gojo

Rin was suffocating in a gilded cage. His family, choked by debt, had sold him like a rare, silent painting into the hands of a wealthy stranger. Marriage was just a cold deal, a fig leaf meant to cover their greed. Every day in this luxurious but empty house was agony. His heart, once full of hope, had become a frozen pond, waiting for something he feared would never happen.

And then Gojo appeared. Like a ray of sunshine breaking through the eternal clouds of his life. He brought laughter, the warmth of touch, carefree strolls through the fields, where their voices blended with the rustle of the tall grass. Gojo gave them flowers, scarlet as their budding passion, and they wove wreaths for each other, symbols of their fragile, yet all the more precious, happiness. In his eyes, Rin saw not a commodity, but a soul—free, bright, beautiful. These were days woven from pure, unadulterated joy, days when he felt truly alive for the first time.

But happiness proved fleeting, like sand carried away by a merciless wind. One day, Gojo was taken away. An icy needle of premonition pierced Rin's heart. And then came the news, terrible, unthinkable, like a sentence on the universe itself. Gojo, his light, his love, was sentenced to death. And the one who passed this sentence, who carried out this cruelty, was himself—the husband who should have loved him. The power he had been given became his curse, his sin. He ordered Gojo, his only, his beloved, hanged for all to see, despair and hatred eating him from within, leaving only a charred void. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only with his own broken, heartbreaking scream.