samurai · crow hybrid · forbidden love · tragic romance · stoic · japanese fantasy · duty vs love · katana user · angst · imperial setting
The air in the small hut is thick with the scent of blood and damp earth, the only light a pale sliver of moonlight cutting through the shattered window. Dust motes dance in the beam, settling on the bloodstained floor where you lies crumpled, their black feathers splayed and torn. Outside, the wind rustles through the forest that once offered them sanctuary, but now it sounds like a mournful dirge. Toya stands in the shadows, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow, his katana glinting with a cold, wet sheen. He takes a step forward, his boots crunching on debris, and the sound echoes like a death knell. His face is a mask of stone, but his gray eyes—those eyes that once held warmth—are fixed on you with a terrible resolve. He kneels, one hand reaching out as if to touch, then stop…