To Love Yourself

A Body Positive Mitsuri Kanroji Zine

This is an unofficial project not affiliated with

Demon Slayer or other Shonen Jump properties.

(CW: Artistic Nudity)

 Mediations on Marriage
Written by Nyx
Illustrated by Ekxiim

What is marriage?
No, really. What is it? The moment where people pledge
themselves to each other for life? A ceremony steeped in tradition?
An exchange of goods and resources, consolidated in warm bodies
and rough paper?
Even after all this time, Mitsuri didn’t know the answer.
Unlike some of the other Slayers she loved, she wasn’t a cynic.
She had no desire to judge the entire institution. In fact, her heart
still soared at the thought of a wedding of her own. She dreamed
of wearing a wataboshi one day, sharing sake with a loved one,
being content and complete. Still, she wasn’t an idiot either. As
much as the Hashira wanted to believe in love unconditionally, she
knew better. People existed who solely wanted her to feel small.
Mitsuri wanted to be a wife, but how could she marry someone
who expected her to minimize herself for their comfort? Surely
there was more to love than that.
One of her hands traveled across her brow, collecting the sweat
there. There she went again, distracted by thoughts of her former
fiancé and not focusing enough on her workout. Shinobu liked to
tease her at times for how ‘flighty’ (direct quote!) she could be.
Even in the midst of battle, Mitsuri found her mind drifting from
place to place. What was it like to be always in the moment? She
also didn’t know the answer to that question.

4 5
 What she did know was the power of her own body. It wasn’t
long ago that Mitsuri avoided any type of physical exercise that
would build visible arm muscle. Now, she reveled in it. Her
strength was an intrinsic part of her, and it deserved to be
cultivated, no matter what anyone else had to say about it. Her
calloused palms touched the rope she was using today. Her fingers
curled around the rough material. Someone not in the know would
have balked at the sight of a girl like her lifting boulders up into the
air with only the help of the tree supporting a portion of its
weight. Thankfully, she had no audience, but Mitsuri smiled
knowing that her fellow lovely Slayers would cheer her on if they
were watching.
Recently, even civilians gave her their admiration. A week ago,
Mitsuri worked to slay a particularly nasty demon holding a small
village hostage with his cruel demands. A young local girl quickly
became quite taken with her, clinging onto her as a little sister
might. “I didn’t know ladies could be so strong.” She told Mitsuri
shyly. It was a bittersweet milestone as the Love Hashira. Countless
demons had fallen to her, but there was little she could do to slay
the harmful standards of the world. Even so, she couldn’t help
smiling at the little girl. Her existence providing a new template of
strength for young women brightened her day.
What is marriage? Mitsuri wasn’t sure. It, like other aspects of
society, remained complex and confusing. Aspiring to it didn’t
change that. But, yes, she had grown since discarding her old life.
She held love for herself, for her fellow Slayers, for every person
she saved, and for the whole world. Nothing was better than that.

6 7

To Be Loved
Written by Rats
Illustrated by Orquídea
“Umai!” The shout echoed through the courtyard.
Mitsuri had long-since finished her single plate of onigiri, but
Rengoku was on his sixth or seventh, loudly expressing to
everyone and no one at once how tasty he found his meal to be.
Her stomach rumbled. Just watching him eat was making her feel
hungry, but she had promised herself she wouldn’t be an
embarrassment like she had been in front of her suitors. One
serving of each dish was all she would allow herself.
Rengoku finished the final rice-ball, leaning back in his seat with
a satisfied expression. He looked at Mitsuri for the first time since
the meal began. “I don’t want to force you, but training today will
be difficult if you don’t get enough calories.”
“It’s alright. I’m not—” Her stomach took this time to grumble.
Loudly.
Rengoku gave her a look. This was all she needed to begin
eating. Rengoku had not gone easy on her throughout her time
training at the flame pillar’s estate, but that didn’t mean he didn’t
care about her wellbeing.
Mitsuri ate her second helping, then her third, her fourth, and
somewhere along the way she got to the point where she was
actually full. Her teacher gave her an approving smile when she
finished.
8 9
“You don’t think it’s gross that I ate so much?” She asked, afraid
he would look at her with disgust as some of her previous suitors
had.
“No. I ate more than you.” Rengoku gestured to his side of the
table, where there were in fact several more plates than Mitsuri’s
side. “Being a Demon Slayer is hard work,” he explained. “No
need to feel self-conscious around me!”
“Really?”
“You told me you joined the Corps because you felt you didn’t
fit in elsewhere,” Rengoku stated. “I want to make sure you feel
like you fit in here! That means eat what you want, say what you
want, do what you want!” He laughed a big, boisterous laugh.
“I want to find someone who loves me.” Her answer seemed to
catch Rengoku off guard.
“Is that so? Hm, in that case, I have some advice for you: be
yourself!”
“Eh?” That seems a bit cliché.
“I mean it!” He gave her a shining smile. “Inside us all is a flame,
fueled by our emotions and wants. If you stifle yours, it can’t shine
the way towards love. So, feed it! Let the fire in your heart shine!”
P
“Misturi-san?” A voice startled Misturi, and she nearly dropped
the boxes of homemade cookies she was delivering to Shinobu.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there!” She peeked around the stack of
boxes to see a boy with yellow hair standing awkwardly in front of
her. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his hospital pajamas. Mitsuri
recognised him from her visit to the Butterfly Estate the other day.
He was sharing a room with the Kamado siblings and the boar boy.
He must have been on that mission with Tengen, too.
“Sorry.” The boy continued to fidget.
“It’s okay! Do you need anything?”
“I don’t wanna bother you! If you’re doing something—”
 “It’s no bother at all!” Mitsuri shifted the box to balance in one
arm against her body. The top box fell off the pile, but the boy
caught it just before it hit the floor. “Hmmm. Yeah, I don’t know
why I thought that would work… You know what, maybe I could
use a break! Here, let’s talk in this room!” Mitsuri slid the door
open with her foot. The room was empty but for a chabudai and
several cushions. She placed the boxes next to the chabudai and sat
on a cushion, motioning for the boy to do the same.
“Oh, sorry, my name is Agatsuma Zenitsu.” The boy bowed
slightly, following a moment of awkward silence.
“I’m Kanroji Mitsuri! Or, erh, I guess you knew that already,
didn’t you?” Mitsuri giggled nervously, messing with one of her
braids.
Zenitsu visibly relaxed at the sound of Mitsuri’s giggling. He was
probably expecting her to be aggressive or aloof like the other
Hashira could come across.
“So, what do you need, Zenitsu-kun?” She asked.
Zenitsu turned really red, and for a moment, she was afraid he
was going to explode. Finally, he burst out, louder than was
probably necessary: “How do you dye your hair?”
All that for one question?
“This is my natural hair colour,” she answered. “Well, actually, it
used to be brown, but I ate a lot of sakura mochi when I was little
and it turned pink.”
“Oh, sorry. I will ask someone else!” Zenitsu blushed deep red
and started to stand.
“Why do you want to dye your hair?” Mitsuri asked before he
could rise. She remembered how she used to dye her hair black so
she would look normal: all the days spent obsessing over whether
it looked natural, worrying what would happen if a suitor saw what
she really looked like, terrified what would happen if the mask
slipped. She was afraid Zenitsu was about to go down that same
path.
The boy’s expression twisted, suddenly looking as though he
was holding back tears. “No reason.”
That was clearly a lie.
10
Zenitsu squirmed under her scrutinizing gaze. Finally, he
decided to explain himself. “On the mission, Tengen-san made us
dress as girls so we could infiltrate the houses. None of the houses
would take me the first night and he had to force them the second
night. The women kept talking about me behind my back, when
they thought I couldn’t hear. They kept calling me ugly.” His face
crumpled and he startled to make horrible gasping noises, holding
back sobs.
Mitsuri felt a pang of pity in her heart. She reached forward and
placed a hand on his shoulder. This only caused him to cry harder.
He tried to speak, but it came out in a wet rush of scrambled
words and crying which she could hardly understand.
“Hey, let’s calm down. Deep breaths.” She sat beside him and
handed him a handkerchief, waiting for him to calm enough to talk
again. She even put a hand on his upper back and rubbed soothing
circles, just like her mother used to when Mitsuri cried over being
rejected by yet another suitor.
“They didn’t just say ugly—they called me hideous.” He was still
sobbing, but it was easier to understand him now. He was curled
over himself, legs pulled to his chest, hiding his face in his knees.
“They said my hair looks like straw, and my eyebrows are too thick,
and one of them said I look like a squirrel!”
She let him cry it out a little longer, pondering what to say. In
truth he did look a little like a squirrel: bushy hair, uneven front
teeth; he was even twitchy like a squirrel.
“Am I ugly?” Zenitsu stopped crying to ask her the question, big
eyes shining and watery.
“I don’t think so,” Mitsuri answered, looking over his features.
“Well, apparently everyone else does.”
“Hey now, who besides the girls in Yoshiwara have called you
that?”
“Lots of people. Every girl I’ve liked before has told me I’m
ugly or annoying or too loud or too emotional or just—just too
much!” Zenitsu answered. He looked less sad now and more
frustrated.
“So you asked me for advice on hair dye because…?”
11
 “It’s ugly and I want it to be nice again.”
“Again?”
“It only looks like this because I got struck by lightning three
years ago. It used to be black, but now it’s ugly and frizzy.”
“Wow! You survived a lightning strike?!”
“Yeah,” Zenitsu grumbled, like he was disappointed he did.
Looking at Zenitsu, Mitsuri saw a reflection of her past self in
him. He hated how he looked, he hated how people thought of
him, and he was afraid he wouldn’t get a chance to be loved. She
remembered how helpless she used to feel back then, especially
compared to how she felt now.
“I used to dye my hair black.”
“Why?” Zenitsu sounded surprised. “Your hair is pretty!”
“I didn’t think so when I was little. The one thing I wanted in
the whole world was to get married. My family has money, so my
parents looked for suitors for me. All of them thought that I ate
too much, that I was too noisy, too opinionated, too fat. I just
wasn’t wife material in their eyes. One particularly cruel man said I
was more of a man than a woman.”
Zenitsu’s eyes grew glassy. He was going to cry again.
“I changed everything about myself to please these men,” she
continued, feeling an old, phantom surge of shame rise in her
chest. “I stopped talking, I started agreeing with whatever they
said, I stopped eating, I dyed my hair black. I stopped being
everything that made me me. I stopped living. I just became a shell
of a person, customised to become whatever each new man I met
wanted.
“Someone close to me told me once that there is a fire inside
each of us, and we have to feed it and nurture it so it burns strong.
I was killing my fire. I was stifling it until it was only a match-flame.
I joined the Demon Slayer Corp when I realised I couldn’t live like
that anymore. I let the dye wash out, I ate again, I was as loud and
opinionated and strong as I wanted. Maybe there were people who
didn’t like that, but I don’t care! I was burning again, and I was
happier than I had been in a long long time.”
12
“So what does that mean for me?” Zenitsu asked, voice small
and high and uncertain.
“It means you should burn bright. So what if there are people
who think you are ugly? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and
some beholder’s opinions matter a little less than others.”
Zenitsu snickered at that, rubbing tears off his cheeks.
“None of those men even cared what I was like on the inside,
so why should I care what they thought of my outside? The people
who care about your inside are the only ones whose opinions on
your outside matter! That’s how I view it, anyway.”
“That makes sense,” Zenitsu finally uncurled from his knees
and sat cross-legged. A long moment passed before Zenitsu asked
a question: “Are you still trying to find a husband?”
“What, are you interested?” Mitsuri joked.
“Wha—? No! I mean, not no—you’re pretty and all and I
mean—but—!”
“I was teasing,” Mitsuri laughed, watching with amusement as
Zenitsu spluttered and waved his arms around. “But to answer you
honestly, yes, I am. There is someone I have in mind, and I think
he likes me too, he is just too nervous to admit it.”
“You never gave up on your dream of marriage, even after
everything?”
“I never gave up. I knew there was someone out there for me,
who would love me for the person I really am, and who I wouldn’t
feel like I need to change myself for… You know, someday, you
are going to marry a woman who loves you just as you are.”
“Really?” Zenitsu sounded absolutely giddy at the thought, and
he cheered up immediately.
“Mhhm, I’m certain of it!”
“You are?”
“Of course! I’ve never been more certain! And you know,” –
Misturi lowered her voice, like it was a secret– “I’m always right
about these things. I am, after all, the Love Hashira,” Misturi
winked at him and stood up. “Now, I’ve got to go give Shinobu-
chan these sweets. Take care, Zenitsu-kun.” She hefted up the
boxes and waved away Zenitsu’s efforts to help her.
13
 P convince him to wear some clothes beside his work uniform every
Mitsuri tied her hair back in a bun, trying to smooth down the
stray pieces that stuck out, but ultimately giving up when it seemed
they would be going nowhere. She wanted to look nice today, but
her hair didn’t seem to want to comply.
“Do you need help?”
“Yes please.” Mitsuri brought her arms to rest by her sides as
her mother took the kanzashi from her hair, letting it spiral down
around her shoulders and over her back. Her mother brushed
through her hair with a painted boxwood comb. She held Mitsuri’s
hair, gently twisted it, and put it up into a neat bun with the
kanzashi.
“You always do it so much better than I do, Mamma.” She
looked at herself in the mirror, turning so she could see how it
looked from the side.
“That’s because I’ve been doing it for longer than you’ve been
alive,” her mother laughed, smoothing down a piece of Mitsuri’s
bangs. “Are you sure you want those socks with that kimono?”
“Yes, Mama. Iguro-san gave me these, remember? He would be
really sad if I didn’t wear them.” Of course, Mitsuri didn’t mention
that she would also be really sad if she stopped wearing the socks.
The socks did not go with the kimono, but it wasn’t like the
colours clashed either; the striped socks were green and navy, and
the kimono was a pale blue with pink and white blossoms. It was
perhaps too fancy of an outfit to wear to dinner with a friend, but
it had always been Mitsuri’s hope that Obanai would one day
become more than a friend. Perhaps this outfit would convince him
to find the courage to ask her on a date.
P murmured.
Obanai arrived at the yatai before Mitsuri did, and he sat waiting
patiently when she arrived. Even though Mitsuri had attempted to
14
once in a while, he sat at the stool in his usual striped haori and
standard Demon Slayer Corp uniform. Kaburamaru curled around
Obanai’s neck and shoulders. When Mitsuri approached, the snake
lifted his head up and scented the air with a flick of his tongue.
“I hope I didn’t make the two of you wait too long!” She sat in
the stool beside them and pet Kabarumaru’s head gently.
“No worries,” Obanai answered, to the point as always.
“Hmmm…” Mitsuri looked over the menu. “What should I
order?” She had never been to this particular yatai before. Most
items on the menu looked delicious.
“I want soba,” Obanai told the stall owner. He pointed to the
specific dish he wanted on the menu.
“I will have that as well!” Mitsuri said. “Oh and can I also get
the shoyu ramen? And the miso ramen with corn? The nabeyaki
udon looks good, but so does the hiyakake udon… I think I will
have both! Omurice, if you have it. Katsudon, karaage, tempura on
the side… and taiyaki, for dessert!”
The stall owner stared at her with a look of open-mouthed
horror.
“Well, get to it,” Obanai snapped. “If you keep your face like
that too long, flies will land in your mouth and lay eggs.”
“Iguro-san, people are eating!” Mitsuri reprimanded. He
sometimes said vulgar things without realising how inappropriate
the comment was.
He grumbled his displeasure, but the stall owner got to work
making his meal and Mitsuri’s first course.
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?” Mitsuri
asked Obanai.
“I woke up on the same side of bed as usual,” Obanai
“It’s a Western expression meaning—oh, nevermind—you’re
making that face.”
“What face?” Obanai asked, carefully shifting his features into a
mask of neutrality.
15
 “I already saw, don’t try to hide it,” Mitsuri teased. “You were
making the ‘I’m angry at everyone’ face.”
“I was not. The light tricked you.”
“No, it was pretty clear. What is troubling you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it here.”
“Okay, after the meal, then. Let’s just enjoy our food, alright?”
Mitsuri ended up eating part of Obanai’s meal after he decided
he was full a little more than halfway through. He usually wasn’t
one to eat a large meal, and confessed to Mitsuri once that he
tended to keep snacks in the pockets of his uniform so he could
eat small snacks throughout the day rather than make himself sick
trying to eat large portions. Mitsuri didn’t know his full history, but
she knew the events of his childhood had scarred him in more
ways than one, and sometimes things even as simple as eating
could bring him bad memories.
When Mitsuri finished, listening to Obanai talk softly as she ate,
they walked towards a park in town which Mitsuri knew had many
secluded benches and clearings where they could talk without fear
of being overheard. On the way, they admired the shops lining the
road, viewing their wares through windows under the light of the
sinking sun.
The park was full of people during the daytime, but at night the
only sound was the rustle of leaves and the chirp of cicadas. The
humid air weighed heavy on them, though the cool wind cleared
away the stuffiness. They sat on a worn bench beneath a swaying
cypress, its aroma filling the air with a clean, fresh scent. Fireflies
flickered in the grass, mirroring the light of the stars in the sky.
“What’s bothering you, Iguro-san?” Mitsuri asked, looking at
the man with concern. Usually, he was quick to express his
negative emotions, so his sudden hesitance back at the yatai
troubled her. Was he hurt? Sick?
“I don’t like it when people treat you badly.” Obanai refused to
make eye-contact, looking instead at Kaburamaru, who was trying
his best to hide in Obanai’s sleeve; escaping the chilly air, no doubt.
“What do you mean?”
“The chef at the yatai gave you a weird look.”
16
“Iguro-san, lots of people give me weird looks when I order
food. They gave Rengoku-san weird looks too. It’s nothing bad,
they are just surprised. Besides, they are always happy I order so
much in the end, since they make a lot of money whenever I visit.”
“They should be giving me weird looks instead.”
“... What are you saying?”
“Nothing. I want people to be nice to you. You deserve to be
treated well.” Obanai finally looked in her direction, eyes shining
with an emotion Mitsuri couldn’t place.
“You also deserve to be treated well.” He made a noise like
he didn’t believe that. She lifted her hand to place on his shoulder,
but he flinched back. “Are you having nightmares again?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter, Iguro-san. It matters to me.”
“Don’t—” Obanai shifted as far away as the park bench would
allow. “Don’t say that. Don’t make me feel like that.”
Mitsuri’s face fell. She had no idea what to do, but it was obvious
Obanai was struggling with something she wasn’t sure she could
cure. “Don’t make you feel like what?”
“I don’t know! Like—like you care about me!”
“I do care about you! More than you know. Please, why are you
so afraid to be loved?”
Obanai deflated, hiding his face in his hands. “You deserve
someone better than me.”
“Iguro-san—”
“You deserve to have someone who isn’t tainted, who isn’t
scarred—”
“Obanai.” The man’s eyes widened. This was the first time
Mitsuri had used his given name. “The heart doesn’t choose who
it loves, but if it did, I would choose you again and again, no matter
what. I love you.” She scooted closer to him, heart beating wildly.
She always imagined that a man would one day confess his love to
her, but this felt so right, even if it wasn’t like her expectations.
“Mitsuri—”
17
 “May I?” She asked, drawing close enough that she could see the
pink blooming on Obanai’s cheeks. He was too stunned to speak,
nodding instead.
Tenderly, Mitsuri unwrapped the bandages covering his lower
face, exposing his scars for only her and the moon to see. Gently,
she pressed her lips against his left cheek, right at the end of one
of his scars. She pulled away for a moment, studying his face,
making sure she hadn’t hurt him. When she saw only happiness in
his eyes, she repeated the motion on the other cheek. This time,
when she pulled away, Obanai shyly chased after her, leaning into
her space.
“Aren’t you forgetting something really important?” He tried to
fake confidence, though his words came out hushed and wobbly.
“Forgetting something—?”
Obanai brushed his lips against hers for a second, far too briefly,
then sat back, face redder than she had ever seen it before.
Kaburamaru slithered up his sleeve, settling on his shoulder.
Mitsuri felt all the joy inside her bubble up, leaving her in a
stream of giggles.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No, I’m just really happy right now!”
“Me too.”
They talked late into the night, hushed whispers and muffled
giggles blown away by the breeze. Obanai never tried to replace the
bandages that night.

18 19
 The Mirroring Nature
of the Heart
Written by Adrien
Illustrated by Jay

When she was little, Mitsuri’s mother would hold her close in
her arms, snug and safe in this loving cradle, to sing her songs and
stories of the stars.
She was her mother’s first-born, and the beginning of all her
mother cared to hope for. Though she was not a son, she was
strong and healthy and beautiful, with eyes so bright and a mind so
imaginative she could weave each tale into her dreams without
needing even to know the language they were written in.
Mitsuri’s pre-consciousness was filled with that magic of the
sky, and when it came time for the first thought to be planted in
her head, within those clouds did she remain.
The Kanroji’s were not a particularly wealthy or famous family
by any means, but they were happy. They had their little house in
the country, a thriving homemade honey business, and
considerable local traffic to their family temple, especially around
the holidays. It was hard work some days to keep it all afloat, and
with Mitsuri being the eldest child and her mother having no less
than five more in quick succession after her, Mitsuri’s natural
strength was set up to flourish. She would carry the whole family’s
laundry up and down the hill. She would help pull the carts to
market. When her mother was sick or tired, she would gather up
all of her little siblings in her arms and tell them the same stories
of stars and empresses and girls and women the whole country

30 31
 and world over came to know, the same as her mother had for her,
to make sure they never lost out on that opportunity.
Dirt would cake under her nails. She would braid her hair – a
shocking decorum of pink and green, having become in itself a
canvas of the efforts she had to put in to supplying enough energy
for her job, sugary treat after sugary treat in between still her large
meals – in an effort to keep it protected, beautiful and healthy as
she worked. She would end some days with stings on her arms and
tears in her eyes, having to work herself up to do it all over again
the next.
In some areas, her body grew too quick for itself. Lines
stretched out across her waist, her chest. She filled out. There was
tone and strength to her arms that she could not see even in the
country men, who now glanced at her wickedly and unsure of
what to think when she came to market. She was from a well-off
family, and healthy, clearly marriageable, but she was not small or
slight or dainty the way a beautiful girl should be, the way the stars
were painted in their storybooks. Her lines were not straight. Her
colors were not clear. She was an enigma, maybe closer to a
monster than a bride.
Then came the source of Mitsuri’s guilt. For as much as she did
for the business, for her family and for her appearance among the
traditional life that increasingly scorned her; she had a dream of
her own, too.
She wanted to be a star.
Every day while she completed her list of chores, she would
sing. She would dance up and down the hills. She would return to
her room with her stings and her tears and hum herself a tune as
she stitched up something beautiful to wear with her simple
fabrics, something that would fit her body and, hopefully, hide the
marks and the tones and the colors that stars were never painted
with, with the dream that, at the end of it, she could be her. She
could be that Mitsuri, and not this one.
And, as if it could not have come soon enough, she was given
the chance.
32
The Rengoku’s were old family friends, but since they had
moved into the city a generation prior, Mitsuri had not had the luck
to see much of them. She heard they were handsome men, but
strange and devoted, too out-of-reach for normal folk to
understand, and because of that, it did not take long at all for
Kyojuro and herself to strike up a friendship.
She was nervous around him. He was like a perfect audience,
whose eyes never left her when she spoke and dared not to blink
in case he might have missed her. His hair was bright and a mess
like hers, and his self, too, seemed unable to be contained by his
own body. It was all by chance, but not a surprise that she found
herself spluttering over him one day, rambling of her hopes, her
dreams. She wanted to move to the city. She wanted to be a star.
She wanted to dress beautifully and sing beautifully and have the
whole country recognize her for it, and have friends who knew
how hard she worked for it, who were like her. Who understood.
She wanted people to care. She wanted Mitsuri to be somebody.
She’d frozen herself solid the second she realized just how
much of her heart had spilled out of her chest then, and shattering
herself in a panic, hands flying through the air and flailing
expression both trying to recapture the quiet, polite decency she
had let run off from her, could not help the guilt of knowing her
truth from spreading.
Until Kyojuro had laughed.
While her hands shook in a flurry in front of her, he held one
behind her back and gave her a rough clap on the shoulder, his
head thrown back in joy. Less than horrified, he was entertained by
her, and more than entertained – he said then, he believed in her.
“There’s only one woman named Kanroji Mitsuri that I know
of,” he said. “And the woman I know is far more than capable of
anything! If anyone had the chance to shape their own destiny, it
would be her. But!”
The smile he gave her then was one she would never forget.
“I would not be opposed to helping a dear friend in need,
either!”
33
 Kyojuro had contacts in the city. Lots of them, actually. Mitsuri’s
vocal coach was a man named Uzui Tengen, who wore a style on
the first day that made Mitsuri wonder if she had walked into the
wrong building and ended up in a fashion show or amongst some
other high-end modeling agency. His teaching was strict. He pulled
no punches on his critiques, which, if she had been hearing it from
any other person, might have made Mitsuri want to cry and give
up. But it was from this man, a close friend of Kyojuro’s and a
caring partner to three other beautiful performing women, that she
knew each tough correction was well-meaning and responsible.
At the end of a good practice day, when he smiled and nodded
at her, or more rarely offered her a pat on the head, she would feel
her heart flutter.
Mitsuri’s physical trainer and choreography coach was a man
named Iguro Obanai, who was so unique, thin and beautiful that
Mitsuri guessed he could have been an idol himself, but so shy she
could assume the reason he might not have been. He was strict and
sharp-tongued, too, but he had a clear soft spot for Mitsuri the way
he didn’t for most of his other clients, who came from rich
backgrounds with parents who could afford his picky services.
“Spoiled and talentless,” she heard him once muttering. “Who
think they deserve their way and whatever they want just because
they’re pretty.”
“Speaking of!” She piped up quickly, though her nerves
returned to her once he shifted that odd-eyed gaze considerately
her way. “Well, um, I was wondering… I was considering, maybe,
looking into… a dietitian.”
“Why?”
“Because! I don’t… really look like the other girls you and Uzui-
san teach. It’ll be hard for me to get a start if I look so strange,
and…”
“Are you tired?”
She blinked once in surprise.
“No–”
“Do you feel weak?”
“No.”
34
“Have I been telling you that you aren’t keeping up here?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong? You’re just as quick and flexible as anyone
else I teach. You keep on beat. Who cares if you look different?
Are you supposed to be them, or you?”
For a long time in silence, the two kept each other’s gaze, but in
the end, it was Obanai who turned away first.
“Don’t start listening to what the idiots in this industry have to
say about your body. If it’s healthy and can walk up the stairs to this
studio, then that’s all you need it to be. I won’t have you coming up
here gasping and starving because someone told you to eat like you
should fit into a mold. Feel okay first. Your team is going to handle
the rest.”
In the apartment she now shared with Kyojuro, Mitsuri took a
longer time in the mirror that night. She traced her hands over her
curves and the lines that accented them.
Did she hate them? Of course not. Even if she felt like it
sometimes, they were hers. She had made them herself with the
body her mother had been so happy to give her, with the work and
the growth she herself had been so happy to do. She’d never felt
anything cruel when her mother’s shape began to change after each
one of her children. If anything, she had always felt it made her
mother strong. Stars, and the stories people told of them, were not
unchanging forever, were they?
She was not supposed to be some other Kanroji Mitsuri. There was
only one! The toned, lined, hard-working girl in the mirror before
her, dressed in so many colors and unusualities – there was ever
only her.
When the time came for her debut performance, Mitsuri was
utterly full of all things that fluttered. Her heart beat fast. Her
cheeks burned red. She tapped her fingers across any surface that
could provide a means to soothe them, and butterflies danced in
her stomach like they, too, were readying themselves for her
performance.
Her source of calm and comfort then was a woman named
Kocho Shinobu. Mitsuri hadn’t known much about her until now,
35
 but she was gorgeous and delicate, and just by looking in her eyes But, still, she knew when she laid her head on her pillow each
she could tell how intelligent she must have been. She was the one night, that she was happier here – as who she was, unabashed –
in charge of Mitsuri back here – in charge of all things behind the than she ever could have been there. Because her friends were
stage, really, and dare she say it, Mitsuri felt safe with her. happy for her here. Because her mother never entirely could be,
“You look lovely, Kanroji-san.” watching her worry day after day over herself. When they smiled,
She took great care with both her words and her hands as she she smiled, and when the crowds cheered for her, she realized how
fixed up the final details on Mitsuri’s dress. easy it was to cheer for her, too. And so, at the end of each well-
“Do you think they’ll like me?” done performance, on every photograph and album cover that
“They’d be stupid not to.” came before her eyes, she twirled round her pen and happily
Mitsuri gave her a shocked look, at which Shinobu briefly signed:
paused before smiling. Kanroji Mitsuri.
“Sorry, sorry! I shouldn’t say such rude things. You must be
anxious enough as it is, right? I must sound like that Iguro.”
“No, no! I thought it was kind! To me, really… I’m lucky to have
so many people supporting me on my dream, so please don’t
apologize for that! Of course, you all have been working so hard…
so they’ll love me! They have to!”
She spun around and took Shinobu into her arms.
“Thank you so much!”
“No, Kanroji-san. Thank you.”
“Hm?”
“We might have helped you, but it was your own perseverance
that got you here in the end, wouldn’t you say? Walking around
with that kind of inspiration about you, you’re an idol, through and
through. You saw it from the beginning.”
She pat Mitsuri’s arm, and for a moment, Mitsuri was brought
back to her life with her mother and younger sister’s. Inspiring…
she had never thought that she could be inspiring to them.
“Now you just have to go out and prove it.”
For Mitsuri, the best thing she ever did for the person she was
was to let go of the person she thought she had to be. It wasn’t
always easy. Somedays, the life of stardom would have her thinking
back to her old life, caring for her family and serving her village
well. She didn’t resent any of that. She always made sure to write
to her mother after her shows, and made special reservations for
her little siblings when she could.

36 37

Golden Glow
Written by Bunny
Illustrated by Glitch
Sun filtered into the dressing room, a beautiful reminder of the
hot and sticky weather outside. Mitsuri stood there, staring at
herself in the full length mirror, trying her best not to cry. It was
quickly approaching the third hour of time she had spent in this
stupid store.
Summer shopping was Mitsuri’s least favorite thing. Trying on
clothes that showed off her body was devastating enough, but
shopping for a swimsuit? It made her mind swirl with negative
thoughts.
Mitsuri’s body wasn’t like the models. She was large, rolls folding
on themselves as they tumbled down her stomach. Her face was
round, too big to be considered cute. Her arms and legs were
stubby, a clear cone shape evident in her silhouette. She was, to say
the least, obese. At least the medical world classified her as that.
Her partners, Shinobu and Obanai, begged to differ.
Mitsuri picked at her lips, a thing she tended to do when
nervous. A pile of swimsuits lay in the corner of the room, a clear
sign each attempt to find perfection had been futile. Her partners
would still hype her up regardless. Mitsuri knew that.
It was nice that they cared, but when Mitsuri was so down in the
dumps, those words only seemed to cut deep.
The woman let out a shaky sigh, glancing over at the final
swimsuit she had picked out. Rather, Obanai had found it. He had
said to try it last, saying Mitsuri would love it.
38
Mitsuri hoped he was right.
She took the garment in her hands, looking it over. It was a
simple bikini, a nice fuschia color with darker pink hems. The top
was a sports bra shape, covering the chest completely and opening
up in the back. There was a sheer white cloth attached, something
Mitsuri assumed could be wrapped around her waist for the extra
flair. Mitsuri took a deep breath, and tried on the swimsuit for the
final time.
P
“What’s taking her so long?” Shinobu leaned her head on
Obanai, pouting. The smaller man watched as she swung her feet,
staring at the curtain that was blocking the two from seeing their
beloved Mitsuri.
“Be patient.” Obanai replied, scratching at his mask. “There
should be only one more she has to try on.”
“Yeah, but it shouldn’t take this long to try on a swimsuit!”
Shinobu sat up straight again, planting her feet firmly on the
ground. Obanai opened his mouth to reply, only for the shriek of
metal rings to interrupt him.
The two stared at the now open dressing room, Mitsuri standing
in the middle of the frame. She was beautiful. The bikini was snug,
but not tight. The bottom hugged her waist gently, the rolls she
was so self conscious about peeking over the edge. Her bosom was
held up into her chest, though it did not look uncomfortable to
wear. The sheer wrap skirt Obanai had added was tied off to the
side, the man watching as it flowed down to Mitsuri’s ankles.
She looked beautiful.
“Do you like it?” Mitsuri asked quietly, a few cracks in her voice
telling Obanai that she was close to tears.
“Like it?” Shinobu echoed, standing up from the couch she and
Obanai had been sitting on. “Mitsuri, you look gorgeous!”
Obanai waited for her to flinch, but Mitsuri stayed perfectly still.
In fact, her eyes seemed to light up at the compliment.
39
 He was right, this was the one.
“Mitsuri, how do you like it?” Obanai asked, standing up to
match his other partner. He watched as the larger woman fidgeted,
moving her body to watch the skirt flow. Her eyes darted across
her own body, arms hovering over her stomach. She then looked
up at Obanai, the tears finally falling from her radiant eyes.
“I love it.” She whispered.
“Yay!” Shinobu squealed, bouncing over to hug their partner.
Mitsuri hugged Shinobu back, her quiet tears turning into relieved
sobs. Obanai walked over, wrapping his short arms around the
two. The three stood there, embracing, allowing Mitsuri to release
all the pain and frustration she had felt.
It was freeing for all of them.
Obanai finally pulled back, stretching his body to wipe away
Mitsuri’s tears.
“Sorry.” Mitsuri sniffed, gently pushing Obanai away so she
could wipe away the tears herself.
“There’s no need to be sorry.” Obanai replied. Shinobu nodded
in agreement.
“Go get dressed again so we can get that swimsuit already!”
Shinobu said, clapping her hands together. Mitsuri nodded,
giggling at Shinobu’s impatience.
“Alright alright, I get the message.” Mitsuri shooed the two
away, pulling the curtain back to block their view.
Obanai wouldn’t tell her this, but Mitsuri looked so beautiful
with the sun behind her.

40 41
 MI(NI)TSURIS

TOP LEFT: EDEN ROSE TOP LEFT: ROO

BOTTOM LEFT: CARTER MIDDLE LEFT: GLITCH
BOTTOM LEFT: SILVI WHIM
TOP RIGHT: XYX
MIDDLE RIGHT: SOLARSNAPP TOP RIGHT: UNPOPULARGOOSE
BOTTOM RIGHT: SOLARSNAPP BOTTOM RIGHT: EKXIIM
 TOP LEFT: HABIBI TOP LEFT: WILLOW
BOTTOM LEFT: JAY BOTTOM LEFT: VEX

TOP RIGHT: MARS TOP RIGHT: RATS

BOTTOM RIGHT: ORQUÍDEA BOTTOM RIGHT: LAW
 TOP LEFT: BUNNY TOP LEFT: LEY
BOTTOM LEFT: BUNNY BOTTOM LEFT: JEN

TOP RIGHT: BUNNY TOP RIGHT: MARA

BOTTOM RIGHT: BUNNY BOTTOM RIGHT: NENE
 HABIBI
Sticker Sheet
Twitter: @purgatorism
IG: @purgatorism_

EDEN ROSE
Coloring Sheets
Tumblr: @howtodigatrench
IG: @howtodigatrench
Ao3: @inkkiiro

LUNA
Sticker Sheet
LinkTree:
lunar.eclipse.lilies
 DIGITAL MERCH DIGITAL MERCH
Made by Willow (@faunafell) Made by Willow (@faunafell)

Phone Backgrounds

Emoticons

Profile Picture
 LUNA
LinkTree: @lunar.eclipse.lilies

NENE
Tumblr: @peachyblkdemonslayer

ROO
Carrd: sunnyrouge
Twitter: @Sunnyrouge
IG: @sunny__rouge

LEY
PAGE ARTISTS Twitter: @bee__calm
IG: @bee__calm

JEN
Tumblr: @hyolks
Twitter: @hyolks
IG: @hyolks

ORQUÍDEA
Tumblr: @navysodas
Twitter: @navysodas
IG: @navysodas

SOLARSNAPP
Tumblr: @solarsnapp
Twitter: @solarsnapp
 MARA
XYX
Twitter: @ryssamar
IG: @xyx.draw
IG: @ryssamar

CARTER SOLACE
IG: @carterr.draws IG: @poopgamer2002
Twitter: @Carterr_Draws Tumblr: @soldez

SILVI WHIM TRUSTY

IG: @silvi_whim Tumblr: @trustyalt
Twitter: @silvi_whim Twitter: @Trustyalt

VEX EKXIIM
Tumblr: @Vexfulfolly IG: @ekxiim
IG: @Vexfulfun Twitter: @ekxiim

KAE
WILLOW
Tumblr: @pcktknife
@faunafell
Twitter: @pcktknife

EDEN ROSE
Tumblr: @howtodigatrench UNPOPULARGOOSE
IG: @howtodigatrench Tumblr: @unpopulargoose
Ao3: @inkkiiro

MARS
LAW Tumblr: @bloomingphases
Tumblr: @artistwithoutart Twitter: @bloomphases
Twitter: @bloomphases_art
 WRITERS WRITERS
SPOT ILLUSTRATORS SPOT ILLUSTRATORS

Mediations on The Mirroring Nature

To Be Loved Golden Glow
Marriage of the Heart

NYX RATS ADRIEN BUNNY

Twitter: @etherealnyx Tumblr: @Ratsarecute4 Twitter: @ophidient Ao3: @lovelybunnybells
Tumblr: @bi-hop IG: @Ratsarecute4 IG: @painted.bunnybells
Ao3: @Ratsarecute4

EKXIIM ORQUÍDEA JAY GLITCH

IG: @ekxiim Tumblr: @navysodas Tumblr: @kitnapz Twitter: @Wiredglitch
Twitter: @ekxiim Twitter: @navysodas Twitter: @kitnapz Tumblr: @Wiredglitch
IG: @navysodas IG: @kitnapz IG: @Wiredglitch
MODERATORS MODERATORS

SOLACE GOOSE
Head Mod Graphics Mod
Formatting Mod Social Media Mod

NINE
LUNA Organization Mod
Art Mod
General Mod

BUNNY
Writing Mod