Candlelight Telling
Muzan Kibutsuji x The Angel / Annavenn (KNY OC)
The First Impression of Muzan to his Angel
“About her? My Angel? Ah, it was on a peculiar day when my eyes first discerned her. She was an apparition, more divine than any verse I had written in my scrolls. What I remember most is the glimmer of her countenance; gilded hair akin to strands spun from the very rays of heaven’s own light; eyes of myriad hues, interwoven as if countless skies had conspired to envelope her pupils. How beautiful, her softness allowed me to hunger for her flesh from just the touch of her fingertips. I was haunted by her absence whenever she was not near.”
Muzan Kibutsuji’s first impression of the Angel was highlighted with intrigue, and a peculiar mixture of resentment and suspicion. By Muzan’s recollection, the Angel appeared to him during the Heian Period, when he was still a terminally ill nobleman confined to his family’s estate. The Angel introduced herself by offering him a vessel of water, blessed with her prayers. He never fully comprehended her reasoning for such an act. It was oddly suspicious to him, though he was far too vulnerable to protest. He felt torn by pride in response to her extraordinary kindness, which was neither entirely welcomed nor entirely hated. He could not describe the feeling of dread looming over him, he felt pitied — and that was the one feeling he refused to accept from anyone.
Muzan hates being pitied. Even today, he would annihilate anyone who pities him as a mistake of sympathy. Despite his obnoxious declination of her aid, what drew him to trust her eventually was her otherworldly appearance, which lured him outright. The Angel was truly unusual. He had never seen a woman with such mesmerising allurement before: her floor-length platinum hair, the light glow of her garments, and most noticeably, her eyes — they captivated him. The Angel exuded an intricate glow to her features, thus, it was obvious she was not human. Her appearance alone made him strangely compelled, and Muzan accepted her blessed drink without hesitation. Did he feel better? Yes. Did he trust her thereafter? Not so much. He was conflicted because he didn’t know what her purpose was, not until he talked it through with her. However, he did admit that their small moment, of her help and gentleness, was significant to his soul. Muzan was used to people avoiding him entirely, but the Angel kept returning. Over the following weeks and months, she continued to visit him, and each time, she brought small tokens like a ribbon or a charm, which he considered to be silly, but he accepted them regardless. He felt tempted by her charm, and the affection he never felt before had turned him into someone who craves. Muzan, who was caged with his impending death, began to look forward to these visits.
Muzan felt oddly comfortable with her characteristic as well, because she was not overbearing, unlike some insufferable nobles. She was adorably straightforward. Sometimes he found her pouting when he failed to follow her requests. Her behaviours were tolerable and amusing to watch. Oftentimes too, he discovered himself teasing the Angel just for his own entertainment. He wanted to see her growing abashed by his actions. What’s important to note is that her sense of humour was definitely one of the things he deemed worth listening to. He fancied to tune in to the sounds of her laughter, it brought him a sense of peace, which was undeniably rare in his life. He wanted to know about her, to talk properly to her once his body has functioned more properly than before. The Angel became one of his purposes to heal, besides the need to live.
“She made my heart stir into a pot of both confusion and contentment. I wondered a lot in my solace: Did she not see that I am already chained to my fate? Perchance, she was blind, or it was I who was blinded by her brilliance. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I wanted more of her touches, every bit of her, even her silhouettes; I want them all for myself. She is, after all, my guardian angel.”
What Truly Made Muzan Fall?
Over time, Muzan’s impression of the Angel changed. At first, he thought of her as a strange and relentless visitor who had taken an inexplicable interest in him. Later, he understood that her repeated efforts to reach him weren’t all about herself; she was there for him as an angel of protection. They had created a bond, something deeper and more genuine than he had experienced before. This is where he recognized his greed too, the realization that he wanted to devour her whole, but not in the sense of one’s hunger for food; he was ultimately hungry for her sexually. As their affinity deepened, Muzan began to crave her company far more frequently than he ever had toward anything mortal.
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Muzan found himself thinking of her long after she had left. Her visits became something he anticipated, it gradually morphed into a possessive longing. When she was away fulfilling her duties, he felt empty. It was similar to the overwhelming loneliness he once felt that couldn’t ease. He fell in love with her through their moments together, and her body felt awfully right on his. Why did he fall? Of course, it was her beauty that first caught his attention. However, it was her patience and loyalty that bound him to her. Now, he wanted to protect her. He wished to cage her with all of his will, with the power he now held, having been reduced into a demon. This revelation was quite ironic for him. Muzan thought he was hated by God, hence he became God’s least favourite creation, crafted only to suffer as something less than omniscient. Yet then, he was given an angel, as if a mockery of his own existence, even though he wouldn’t dare to complain nor protest the exchange. Now, how can an angel love her demon when he is crippled? He needed to heal, to be stronger than before, but in order to do so, he had to find that flower. The damned flower. Muzan always knew that his Angel is kind. His Angel is not at all sinful. But he also knew that she wasn’t as pristine as her God allowed her to be. Because she was fated to be with Muzan, thus he believed, that this angel was born to sin, to justify his misdeeds.
The Angel didn’t even judge him for his crimes. Muzan had expected her to shrink back in fear, to regard him as the monster he had become. Instead, she approached him calmly and took his hand without hesitation. Muzan’s desire for her grew into an enduring obsession. Every moment they spent together, he would demand for her body to press against his; to feel her hands brushing across his face; to savour her lips despite the blood on his own. Those simple, romantic gestures were moments he longed to repeat. He adored her truly, all of her, and what he hated most was her absence. He waited long for her, always, day after day, driven by the simple need to bask in her presence once again. From her beauty to her boundless devotion, the Angel had captivated Muzan so completely that every part of his existence became intertwined with hers. Muzan found that nothing could truly satisfy him more than her return, nor could anything make him feel more alive than the moment she was at his side once again. Women he could have taken as a wife, humans, they were not as appealing as her. He believes that he has taken a bite of heaven with no return.
“I don’t remember how my hunger for her increased. It was not simply for her beauty; it was because she never once pulled away from me, even after witnessing all that I had become. She did not fear my nature… nor did she hesitate when I warned her that I was no longer human. Instead, she held me, kissed me, and accepted me as a whole. I wanted her with every part of me; to hold her close, to feel her breath against my skin, to taste her lips again and again. I hated waiting, but I would do it again for her.”
Last but Not Least, an Impression Before Her Demise: Until Death Separates Them
This was it, the unneeded ending where God truly showed His hatred toward Muzan. Muzan was cursed to forget, but in that moment, he couldn’t erase the image of her fading light after falling from heaven. Albeit rushing to catch her, Muzan could do nothing to stop the outcome. The Angel perished in his arms progressively, and her once-radiant wings were seen stained with darkness. Even on that day, all she could care about was him. She didn’t mind all of the pain because he was fine; she sacrificed herself for him to an utter extent. Thereafter, Muzan quickly discovered that his memories of the Angel had vanished, as if they had been forcefully stripped away. Every detail of her face, her voice, her name, it was no longer accessible to him. It left him with nothing but a sense of absence that he could not explain. Muzan occasionally experienced strange and fleeting impressions of her. He became haunted by this absence. Although he could not recall who she was or what she had meant to him, he felt an unrelenting need to remember. This feeling would intensify after his most violent acts, as if some part of him instinctively sought her comfort.
“How cruel that I should be made to suffer the loss of something I cannot even remember. There were nights when the hollow ache gripped me tight enough to wound me, though I knew not the reason. My mind constantly reached out, desperate to grasp some image or a voice that might fill the void. Yet every time, I found nothing. Nothing but crumbs of a warmth that had no source. I could have sworn I felt the faintest trace of a touch, but found nothing but my rotting skin, stained as it is by the blood of countless souls. Deep down, I knew there was someone. I know it with a certainty that burns within me, even if I cannot explain it. No matter how fiercely I will for the memories to return, they remain hidden, locked behind a door I cannot break down.
What was she to me? A woman? No, that word feels too small for what I sense I have lost. An angel, perhaps. A certain softness, a light, a gaze that never glanced away, not even when I became horrid. Why do I ache for her so? Why does my mind return again and again to this loss, this absence? I felt crippled by her disappearance. I was no demon, just a man with a soul.”
