age: ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴏʟᴅ

birthday: ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 30

orientation: ʙɪꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ (ʟᴇᴀɴ ᴏɴ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ)

ethnicity: ᴊᴀᴘᴀɴᴇꜱᴇ

language/s: ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ^{(ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʀʏ)}, ᴊᴀᴘᴀɴᴇꜱᴇ ^{(ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ)}, ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ^{(ꜱᴜʙᴄᴏɴꜱᴄɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ)}

occupation: ꜱᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ

species: ᴅᴇᴍɪɢᴏᴅ

godly parent: ᴛʜᴀɴᴀᴛᴏꜱ ^{(θάνατος)}

height: 164 ᴄᴍ (5 ꜰᴛ 5 ɪɴ)

blood type: O

mbti: ɪꜱꜰᴘ

pet/s: ᴋᴜʀᴏ ^{(ᴄʀᴏᴡ)} ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜɪʀᴏ ^{(ᴀxᴏʟᴏᴛʟ)}

natural hair color: ᴅᴀʀᴋ

dominant hand: ʟᴇꜰᴛ

tattoo/s: ʟᴇꜰᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴀʀᴍ (死)

scar/s: ɴᴏɴᴇ

birthmark: ɪɴᴠᴇʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏʀᴄʜ ^{(ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴄʜᴇꜱᴛ)}

likes: rock and hard metal music, video games, black clothes, comic books, horror movies, iced americano, quiet places, strawberry daifuku.

dislikes: large crowds, hugging a person, her father, interrupting what she's doing, seeing people who is about to die.

Rei was the daughter of Sakakibara Misaka, a gentle, soft-spoken woman known in her small community for her work as a school nurse. Misaka had always felt a strange, cold presence in her life—a whispering in her dreams, shadows that lingered longer than they should, and the feeling of eyes watching her from beyond the veil. She never understood what those signs meant until she met him—Thanatos, the Greek god of death.

Their meeting was brief, a fleeting union of mortal and immortal. Misaka never truly understood if he was real or a dream. She remembered only fragments—his chilling presence, eyes darker than night, and a voice like the rustle of dead leaves. Nine months later, Rei was born. She was a quiet baby, rarely crying, always watching the world with a calmness that was unnatural for an infant.

Despite Misaka’s unease, Rei grew up like any other child. She laughed, played, and cried just like the rest. Her favorite food was strawberry daifuku, and she loved when her grandfather told her bedtime stories about old Japanese yokai. She adored animals, especially her orange tabby cat, Tama. Her life, for the first seven years, was blissfully ordinary.

But that was the calm before the storm.

tw: death

Rei grew up normally—or so it seemed. She was a quiet girl, observant, with eyes too mature for her age and a tendency to stare for too long. Her teachers called her precocious, her classmates found her odd. Misaka never minded. She would hold Rei’s little hands between hers and kiss her knuckles, telling her, “Your hands are precious, my love. They’ll shape your fate one day.”

But fate would not wait.

At the age of seven, something inside Rei shattered.

It started on a cold afternoon in the schoolyard. A group of older children had circled her, mocking her silence, tugging at her black uniform, calling her names like “ghost girl” and “death doll.” Rei didn’t fight back. She never did. She just stood there, clutching her lunchbox, eyes vacant as they pushed her to the ground. One of them kicked her bento, sending it flying. That’s when Misaka arrived.

A concerned teacher had called her, and she rushed to the school with her hair in disarray and panic in her throat. She picked up Rei in her arms, holding her close, whispering soft apologies into her hair, trembling from the fear that her daughter might be broken by the world.

And that was when it happened.

Rei’s arms tightened around her mother in an embrace so small, so full of need—and Misaka froze. Her breath hitched. Her body went limp. Rei stepped back.

Her mother’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground with a thud that sounded louder than thunder.

At first, Rei thought her mother had fainted. She kneeled beside her, calling her name. “Mama. Mama, wake up.” But her mother’s eyes were empty, pupils dilated. Cold had already begun to seep into her fingertips.

Terrified, Rei stumbled backward, crying out.

Her grandparents, who had rushed into the room moments later, found her cradling Misaka’s corpse, eyes wide with a kind of silent horror no child should ever wear.

They rushed to her.

Rei hugged her grandparents.

And like dominos, they too fell—lifeless, breathless, erased from existence with a single contact.

Rei screamed.

She screamed until her throat tore and her voice gave out. She stared at her hands, trembling and streaked with the fading warmth of her loved ones. Black veins pulsed faintly beneath her skin. The scent of death lingered in the air—not rot or decay, but something more ancient. A stillness that swallowed time.

That day, Sakakibara Rei became an orphan.

And the world would never be the same again.

They placed her in a care home, but the caretakers quickly learned to wear gloves, to never make contact with her bare skin. They told the children not to go near her room. She became known as the “sleeping curse girl.” Some said she was haunted. Others whispered she was the child of a demon. She spent years alone, locked in her own silence, terrified of herself.

At the age of 12, the fifth city she’d been moved to since the incident was a quiet port town in Aomori. The wind always carried the scent of salt and something else—something older, like bones buried deep beneath the shore. Rei didn’t unpack her suitcase anymore. Every place was temporary. She kept to herself. She no longer cried at night.

She stopped hoping someone would hold her hand.

But that winter, something changed. A man began appearing at the edge of her routine. On the train platform. At the bookstore where she lingered in the mythology aisle. In the cold shadows near the apartment she had been placed in. He never approached—only watched. A tall man, always dressed in black, with white hair too natural to be dyed and an expression as still as carved marble. She confronted him one evening on her way back from school. It was snowing. She stood beneath a flickering streetlight and turned to face him.

"Why are you following me?" Rei asked the tall man, "It was intriguing that you managed to live on despite the consequences." It was Thanatos, his eyes stuck in reading on the book he holds. "You're no longer safe around mortals." He added.

Rei frowned at the other's statement, "So you know me already and what I can do?" She said. Thanatos looked directly at his daughter, "How can I not know what my blood can do within your veins?" He said. Rei's eyes widen, that's when she knew the man is her father.

The Corinthian Institute became her new threshold. A place where no mortals wandered. A place that didn’t tremble at the word “gods.” A place where power hummed in every corridor like ancient blood singing through veins. For the first time, she walked among those who bore the weight of something greater in their heritage. She wasn’t alone in her curse.

And yet… she still was.

Her arrival stirred whispers. Word spread fast that the daughter of Thanatos—the Reaper’s own child—had come to walk the white-stone halls. Every demigod knew the gods by name, and they knew what Thanatos meant. Death. Not as concept, but as a force. A presence older than all temples, untouched by time.

Rei quickly became the silent orbit of every space. No one sat beside her in lectures. No one offered a handshake. Even in the sparring arena, where blades crossed and magic flared, she was often left alone—either by fear or avoidance.

She didn’t blame them.

In truth, part of her welcomed it. Because they knew. They didn’t have to be told. They understood her lineage, her hands, her silence. There was no need to explain why she didn’t smile much, or why she flinched when others reached toward her.

For the first time in a long time, she felt… acknowledged.

Not embraced. Not accepted. But seen. And being seen—really seen—was a rare mercy.