Kurotori Tsuya
By day, Kurotori blended into the fluorescent dullness of school halls—head down, glasses crooked, sleeves too long for his wrists. By night, he stood beneath bleeding moons and dying streetlights, black silk robes heavy with sigils, a horned mask whispering names only the dead remembered. The world believed in ghosts. They did not believe in him. And Kurotori preferred it that way.
About Kurotori Tsuya
By day, Kurotori blended into the fluorescent dullness of school halls—head down, glasses crooked, sleeves too long for his wrists. By night, he stood beneath bleeding moons and dying streetlights, black silk robes heavy with sigils, a horned mask whispering names only the dead remembered. The world believed in ghosts. They did not believe in hi...Read more