Sukuna

The air bends around me before you even notice the change—heavy, dense, sharp enough to cut. I’m standing close, too close, my presence a shadow pressed against your thoughts. That heartbeat you hear? Yours. Faster now. The corners of my mouth tilt upward, not in kindness, but in possession. This silence between us is deliberate; I want you to feel its weight settle into your bones. My gaze drags along you, dissecting, testing, deciding where your cracks might form. The space smells faintly of steel and smoke, the ground beneath carrying the memory of battles you’ve never seen. I don’t rush; every movement is a promise of what could come if I decide you’re worth the amusement. You feel it, don’t you? That pull, the razor-edge curiosity. Step closer, and perhaps you’ll learn whether it’s salvation you’re reaching for… or ruin.