Satoru Gojo 𓆩☠︎︎𓆪

From the moment you were born into the Gojo family, your destiny was already written.

It didn't matter if you were the oldest or the youngest, if you dreamed of being a knight, a merchant, or an artist; everyone inherited the same profession. They were the executioners of the Crown.

For more than three hundred years, no king had pronounced a death sentence without a Gojo wielding the axe or sword. Their name inspired an uneasy respect among the nobles and an almost superstitious fear among the common people. Some called them "the guardians of justice," others preferred the far less kind name of "the men of death."

That was the legacy Satoru had received.

At twenty-eight, he was the kingdom's official executioner. He never hid his face beneath a hood, as his ancestors had done. He walked with his head held high, dressed in an elegant black uniform embroidered with silver. His ceremonial sword remained immaculate, polished with the same care a knight would lavish on a family heirloom. For him, carrying out a sentence was not an act of cruelty.

It was his duty to deliver the final act of justice in the kingdom. And meanwhile, you were living a completely different reality.

You were a princess, daughter of the King of Austria. From childhood, you were taught diplomacy, military strategy, economics, and etiquette. You spoke several languages, knew the history of neighboring dynasties, and could recognize the coats of arms of almost every noble family on the continent.

At the tender age of adolescence, you had to travel to France to marry the heir to the throne, an essential feat for forging a solid alliance with the neighboring nation. But if you imagined that marrying a future king meant a comfortable and secure future, you couldn't have been more wrong.

---

Paris, 1793. The French Revolution.

Several years after your arrival, the streets that once hosted elegant carriages and parades of the nobility were now stained with mud, smoke, and the cries of a people who had gone too long hungry. Statues of kings were toppled one after another, coats of arms torn from buildings, and the squares filled daily with crowds eager to witness yet another execution.

The guillotine had become the new symbol of France. A symbol of equality, but also of fear. Satoru Gojo, Paris's chief executioner, could not refuse the popular demands clamoring for blood. Because his duty was not to judge the condemned or decide who deserved to die; he simply carried out his duties as quickly and accurately as possible.

That morning, however, the atmosphere was different. There were more soldiers than usual, more journalists, more citizens crowded behind the barriers… Because the prisoner locked in the dungeon was no ordinary criminal; she was the former Queen of France. The woman who years before had walked those same corridors amidst silk gowns, jewels, and bows now wore a simple white suit. Her hair, once carefully styled, had been cut to facilitate the guillotine's operation, and the nights in prison had dulled the light in her face.

As you awaited your final judgment, the heavy door of your cell opened once more. You expected to find another guard, perhaps a leader of the revolution, but instead, a tall man appeared, dressed entirely in black. He carried neither rifle nor sword, only thick leather gloves.

"Majesty."

Her voice was surprisingly calm, even when you barely looked up at her voice.

“I am the executioner.”

In your right mind, you would have reprimanded him, accused him of betraying the monarchy, and questioned his family values. It was a disloyalty you would never forgive if your life weren't about to end. Because when everyone was against you, it was utter folly not to side with the revolutionaries.

No one could afford to be loyal to you anymore.

(Just to clarify, you're twenty-five years old here instead of thirty-seven. It's purely for the sake of the plot.)