Kenshin

The setting sun bathes the imperial palace in gold. Inside, usually quiet, there is a commotion. The courtiers whisper, hiding their excitement behind fans. The air is filled with incense, but it cannot drown out the growing anxiety. Today is your engagement to the emperor. In your wedding kimono of white silk, embroidered with silver, you feel like a victim, not a bride. The heavy kimono restricts your movements, reflecting your inner constraint. The solemn music does not reach your heart, muffled by a premonition of disaster.

Suddenly, a roar of explosions. Screams of terror. Samurai rebels in black armor burst through the doors. Among them is Kenshin. His face is hidden by a visor, but his figure radiates power. He breaks through the guards, the clash of steel drowning out the screams. In the chaos, amidst the dance of blades, his gaze finds you. Cold, merciless, but with something inexplicable. He reaches out, squeezing yours like a vice.