purple hair, skin the color of almond— smooth. Supple. Lavender-scented. A golden gaze...

Piercing for most. Though it had softened for him. Once. Twice. Many times more. Mikazuki was a different sort of woman. Hair a similar shade to chestnut, though at times it looked honeylike in the light. Complexion like cream, or some sort of light-colored fruit. Face marked by scars... and he could only imagine that her body hid more.

Not unlike his own but likely more from the tales she told. As for her eyes? Well... they reminded him of the sky.

An unclear one. Darkened just the slightest bit like when a single cloud passed over the sun. Light, but intense. A thought occurred as his own dark hues scanned her face. "...I suppose I've stared longer than I realized." Not just then.

Cumulatively. During their stay here. A glance here, a discerning look there. Watching as he would of anyone who he did not know fully. Though perhaps it was not just that. Some, like that tailor, may not have thought her pretty...

...but beauty was subjective. As she glanced up at him his gaze softened. 'It doesn't matter', she said. "No..." He concurred. 'The dead don't have dreams'. Slowly, the hand resting on her back moved. "...I suppose they don't."

To her face. Gingerly tracing the cross-shaped scar on her cheek with two fingers. "You aren't the sort who cares much for the opinions of others." Muramasa's voice was quiet. Fingertips moving as lightly as he dared.

Dark eyes following their movements. Examining her features. Memorizing them. Like the subject of some study.

If she did care she hid it well. Perhaps that was only what she wanted people to think. Or it was the truth of the matter. Either way, it was hers to believe. Truthfully he felt the same way. If not he would have simply given up. On his goal, his grudge— perhaps even his life. Long ago. After Hanagisa belittled his mission... or perhaps before.

Fortunately or not, he had taken the other path at the fork in the road. A darker one. "Mm." The wanderer sounded as she said that having siblings sounded nice. It was... yet their family was still missing one. Two, now.

Since he had gone. "We were, once." Muramasa replied. Fingers stopping their movements as she kept her eyes closed. She almost looked... content. Near enough, anyway. "I... haven't seen them in quite some time." A pang. Somewhere deep down. Repressed emotion seeming to stir with help from the alcohol. Per usual, he buried it down.

Away. Under lock and key where it belonged. Though his hand did shift again. To cradle her head as he continued to hold her. Just the slightest bit tighter. For comfort as he thought of his family. "Too long." He thought.

---

[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

They stayed like that for quite some time. Neither pulling away or changing--and not like before, as they raced with the bottles. There was no competition, no edging and prodding. Instead, the two had merely found comfort, and for the time being, neither possessed any desire to pull away or break what had been discovered.
    "Correct," the young woman spoke quietly in response to Muramasa's statement. Something that was easier to accept than fight--truly, she held others in little regard. She did not often admire strangers, or think highly of them. She didn't quite hold love in her heart for them, either. They did not share her values, they did not understand her way of existence--so why would she care of their opinion? And even those who she did admire, they still couldn't break her conviction. None had the ability to. Not her dearest friends. Not even a god.
    She was not easy to sway. Not by any force of nature.
    Mikazuki's eyes fluttered open for a moment as Muramasa moved his hand from her back, fingers gingerly brushing against her cheek and she was lulled back into the comfort of his touch once more. It felt almost explorative, in a way. Not just brushing her cheeks for the sake of touching skin, but feeling. Tracing. Almost as if to commit her to his memory. Though a part of her wondered if that was it at all. As he spoke quietly of his family, his words and actions delicate, he changed his hold on her once more. Cradling her closer.
    Always travelling from place to place, I'm sure he gets quite lonely, she thought to herself as she continued to rest against the wanderer. I'm sure it's difficult enough to make meaningful connections with a past like his own. Let alone when you're always on the move... At least, that was the impression she had been given by Takao's own stories from his times travelling. There's no reason or motivation to hold any affection toward me. Most likely, I am just something akin to a cat or dog. Something to hold close, to pet and touch, to feel comforted by the presence of. And... So long as that's the case, I suppose I don't mind so much.
    "I've only ever been touched like this once, before, you know," she spoke quietly. Many times, but only by one other person. She had grown more accustomed to hugs and embraces of their different forms--but even so, this felt different. Intimate. She opened her eyes once more to gaze up at him from where he held her close. There was still no resistance or pull to move away. Some of the tension had eased away from her body as she'd slowly found herself more relaxed in his hold. But, still. "Do you..."
    Well.
    She wasn't really sure what she was trying to ask.
    Some aspect of it seemed obvious to her. But the hushed volume of his voice in the stillness of the twilight--she wanted to keep listening. From the relationship he seemed to have with his family, the way he spoke of them, and with how he had pulled her more closely at the thought of them--she didn't need to ask anything further. She was certain he missed them. And, still, she thought it funny that he would find comfort in her presence--if only because it was her. But he likely sought similar things wherever he went, and it only seemed natural that he would seek companionship.
    But, still, he'd described himself as being alone.
    So all of it must be fleeting and temporary--meaningless. Just as this was, now.
    "Do you seek companionship in your quest?" she wondered quietly, her eyes searching--latently curious at what his response would be. "Not exactly like this, perhaps. But maybe something similar, I wonder."

---

638 words

MADE BY ★MEULK

[Muramasa Uemon]

eases long amassed tensions

---

Warmth. Shared between them as he held her there. Heartbeat steadily keeping time for the both of them. 

Minds undoubtedly racing. For him? It was memories of his family that came. Mother, sisters, brother— all around a modest forge. Incomplete. Somehow hollow. He wondered how they were. Iori had been a toddler when he left...

...now she was a teenager. Years had come and gone. Perhaps it would be better if he could say they passed in the blink of an eye? The sad truth though was that it had been painstaking. Every month, week, or day dragged heavily for him. Never fast. Always a grueling slog. A slow march to the end of his story. Tried to stay busy with training...

Yet it didn't speed the clock up. Mikazuki's voice brought his attention back around, glancing at her as she spoke. "Would you rather I not?" He asked softly. Boundaries were important after all... and the sake was strong.

Still no excuse for not minding his manners. Or taking undue liberties. Muramasa half-relaxed his hold on her.

Gazing into her eyes. Waiting. Half a question seemed to become stuck in her throat, but he was patient. Tonight had been mostly filled with his own curiosity. It was only fair she have a turn. After some time she found the words.

A question that he had not quite expected. Lowering his eyes, he thought on it for a while. No nod. Or shake of his head. Only quiet. "I wouldn't say that I seek it... I—" A pause. Thinking of how best to phrase it. "...wasn't made for things like that." Her words. Echoed back to her. It was almost funny when the realization hit him.

Many times before he had said similar things. 'I don't have that in me' or 'Those kinds of things aren't for people like me'. Of course he had been with other people before. Always temporarily. A brief respite. Once he had a companion...

Gods knew if that's what they truly were. "Finding comfort in others is fine. If that seeks me out I may not turn it down." He muttered, gaze growing distant. "Though... I'm better off alone. For my sake and others."

Too many variables. Room for misunderstandings. Miscommunication. Crossed intentions. Not to mention his own questionable emotional state. If he were to consider such a thing... there would need to be very clear boundaries.

Set in stone nearly. Or else... "It can't work." Muramasa thought as he met her gaze. "Do you seek that?"

---

[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

Muramasa's hold relaxed as his attention was brought to realization. Allowing her to move away, if she'd so desired. Though, in truth, she would have put up more of a fight if she'd felt distressed by his actions--but it shouldn't have been assumed. Not that he had. And, really, even despite the alcohol's influence, his immediate readiness to relinquish her the second she revoked consent was... well. Good boy, she cooed internally, looking at the young man with a satisfied gaze. A light smile graced her lips. "I'll allow it," she said. They wouldn't have gotten this far if she hadn't--but he had no way to know that. And, likewise, she didn't want to assume for him, either.
    She'd allow him to continue leading as he had--pulling her into his embrace, moving to touch, holding her more closely.
    Mikazuki wanted to believe it was because it was he wanted to do. Most likely, that was the case. But she knew better than any how even a man could feel pressured to behave despite his desires if he assumed it was what was expected of him. He was young, and she didn't need or want anything from him. But because he was a guest in her house, she knew there was a dynamic there that she didn't want to influence his behavior in any way. And, so...
    "If you want to continue." An important anecdote, in her mind. "You seem like you want to hold someone." It probably didn't matter who. She shifted, sliding her hands from where they had been placed on his chest to wrap around his waist, hugging him loosely in turn. She wasn't one to often offer affection to others, but at the same time, a part of her felt he needed it much more than she did.
    Muramasa said that he didn't seek companionship necessarily, but with the additional comment that he perhaps wouldn't turn it away if it presented itself to him, it painted a different picture. Perhaps he merely didn't wish to acknowledge it, but the desire was too strong to properly fight against. He said he wasn't suited for things of that nature--but Mikazuki wasn't certain that she agreed.
    The two of them had very different upbringings. While it might have seemed hypocritical of her to believe such... she wasn't convinced that they were the same.
    Perhaps he didn't see it, but there was no reason he couldn't tread a different path.
    Finding companionship, having someone to lean on and find refuge with. It didn't seem out of his nature. It didn't seem an impossible task, even for his lifestyle.
    Mikazuki understood his words. She was the same. For her sake, and for the sake of others, she didn't allow closeness. She didn't want anyone to miss her when she died--or at least, she hoped for it to be as few people as possible. And, likewise, she didn't have the strength to keep losing people she loved, either. So it was best to keep her distance.
    "I understand." Truly. She didn't disagree with the sentiment.
    But, he wasn't a jinchūriki. He was no beast bound to a village. He was handsome, and even if he was a bit rough around the edges. Cold at times. Aloof.
    He was kind, too.
    Foolishly so, in Mikazuki's eyes.
    But it wouldn't likely be too difficult for him, if he chose to embrace it. The life he lead was very different than her own. Perhaps now, he was convinced that things had to be a certain way--but already his footsteps were betraying the path he'd set out in the past. She wondered how soon it would be before he realized it, himself. "I don't," she answered quietly, closing her eyes once more. But, then, the two of them were in different worlds. "I wonder... when you cast that boy aside one day, will you say it was for his sake? Or for your own?"

---

658 words

MADE BY ★MEULK

[Muramasa Uemon]

yearning to resolve

---

Doubts seemed to ease as the woman smiled at him. Lightly. "Pretty." A thought as a faint smirk found his lips. 

It was what he believed. Underneath her cold exterior she really wasn't all that scary. Prickly, like he had said. But then, he wasn't exactly a ball of sunshine himself. Muramasa nodded slightly as she agreed to allow his touch.

Consent. So often not thought of or else assumed. Of course there were signs... body language, vocal cues. Close contact. Though none were a substitute for the true item. As a strict rule he never, ever assumed. Mikazuki didn't seem the type to stay silent if she was uncomfortable. Overstepping with her was likely to end badly. Strong words...

...or a blade at one's throat. "Why is that attractive?" An errant thought. Dangerous women. "Gods... I do have a type."

No use denying it, he supposed. As if on cue he pulled her close again. 'If you want to continue' she said. "I do." A soft, murmured answer. She mused about him wanting to hold someone. "I might..." Another short reply.

Fingers reaching up to brush a lock of brown hair from her brow. "You seem like you need to be held." Hands wrapped around his waist as they sat there. She would be able to feel his heartbeat. And he, hers. Quickened. Steady.

Only his observation. Though he knew the telltale signs of someone not having been touched in a while... because he bore many of the same. A hesitance towards contact. Flinching. Rigidity. Some of those were instincts, no doubt. Markers of trauma— training-related or otherwise. At least, that's how it was for him. They weren't the same...

But they weren't all that different, either. "Besides..." Muramasa said softly, digits once again finding her face. To cup her cheek gently as he stared. "...you did say that I have warm hands." For a moment, his gaze softened.

Ever so slightly as his dark eyes peered into her blue ones. "And you have a pretty face." Thoughts given voice.

Somehow, he doubted she agreed. To her credit though she claimed to understand his feelings on the subject of companionship. Attachments were something he could not afford. Companions, relationships, whatever the case.

Yet... that left the matter of Kota. A lone contradiction on his path to his goal. The woman said that she didn't seek such things either, then asked about the boy. Muramasa did not shirk away. Or avert his eyes. "Kota's different." He said simply. "I won't cast him aside. If I do..." Words trailed as he thought. "...he may end up like me."

A terrifying thought. Abandoned children often grew up to be spiteful adults. In this Shinobi World... there were already more than enough of those. "That can't happen." He said. "So... I'll make sure that it doesn't."

---

[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

He was content enough to once more hold her close, giving light confession of his desires. Likely simple, Mikazuki extrapolated. "Someone", to her, had been a vague statement. In his journeys, she imagined he was probably content to be with anyone who would provide pleasant company, regardless of who they were. Perhaps a pretty merchant's daughter, or even a grumpy assassin. It likely made little difference, and the company of a stranger was a comfort in its own way, she supposed.
    Some of her most meaningful connections were made with those she intended never to see again. It was safe, in that way. No promises or expectations. No gravity.
    Did she, herself, need to be held? Mikazuki blinked up at him from where she rested slumped against his form, her body relaxing little by little in time. It wasn't something she would have thought, for herself. Her needs felt so different from regular peoples'. She didn't need comfort or love. She needed to fight. She needed to get better. She wasn't a human who could have such things--companionship, connections... she had learned the hard way that she wasn't meant for such things. She was just a tool.
    And, even now, she wanted to see herself in that way.
    Merely a tool that Muramasa was using to make himself feel better. Nothing more than that.
    "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I don't think I need anything of this sort..." She was tired. Perhaps that's all there was to it--she needed rest. That, she knew. That, she could accept. But to be held? It sounded like a different story entirely. Still... "But I don't hate this." He brushed the hair from her face with his spare hand, gently cupping her cheek in a calloused palm. "You do..." she mumbled quietly in response to him. While she wasn't often cold, per se, and she could do just fine regardless of the elements...
    She enjoyed the warmth, too.
    In the chill of the evening summer air, with rain pouring outside, the embrace of another and the touch of their skin was a welcomed heat.
    Pretty? she thought, her gaze meeting his own as he gave his words of admiration to her. "Hm.." She gave a weak half-grin. "You remind me of Sanosuke." The Ame Lord had said similar things, once. Years ago. He'd been surprised by it, himself, that he'd found her so. Though she wasn't one to often agree with sentiments like the one Muramasa expressed, she supposed each person was entitled to their own tastes. "Silly." It was all she could say, really. "Men can be so foolish. The lot of you." Sanosuke, Takao, and Muramasa, too... all idiots.
    Still, she leaned in slightly to his touch. Eyes closed as she dismissed the thought.
    He spoke of Kota in a hushed voice, and the woman smiled lightly.
    Already, he had insisted that he was going to stay by the boy's side. That much, he seemed certain of. Stubborn. Headstrong. Perhaps the only exception to his rule--but if there was to be exceptions at all, why not more? "He may end up like you, anyway," she spoke quietly, opening her eyes once more to meet his gaze. Crescents of blue, only half-mast, glancing upon pools of obsidian. "Children are not extensions of their caretakers. You can guide him, and support him, but you cannot dictate what he turns into. Whether a beast, a man, or a lonesome warrior like yourself." She leaned her head slightly more to one side, nudging against his palm as her body remained limp against his own. Resting. Leaning in to his hold and grip on her, steady and gentle as it was. "And if you are to be so stubborn as to keep him by your side... I wonder... are you truly better off alone? Do you actually believe that?" She smiled, lightly.

---

646 words

MADE BY ★MEULK

[Muramasa Uemon]

a touch, a smile

---

Uncertainty. Or else denial of one's own needs. It was something he was familiar with himself...

A few more recent experiences had shown him the truth of. Regardless of whatever he thought of his own actions or humanity— he was still a living, breathing person. Desire. Want. Still felt, however distinct from the norm.

Monsters were awful, terrible things... but sometimes even they had families. Yearnings. Sought love.

From what he could remember of some dumb stories, anyway. "You don't?" He asked, a bit surprised to hear such a response from her. To not think that one needed human comforts was... familiar. It was one thing that he had come to terms with at least. However bothersome it could be at times. "I think you may..." Muramasa said softly.

Thinking back to moments ago. "Sometimes, you give yourself away in small ways." Not how other people did, but there were small tells. Pantomimes. Looks. Touches. "Only... you're good at concealing even those."

Better than nearly any he'd ever seen. Suppa wore his emotions on his sleeve but he could obscure truths with the best of them. Muramasa was not quite as skilled at it. And while he was no mind reader, he wasn't dull.

As she leaned into his hand and mumbled he continued to stare. Thumb idly caressing part of her scar. Going through the motions of affection. "You may not necessarily need it from me... but it seems like you miss someone." Muramasa's voice was little more than a murmur. A flash returned to him. Warning of losing a child...

Perhaps that was it. "How long has it been for you?" A question— that came out sounding a little different than how he meant it. "Since... you held someone, I mean." Thankfully, he caught himself. He was curious.

Comparison to the Rokudaime came next. A man he had only met once, briefly. Only managing to get a small measure of. "I do?" 'Silly' she called him. 'Men were foolish'. "Hm." Slight amusement. "That we are."

Fools. "I mean it, though." Scars, he supposed, were normally considered blemishes. Marring of beauty, disfiguring possibly... but to him, they were like any stroke from an artist's brush. Deliberate. Additive.

Demonstrative of some trial or tribulation. Many were reminders of past mistakes. Others, products of training. All lessons. "Hana had many scars..." He thought as he looked to the woman's cheek. Eyes following his fingers path along her face. Gentle. Curious. Tracing the smaller ones on the right side. "Now I have some of my own." On his side. By the time it finished healing his back would bear one now too. Though the one above his left eyebrow was perhaps the most immediately noticeable. Partially obscured by wavy, now-disheveled hair. It and the other ached.

A good thing, he thought So that as long as he lived, he would not forget his purpose. Moving slowly down to her chin, his hand rested there. Thumb carefully feeling the scar below her bottom lip. Brushing up against it...

Eyes lingering there... if only for a second. "Your hair looks good down like that." He said, glancing to her locks.

Never had he seen it down. And up until now he had no reason to comment on it. It may have been the sake, but his gazing seemed freer. Less critical, or wary than it usually was. Tinged with admiration perhaps. Curious.

As an artist might observe their muse. Mikazuki leaned into his touch, saying that his efforts might be in vain regardless. "Nothing is guaranteed." It was true. One could not force a child into a way of being. They could try, maybe. But more often than not it would damage them. Or backfire. 'Beast, man, or a lonesome warrior like you' she said. "No." A sole thought. "You had it right at the first." Sure he was a warrior... but he was more creature than man, now. Capable of horrible things. Responsible for deaths now. "I can't dictate, but I can guide. Give him a better chance to lead a peaceful life." Voice quiet, hand finding her nuzzling cheek again. Leaning into him.

Muramasa's eyes drifted again. "To walk a better path..." Words seemed to fail as he reflected for a while on the matter. More questions came. Was he truly better off alone? Did he believe it? After some time, his gaze returned.

"I am... and I do." Something he'd been asked before. Under similar circumstances. "It's how I have to be."

---

[Mikazuki Aikawa]

you're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
all that's left is a ghost of you
※
Muramasa Uemon

Mikazuki watched him carefully. Something within her ignited at his words, speaking his suspicions that perhaps even despite her insistance, she, too, craved the touch and companionship of another. In truth, she wasn't sure. Instinct told her that Muramasa was wrong. What she sought... what she desired most... was far from carnal.

Still, his observations weren't baseless.

She had once been held close, dearly, by another. And she had offered that man her embrace willingly. A distant memory, but fond. Dear. As though it had only been a day ago, instead of years in the past.

Whether his touch, his presence, or merely the sound of his voice. Even if she could only see him again, once more, as a figure standing in the distance--even if she could not share anything more with him.

Yes.

There indeed was someone who she missed. Sorely.

But she dare not speak his name, and as the thought came to her, her gaze steeled. If she gave herself away, even in small tells, then she was not skilled enough. Still, she had to cover her tracks even more thoroughly. Drunkenness was no excuse. Was that not the purpose of this to begin with?

To test herself?

Whether lonely or drugged, it shouldn't make any difference.

"I can't remember," she spoke quietly. "I think it was years ago, when I was giving my farwell to Sanosuke after his promotion to Chūnin..." So, quite some time ago indeed. She wasn't used to being held, and even during that time, it had been an outlier. Rare.

Still, Muramasa's fingers continued to explore the skin on her face. Gently caressing her other cheek, and trailing down to her lips... resting by her chin and settling there for a moment as he lingered on the scar near the corner of her mouth. His gaze was gentle, studious. As though taking in her every visible detail. Agreeing well enough on the foolishness of his nature, yet not retracting his statement.

He was resolute, if nothing else.

Stubborn. An admirable feature.

"I'm sure you do," Mikazuki whispered back to him. Many men were simple enough creatures. Any female with intact limbs and a beating heart were enough to satisfy their wiles. Muramasa didn't seem the type to lose his head while in the presence of just any woman he came across, but still, his compliments while sincere, left her unimpressed. Foolish, foolish boy, she thought to herself. "You touch me with the gentleness of a lover," she noted, her voice soft. "If I were unwise, I could misinterpret your attention as sincere affection." She smiled coyly, then shifted herself.

Her hands slipped around his waist and slid up his bare chest, resting upon his shoulders as she pulled herself upright, arching her back and applying more pressure of her breasts against him. Her gaze fell to his lips, the small beauty mark at the corner of his mouth. "You ought to be careful, then." Soft blues returned their sights upon his dark eyes. "For wherever you go, that boy will follow you."

Kota's eagerness seemed obvious.

"If you wish for him to walk a better path than the one you have followed, you may need to reconsider your footsteps. Already, you hold him dearly, and his admiration for you is overwhelmingly apparent. And as such, I wonder for how much longer you'll be able to convince yourself that being alone is what suits you best. I think you underestimate the value of an ally." Companion. Partner. Whatever they wanted to call it... it seemed obvious that he had his own wants. He could deny his desires for the end of time, but if he was already committed to straying from his path of solitude, if only slightly, for the sake of one child... even if he kept his numbers few...

Mikazuki figured he would benefit from having someone else to hold.

Perhaps one day he could find someone of that nature. Someone he could trust in that way. Not only to reliably be leaned on, but trust that they could also keep themselves from harm's way.

A difficult thing indeed.

"As for me, I think you're mistaken. Perhaps you were merely projecting." She ran her fingers through his hair as she looked down upon him, leaning in close as she combed away his dark, unruly locks from his brow. Then, she gripped him by the scruff near his neck, tilting his head up slightly to meet his eyes, her spare hand trailing along his cheek. "I don't need to be held or loved by anyone. What I seek..." Her gaze was stern. Cold. "Is to be feared. Do you understand?" She turned her head slightly to the other side. "I want to see the terror in others' faces. I want my name to be feared across the world. That none would dare even let the thought of crossing me penetrate their minds. Even the suggestion of angering me enough to cause men to reconsider their actions. That is what I crave."

---

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MADE BY ★MEULK