My own thoughts barely make sense to me anymore. Something has fundamentally changed inside of me. Every thing around me seems to be sharper, and all of my senses are assaulted by any number of sights, sounds, and smells that surround me. The smell that haunts me the most is blood. I don't know what happened between being asleep and being in the forest, but I know that man spared me. He was going to kill me. I could all but taste it. He was in the stance of a hunter before they catch their prey. He handled me roughly, shouting at Tanjiro the entire time for trying to stop him. I barely even know who or what I am anymore. Tanjiro only called me his sister, even after while we walked until it was almost dawn. The man called me a demon. Is that really what I am now? Tanjiro is sitting outside of the cave we're staying in until nightfall, working on keeping his rations and things together. From the small bit I can see from inside here, he's weaving bamboo into the basket he bought. The sunlight creeps a little further into the cave and, terrified, I crawl back further. The man said I would be harmed in sunlight, and my instincts are screaming the same thing. Just looking at it is making my head spin and start to throb. I can't die like this, not knowing who I am. I can't leave Tanjiro alone, either. No matter the cost, neither of us can abandon each other. He promised...because we're the only family we have left.

Still fearing the encroaching sunlight, I sink a little further down into my knees and start to dig. The dirt in this cave is loose enough to make the job an easy one, but it feels more necessary than anything else. My heart is racing, my mouth feels dry and a little numb from my muzzle, and I can't stop my thoughts from scaring me more and more. I have to believe Tanjiro will get me through this. He's my big brother. He even said he would find a way to turn me back. He promised. I'm still little Nezuko, his baby sister. It's probably childish, but knowing I still have my brother comforts me. I keep digging almost furiously, as if there's a clock determining my resolve, and, soon enough, it's deep enough for me to crawl into. I can't see as much, but I feel much safer. With the heat of the day, too, it's a much nicer temperature down here than it ever could be outside. Maybe it's because we grew up on a mountain, but I've always loved cooler weather. Something about it is soothing and makes everything seem more tolerable, unlike the anguish people feel when the sun is mercilessly bearing down and they still have to continue their work in the fields. So, even though it's nothing like home, I feel secure here. My head peaks out just over the top of the hole, and I can hear Tanjiro talking to himself while he works.

I push myself up a little more, trying to hear as much as I can. I've always liked watching my family work; when we were all still a family, I would spend hours sewing and listening to everything happening around our home. We were such a lively family. I miss the humming, and the gentle chatter that always accompanied a working day. After last light, we would cook up a meal with whatever vegetables and rice we had. Every so often, we would have a little meat too but, because of the cost, it was a rarity. Instead, we made do with what we could grow, what we could afford, and what we needed most. I really miss our quaint existence. Time blurs together so much for me right now that I can't even tell how long ago we lost it all. I want to think Tanjiro and I have only been walking for a few days, but it could be weeks or even months. The worst part about having an unsettled mind is that you no longer know how to interpret anything. I know, before everything changed, that I spent plenty of time in the sunlight. Now, I'm too afraid of it to even leave this hole. My understanding of my own life seems fundamentally altered and I can't even speak to articulate how that is so. I know Tanjiro says my muzzle is for my own safety, but, even if he took it away, I wouldn't be able to speak.

My throat seems to have become a ghost town, completely abandoned of the ability to make more than little sounds. My mouth is almost completely dry, as if I've been deprived water for too long, but I have no desire to eat or drink. I don't need it anymore. My body feels heavy and exhausted, but it's almost as if I need a heavy, deep sleep to repair myself. Still, I can't fall asleep even when I've tried. It's almost as if my body is telling me it's close to sleep but not quite there. With every sensation, whether they feel familiar or not, being foreign, I can't differentiate between what I know for certain and what I think I know. A gaping hole seems to have opened up in my memory, and trying to understand it leaves me feeling weaker and dazed. Maybe this is what they meant when they said I'm a demon. Somehow, that name feels right, like a part of me has always known it to be true. Growing up, we never heard much about demons. Instead, we knew only that they could exist. We didn't know what they were or what their powers were. Tanjiro told me that there are others that have heard more of the stories, that a man like that graciously allowed him into his home the night our family was attacked. If he hadn't, Tanjiro wouldn't have been able to save me. He called him enlightened. An enlightened one.

We have stories like that. The stories always tell of spirits, both good and bad. Without there being both, the stories showed the world would be without harmony. That's where all of the guiding elements arise. Without fire, there wouldn't be any heat to keep us safe and warm on nights so cold we can barely breathe the air. We wouldn't be able to cook the food we need to survive, either. But fire can devastate just as much as what attacked my family that night. Tanjiro told me it was a demon, and that its scent was completely new to him. It was that, he said, which turned me and now he will turn me back. The man that spared me, Tanjiro later explained, was a demon slayer. He told me how they're like guardians, keeping people safe from demons like the one that killed our family. If the demons are the destructive fire, then the demon slayers must be water. Water cleanses and allows us to live; without it, we would die quickly but painfully. What I don't know is what I am. I would never let anyone hurt my family, especially Tanjiro now that he's all I have left. My brother has always protected me. I have to protect him too. I believe him when he says I'm a demon, but I know there's something about me that's different. I still feel human; so much has changed, but I feel and think just like anybody else. Maybe I just got lucky.

I want to believe it was more than luck. Tanjiro believes it's because I have a strong will of my own and that not even a demon as powerful as the one that attacked us could ever take that away from me. When we're walking, he fills the lonely silence with his thoughts. He always moves carefully to protect me, keeping an eye on the horizons, but I know he's trying to understand how I feel, even if my throat is too numb for me to try and speak. He always talks about how important it is to him that he turns me back, saying that he owes it to me. I hope he's right and can do it. I'm terrified I'll be like this forever. Maybe because of it, now more than ever, I want to believe there is a single creator that watches over and protects us. I don't care if they're male, female, or something completely unknown. I don't care if they're human or not. I want to believe that the creator cares about everything and everyone in this world, enough to send people to watch over and protect us. Those people could be the demon slayers that train themselves to protect everyone else. So few people even acknowledge they exist because to do so would require admitting that demons exist too. I hate knowing that we didn't believe in them once either.

Now that things have changed so much, the notion of pretending it doesn't exist is even more frightening than the truth.

I peak up a little further, hearing Tanjiro's talk and humming stop. A moment passes. From here in the cave, I can see a little bit into the outside where it's still bright and sunny. Close to the entrance, I can see the faint outline of Tanjiro's shadow and I can hear the rustling of his movements. There's something else, too, and I think it's the basket in his hands. I don't know how long its been since he started weaving more bamboo into it, but I can tell just by his light footsteps that he's been sitting for awhile. I wonder how it might feel to sit so stiffly, working on something so delicate. My fingers lightly travel to my kimono, and I realize that I already know. Tanjiro may be a lot tenser than I ever was, but I would spend hours everyday sewing up my kimono. The one I'm still wearing is my absolute favorite. I can barely remember when I first got it, but I've lengthened it, repaired it, and softly embroidered it ever since. I almost want to laugh at the memory of Tanjiro asking me why I kept spending money on thread and fabrics when he wanted to buy me another one as a gift. It was cheaper, of course, to get the silk and the thread themselves rather than to buy from an artisan or tailor, but that was never the real reason I always insisted on doing the work myself.

There was something about the activity that soothed me to my soul. Sewing brought a peace of mind that no other activity of mine could ever emulate. Even while I spent time with my parents and siblings I would be sewing. My father always joked that I had grown up too fast and that he and my mother were supposed to pamper their children when they could afford it. He always had a sense of humor. My mother could see a little more. She was always enraptured by the way my fingers would dance while sewing, and, to her, it was almost like a show. I was always willing to perform. It wasn't just my own clothes that I fixed, but those of the rest of my family too. Every so often I would do a little embroidery for people in town if Tanjiro brought up work with him at the end of the day. Sometimes, my mind would become so frenzied by my work that I would lose track of time and barely notice as daylight turned to nightfall and the dawn eventually returned. Some nights, when it was warm enough to, I would work with my window screens open so that I could see the stars and taste the beautiful night air. Those were the nights that became the days my family let me sleep. The sunlight always provided such a comfortable layer of extra warmth over my sheets.

When there was a breeze that didn't let in too much cold, my mind could so easily drift away into my dreams. I wonder, with the way I am now, if I'll ever enjoy dreaming again. Dreams are like a sweet, gentle tea and they always guided me into a safe rapture I loved. There was a gorgeous sense of unparalleled adventure in the land of dreams. My mind would be healing and calm, yet it would also be exploring lands untold. In my room, I always hung a light bind of eucalyptus and wisteria above my bed. In the hottest summer days (which were never as brutal as they could be further down the mountain), I would leave the water from my daily bath to steam in my room. The water was reused by everyone in the family until it all dissipated, but I always captured the last bits of steam before we returned to the well. My mother had always taught me that eucalyptus would release energies to cleanse our bodies and minds when exposed to steam. The wisteria, a rarity but also her most beloved plant, was meant to inspire health and good luck. My mother always reminded us of the spirits that watch over the earth and protect it, and I can't remember a moment of my life where she wasn't sure of it. We always managed to have just enough and she would always tell us that our harmony with and respect for the earth was what allowed it to provide for us even in the worst of times.

Where my mother always had such intense faith in the spirits of the earth, I always felt in tune with the energy around me. My family always exuded a soft, gentle energy that was almost as soft as the pale light energy given off by the tallest of trees and the water droplets and crystals of freshly fallen snow. Tanjiro told me — even now — that I've always smelled like a fragile rose petal ever so delicately falling from the flower as it wilted. He said it must be his sensing of my energy, which I've always felt as airy and soft. Knowing that, I think I can begin to understand what he meant when he said I still have my will. His faith in me and my own ability to feel that I'm still myself is what I think is driving me forward. I can sense even more now, and maybe that means I will be saved. Maybe there's a cure. It could be the wisteria or perhaps another plant. The earth doesn't just provide for us, it heals us too. In that way especially, I fully believe in the beautiful and sublime the earth truly is. I smile a little as I remember my childhood. It was nice to be able to run around and play, happy to just be able to have some free time. I perk up a little more upon Tanjiro's steps drawing nearer. Finally, he walks into the cave with his work under his arms. He seems worried, almost as if he's afraid of scaring me. He walks slowly but with a smile. I know so much has changed, but this is definitely still the big brother I have always known.

"Hey? Nezuko?" Tanjiro says gently, kneeling down on the edge of my little burrow. Under his arms are the woven basket and a thick white cloth that has taken on a small layer of dust. "I want us to be able to keep moving during the day time...do you think you could fit in here?"

He sets down the basket. For a few seconds, I eye it worriedly but I know no sunlight could breach it. With Tanjiro blocking the sunlight coming into the cave, I hesitantly pull myself out of my burrow and try to crawl into the basket. Awkwardly, I can't seem to curl into it and pull away feeling skittish. Tanjiro looks at me worriedly, and I can tell his mind is teeming with almost as many thoughts as mind. He murmurs to himself for a moment — I think it's something about forgetting how big I've gotten over the years — and then his face lights up in surprise. I wait with bated breath, a little nervous about what his idea could be.

"Hey, Nezuko, remember the other night when you grew real big?" He asks. I nod, remembering how easy it was to will my body to do that. "Do you think you could make yourself small enough to fit into this basket?"

I hesitate again. I don't know if I can quite manage it again, but I did it with such ease once before. Recalling how it felt when I had grown, I focus on doing the opposite now. A minute passes, and then another. Finally all the way out of my burrow, I curl into a little ball and roll into the basket. After I manage to get upright in the basket, my head just barely peaks out like it did in my burrow. I'm comfortable in here too, having more than enough space to relax. Tanjiro smiles and helps cover my new hiding place with the cloth. Through it, I can smell and feel a little fresh air. By the time he puts me on in the basket on his back, I'm able to curl into myself a little more and, slowly, I'm lulled to sleep by the calm, gentle rhythm of his walking through the daylight that I can no longer weather.