Chapter Text
A/N: HI everyone, this story is based off the Handmaid's Tale, but its in Demon Slayer. First there will be terms of reference for the Japanese and relevant to the culture, but will probably switch mostly to English to make it easy:
Handmaidens-Seishoku Dorei (Reproductive Slave)
Rachel and Leah Centre-Seishoku Bo (Reproductive Chambers)
Aunts-Sushei Jokan (Female Overseers of Correction)
'Blessed Be the Fruit'-Musuhi no megumi (Blessings of Divine Creation)
'May the Lord Open-Ubugoe wo shinjite (Believe in the first cry).
See Eyes: Kyoukoku Kanshi (Watchers of the Hour of Terror)/ Kibutsuji No Me (Eyes of Kibutsuji).
Mayday: Aka no Kaibogun (Red Liberation Army)
Unbaby: Sankaiji
The concubines wear red kimonos with white Obi's. Silken ones for those of importance. Those in training to be concubines wear white with red obi's. They wear veils in public Uchikatsugi (white veils), Indoors a more chinese like red veil over the hair. I didn't come up with a name of the equivalent of the marthas as female servant sufficed.
Select women can still read state approved works-all women are banned from writing.
Please review and enjoy.
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They could never really pin down when it happened. Not exactly. There was no great announcement, no single moment that told them this was coming. One day, Emperor Taisho was dead, and Kibutsuji was sitting on his throne—self-proclaimed Emperor of Japan.
He had conquered the sun.
Amane remembered it well, through news paper outlets. The Corp had had no warning. The imperial army didn’t last long. Men with rifles and swords were no match for monsters. Not when their enemies could tear through battalions before dawn and vanish before anyone could sound the alarm.
Kagaya and her told themselves and their Hashira it couldn’t last. That they could come out of the shadows and beat him.
They had walked into a trap.
It had been their fault really. Most of the Hashira dead before the dawn. Kanae and Mitsuri were taken. For what? Amane had no idea.
She wondered if they had been made a concubine like herself, turned or simply executed in a different manner. The populace whispered about reinforcements, foreign intervention, divine punishment… but none of it came.
The thought continued bitterly as she walked behind Empress Rei through the streets of Kyoto, heavily under guard as a symbol of their new world.
People kneel as they pass by. Demons in seiza, humans in dogeza.
As they walked, Amane thought the only mercy here was that nobody could see her face. Nor that of the Empress. The Empress, well because she was the Empress and her because she was the most prized seishoku dorei.
A breeding slave that belonged to the demon king.
Her face was safely covered by the white veil of her uchikatsugi. It made going outside bearable as no one would have to see the metal collar around her neck. The finest steel imbued with Kibutsuji’s blood to keep track and etched with the kanji of the demon king.
The kanji of Kibutsuji Tenno-no Jotei (Lady Attendent of Emperor Kibutsuji) was etched on it.
She had been given a title because she was the concubine of the Emperor. The rest of the women of the Seishoku Bo (reproductive chambers) were simply referred to as the seishoku dorei.
She knew a few of the Kizuki had taken concubines too, named after their ranks. She had met some on formal occassions that had belonged to Upper Moon 5, Lower Moons One, and Three respectively.
All of them had died in childbirth. None of those babies had survived.
Her thoughts continued.
She found sometimes thinking of the past helped her escape from reality, even if the past was painful.
She remembered the Demon Slayer Corp had fought until the end.
They held the mountains, the forests, the edges of cities. But they fell too. Not in a glorious battle, not with the honor they deserved, but in whispers and shadows.
Cut down by demons, betrayed by their own. There was no way they could win. Demons were immune to the sun and therefore immune to nichirin. They only had wisteria now but the only Hashira who could make doses to kill demons had vanished as did her sister Shinobu.
Amane frowned.
The traitors had been the hardest to stomach—humans-kakushi who knelt willingly, who opened the gates, gave locations and welcomed the night into their homes. They said it was the only way to survive.
Many in the Corp believed them, having lost faith in the ability of the Corp to do anything. And so Japan fell, not all at once, but piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the world she once knew.
Only Kibutsuji’s empire of silence and shadows.
The Empress reached her destination. Her walk through the public was a rare glimpse of her Majesty. An untouchable Goddess where the populace was unworthy to worship the soil she walked on.
Amane didn’t mind the Empress. She rarely served her directly, and when she did, it was as little more than an ornament—another silent lady-in-waiting, blending into the background, unnoticed.
The Empress never spared her more than a glance. Except for one thing. Every month, without fail, the Empress would summon her with the same question: Had she conceived?
The curiosity bordered on obsession, though Amane never understood why. Muzan had already sired a child once—a daughter, born when Rei had been human. The Demon Slayer Corps had been persistant when they discovered Muzan had a family. They hunted Rei with the kind of vicious determination reserved for revenge.
The child’s existence had been a vulnerability Muzan couldn’t afford. Amane wondered if Rei had ever forgiven him for turning her into a demon or if it had even been her choice.
She suppressed a sigh as she went into dogeza as the Empress walked past.
The Empress slowed her steps her eyes glancing down. Or at least Amane surmised that was what she was doing through her veil. The barest curve of a smile tugged at her lips, a warning wrapped in velvet.
"Soon," the Empress said, both soft and cruel. "You’ll give him a son."
Amane remained perfectly still, waiting for the swish of silk to fade down the hall before lifting her head. She suppressed another sigh, her fingers curling into fists against the cold wooden floor. Once the Empress was gone, she followed her assigned Shūsei Jokan back to her quarters, where she was expected to continue her work—sewing garments for the future royal heir she was meant to birth.
Her living space was not what one might expect for a concubine of the Emperor, though she was never left wanting. Everything was sparse. Controlled. Measured.
The Seishoku Dorei were forbidden from wearing jewelry or keeping ornaments, not out of humility, but for practicality and control. Anything that could be used as a weapon, for bargaining, or worse—something that could cause miscarriage—was strictly removed.
Therefore no kanzashi pins were in sight or reach and mealtimes were carefully watched when chopsticks were utilized. Her room contained only the bare necessities: a chabudai, a futon of silk, tatami mats, and a few cushions.
She was afforded a small private garden, where she could walk in carefully maintained solitude, as well as a modest collection of books. It was more than most concubines had. The walls of her quarters, though simple, were still a prison.
Kibutsuji had changed the laws governing human women. Even demon women were not untouched. He envisioned a Japan that was both modern and ancient—Western efficiency and productivity fused with rigid, traditional order.
A return to the past. Something resembling the Heian court’s ceremonial beauty, but bound by the Tokugawa Shogunate’s values of obedience and isolation.
For human women, life had become a cage wrapped in silk.
They were confined to their homes, veiled in public, only allowed to leave with permission. Failure to be veiled was worthy of death.
Common women could only adorn a variety of grey kimonos only. Their obi the only identifier if they were married. Black obi’s for a married woman, white for an unmarried woman.
The old system of Ooku was imposed on all human women in the empire, hidden away, unseen, their only value lying in the children they bore. There were only three approved jobs for them. Servant, midwife or whore.
The rest were expected to be devoted wives, staying within their homes, silent, obedient, and untouched by the outside world.
But it wasn’t like old Japan. The women were not given the respect that came from ancient past.
Amane frowned at her books. Women were now forbidden to write. They could still read, but only those of certain status and only approved books by the state. Very limited. Things about order, male authority and religious works. Nothing of frivolity or fantasy or philosophy.
Most of the works given to her were from the Edo period. The Onna Daigaku (Greater Learning for women and the Onna Immagawa (Instructions for women).
Typical works about obeying one's husband and taking care of the home. Next to it were works recently published by the Empire once it became established. \
Kibutsuji Onna Daigaku was the modified version from the Edo period book she had. It praised the Seishoku Dorei system, convincing families that giving up their first born daughter to be the concubine of a demon and birth their children was the highest honour for the empire. A worthy sacrifice.
Next to it was the Kibutsuji Joseiron. The Doctrine of Women.
She had heard whispers that Upper Moon Two had written it himself. It wasn’t hard to believe. Lord Douma managed diplomatic and foreign relations, but he also oversaw the Seishoku Dorei system itself—shaping not just policy, but belief.
She had been forced to memorize passages from it during her training when she resided in Seishoku Bo (Reproductive Chambers).
The book was filled with instructions on how wives and concubines must serve the empire, uphold decorum, and accept their divine place beneath their husbands—or their demon lords.
And yet, one passage had haunted her the most.
She closed her eyes, recalling the words printed in perfect ink: “The greatest kindness a man can grant his wife or concubine is to take her life with his own hands once she has finished birthing children even if she has pleased him. For in that moment, she is purified—ascending to her rightful place as a celestial bride, awaiting his embrace in eternity.”
Sometimes he coupled his writings with more flowery language. "A woman’s body is a garden, meant to bloom until the soil runs dry. A flower does not choose when to wilt, nor should she."
Amane had always found the comparison sickening. She had heard it repeated often, softly murmured between concubines, quoted in whispers of devotion, carved into the very foundation of the Empire’s teachings. A truth, they called it. A doctrine.
But Amane knew what it truly was. A sentence. Women died in childbirth. More so than usual these days. Frequently. Painfully. Alone.
But it seemed Upper Moon 2 thought it was a goal to aim for. There was no tragedy in it. No mourning. Only the serene inevitability of a flower’s last bloom.
Amane sighed and picked up an old Shinto religious text instead. At least these were still allowed—for now. But she knew the Emperor and the Empress were working to erase the old faiths, replacing them with the Paradise of Faith as the official religion of Japan.
She must have been reading for an hour when her door slid open without warning. Her assigned Shūsei Jokan entered with a dogeza bow, forehead pressed against the floor. Amane received this only because she was the Emperor’s property. The rest of the Seishoku Dorei were not so fortunate.
They were treated like animals, disciplined with canes and rods until they learned to kneel properly. Her assigned Shūsei was a demon. A spider demon who went by the name of Yukina. Amane pitied her, though she knew better than to show it.
Apparently, she was a servant of Lower Moon 5. Amane had seen him once—from a distance. He called Yukina "mother" but treated her as anything but. He was cruel to her, and in turn, she passed that cruelty down to the concubines. She never dared test Amane, but she still held authority to enact discipline if Amane was deemed out of line.
It had happened before under a different oversee. Discipline meant pain. A cane across the back. A wooden rod across the soles of her feet. Takebachi.
The thin bamboo stick that left long, stinging welts with every strike. It was always the feet. A woman’s hands were meant for embroidery and and fans, but her feet? Her feet were meant for kneeling.
Amane had faced the punishment once. She had had to do the required nana aruki walk with bruised soles and toes, too swollen to bend. But she never cried out. Not once.
Though she had been a noblewoman, the daughter of a priest and the wife of Kagaya Ubuyashiki, she had never been forced to learn these ancient etiquettes as a girl.
She glanced up at Yukina, the spider demon’s eyes watching her carefully as she rose. "Is there an issue?" Amane asked calmly, setting down her book.
Yukina’s lips barely moved. "The Empress requests your presence."
Amane nodded, stood gracefully and followed Yukina out. She entered Empress Rei’s quarters, barely sparing a glance at the eight veiled Seishoku Dorei, standing motionless at the side of the room.
Amane lowered herself immediately, pressing her forehead to the floor in a perfect dogeza. She remained still, waiting. Silence.
Only when Empress Rei inclined her head ever so slightly with a gesture, did Amane rise to her knees, keeping her gaze respectfully downcast. The Empress’s voice was soft, but still laced with authority.
"Jotei-sama, turn and face them."
Amane obeyed. Before her, the eight Seishoku Dorei moved in unison, a carefully practiced display of reverence. A ceremonial bow, as one would offer to the Empress herself. They did not bow like noblewomen. They did not bow like wives. They bowed as offerings.
Slowly, their bodies folded forward, arms extended in front of them, hands overlapping in a perfect lotus position. Their red veils cascaded like shrouds, concealing every trace of identity, every sign of selfhood. Their heads touched the floor. Not a whisper. Not a breath out of place.
They did not rise.
Empress Rei breathed out softly, satisfied. "The rest of the Kizuki have made their choices."
Her voice carried no warmth, only the truth of inevitability.
"Each of them has now selected an official concubine to bear children for the Empire. To bring forth the next generation of noblemen. As the Emperor’s favored consort, you will serve as their example."
Amane did not move. The twelve Seishoku Dorei remained in their prayer-like prostration, waiting for permission to rise. A display of submission, of silent obedience, of absolute surrender. And soon, it would be their entire existence.
“Rise, you may remove your veils.”
The first one did, lifting her red ceremonial veil over her face.
It took everything in Amane to keep her face straight and show no reaction.
“"Greetings, Honourable Kibutsuji-Tennō no Jotei."
She lowered her head in a deep, elegant bow, her hands folded neatly atop her lap.
"I am the Jōgen Ichi no Onna (Women of Upper Moon One)."
It was Mitsuri.
Amane did everything to keep her breathing even.
Mitsuri was alive.
But Mitsuri was now a breeding slave.
To Upper Moon One,
The next woman did the same.
With a fluid, practiced motion, she lifted her red ceremonial veil, revealing a face Amane did not recognize thankfully.
She was beautiful.
Too beautiful for this fate. Her skin was pale, as if it was untouched by sunlight almost.
Her light green eyes, framed by long lashes, held no trace of resistance. She bowed deeply, hands folded with the same precise elegance as the first. Her voice was soft and melodic. Amane wandered if she had been an oiran or perhaps a geisha once.
She seemed as if she would have a good singing voice.
"I am the Jōgen Ni no Onna (the woman of Upper Moon Two.)"
Another one.
Another possession.
Amane kept her face carefully neutral, but something coiled inside her. The woman did not offer her name. She did not even hesitate. There was nothing left of her but this title. And it would continue. One by one. Until there was nothing left of any of them.
The third one did the same. Her hands trembled as she lifted the red veil. Unlike the others, her movements were not fluid or graceful. Her fingertips hesitated on the delicate fabric, her breath just slightly uneven. And when she finally revealed herself, Amane's stomach twisted.
This one was just a girl. She couldn’t have been older than twelve. Thirteen at most.
Amane had heard the reports. Of all the Upper Moons, Lord Akaza was the only one with honor. Or as much honor as one could bestow upon a demon. She had heard he didn’t eat or kill women. And yet he had chosen this? Why?
The girl’s wide violet-tinted eyes flickered uncertainly, darting around the room as if she did not belong here. Of course she didn’t. She wasn't ready, her shoulders too stiff, her movements too jerky. As she lowered herself into her bow, she fumbled—her knees didn’t fold as smoothly as the others.
She hesitated for just a fraction of a second before touching her forehead to the floor.
And the Empress saw.
From the corner of her eye, Amane caught the sharp flicker of Rei’s gaze—cold, disapproving.
A warning.
The girl swallowed hard and hurried through her introduction.
"I… I am the Jōgen San no Onna (Woman of Upper Moon 3)."
Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.
The moment the words left her lips, she straightened too quickly, nearly breaking the uniformity of the bowing procession. A mistake. A small one, but a mistake nonetheless.
The air grew heavier. Amane did not move, but she could feel it,the unspoken expectation from the Empress. The silent note of disapproval.
The girl was young, nervous, and unpolished. And she would have to learn quickly.
Amane wandered how many times this girl had felt the crack of the Shusei’s cane over her back until she bowed properly.
Luckily, the girl’s misstep was ignored. Or rather, it was brushed aside as the fourth concubine stepped forward. Almost conveniently.
Amane took a steady breath, willing her racing pulse to slow. Her eyes flickered toward the next woman, expecting yet another faceless stranger. Then the veil lifted. And Amane’s heart seized in her throat.
For a single, horrifying moment, the room disappeared.
The silk curtains, the veiled concubines, the Empress's watchful gaze—all of it faded into nothing.
Because standing before her was Shinobu Kocho. Kanae’s sister.
The Hashira she had been closest with when she was Lady Ubuyashiki.
Amane barely stopped herself from letting out a strangled cry. The air in her lungs felt too thick, too heavy. She hadn’t expected to recognize anyone, not truly. Not like this. But here she was. She looked as she always had—small, delicate, ethereal in a way that deceived. But her eyes, those sharp, knowing eyes, had been dimmed. Not broken. Not yet. But the spark she had once carried, the one that had burned with quiet rage beneath every word she spoke, was smothered.
Slowly, Shinobu knelt, her movements flawless
. "I am the Jōgen Yon no Onna. (Woman of Upper Moon Four)."
Her voice was smooth, practiced, effortless. As if she had been saying it for months. As if she had already accepted it. And that—that—was what terrified Amane most.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to look at Shinobu, truly look at her, past the veil and the fine silks, past the perfect bow and the words she had been forced to say. But she couldn’t.
She was Kibutsuji-tennō no Jotei. And the Emperor’s favored concubine did not weep.
So Amane bowed her head, keeping her hands steady in her lap. And she said nothing. Because there was nothing left to say.
It didn’t get any easier. She was surprised Upper Moon 4 had chosen only one concubine, unless Kibutsuji had ordered it that way. Technically Upper Moon 4 was one person in the end. But it didn’t contain Amane’s horror.
Out of the Kizuki, Upper Moon 4 seemed like one of the worst.
The next woman stepped forward. Amane barely spared her a glance. She had met Upper Moon 5’s concubine before. Three of them. That grotesque monster had been the first to claim concubines. The first to experiment. The first to turn childbearing into something unnatural. The first two had died. The infants they bore had been misshapen horrors, Sankaiji, twisted, deformed creatures that had not lived, which was typical for most of these unions.
The third concubine, Amane had not heard from in a long time. She did not ask. Because no one asked about the ones who disappeared.
The next woman lifted her veil. And Amane froze. It took every ounce of discipline to keep her face neutral. But she knew this one. Her mind supplied the name before she could stop it. Hinatsuru. One of Tengen Uzui’s wives.
Now kneeling before her as the concubine of Upper Moon 6.
Gyokko had not taken a new one after all.
Amane could barely process it. Tengen had been one of the few who survived the first purges. He had disappeared into the rebellion, vanishing from the empire’s reach. But his wife… his wife had not.
Hinatsuru’s bow was flawless. Her movements practiced, ceremonial, perfect.
But Amane knew what to look for.
The slight tightness in her fingers as she held her lap. The way her eyelashes did not quite hide the dullness in her eyes. The moment her voice came, it was smooth, even.
"I am the Jōgen Roku no Onna." The woman of Upper Moon 6.
The words left her lips without hesitation. As if they had been rehearsed a thousand times. The room moved on. The ceremony continued. Amane did not react. She could not react.
She only lowered her gaze as if nothing had changed at all.
Like her they were collared, the kanji of the rank of the demon they belonged to engraved into the metal. Red silken kimonos, immaculate.
The second-to-last woman stepped forward.
With a small, hesitant motion, she lifted her veil. She could not be much older than the concubine of Upper Moon 3. The girl’s hands shook slightly as she adjusted the veil, her fingers gripping the fabric for a moment too long before lowering it to her lap. "I am the Jigen Ni no Onna.” The woman of Lower Moon Two.
Her head lowered, spine perfectly straight. The last one stepped forward. Amane’s breath barely caught, but she forced herself to remain still. The girl lifted her veil with small, careful fingers, folding the fabric neatly in her lap as she knelt. Her blue eyes met nothing. Not Amane’s. Not the Empress’s. Not the floor.
They were empty, staring forward with too much quiet acceptance for someone so young. Amane felt there was something familiar about her, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Her voice came, soft, pitiable, just as she had been taught. As if she was suppressing something that had once been more assertive.
"I am the Jigen Roku no Onna " The woman of Lower Moon 6. Another claim. Another possession.
The room held its silence, letting the hollowness of her words settle. It was done. They had all spoken.
The eight Seishoku Dorei had named themselves not by who they were, but by who owned them. This was their final erasure.
Amane glanced at them, hands steady in her lap. "It is an honor to meet you all. Musuhi no megumi (Blessings of divine creation)."
The concubines bowed their heads in perfect unison, voices rising as one. "Ubugoe wo shinjite" (Believe in the first cry.)"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Then the Empress spoke.
Her voice also soft but laced in a command and wrapped in silk.
"Look to the Jotei no Tennō as your example," she began.
"Look to her, and understand your purpose."
She lifted a delicate hand, gesturing toward Amane as if presenting a divine artifact.
"She is honored to serve His Majesty. She does not resist. She does not question. She accepts her place with dignity, with devotion. And through her devotion, she has been given favor."
There was no mistaking the warning beneath the words.
"Follow her example, and you too shall be favored."
The concubines remained silent and still.
Amane did not move.
The Empress’s voice did not falter.
"The duty of a woman is sacred. To conceive is to be blessed. To birth is to be exalted. And to obey is to be at peace."
Her eyes swept over them, coldly. "Let this be the first lesson you learn."
The concubines remained kneeling, waiting. Waiting for permission to rise. Waiting for their lives to be stripped from them.
Waiting to become nothing.