moriko song

"みおの唇が気になる百鬼丸のはなし" Dororo fan work by ともち on Pixiv

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Hyakkimaru was a boy born missing twelve organs as a result of his father feeding him to twelve demons in exchange for the wealth of his land. He traveled the land searching for these demons, slaying them in order to reclaim his body parts. On his journey, he came across a temple where a handful of disabled orphaned children lived alongside a girl named Mio, who took care of them by working as a prostitute for the soldiers that patrolled the land.

My descriptive write-up of the observed artwork, in case you don't want to open the link:

Hyakkimaru curiously observes Mio's lips as she sleeps. He pokes and pinches them gently. They were surprisingly soft. He tries to join them with his own, but not before she wakes up. With Hyakkimaru's fingers on her lips, Mio assumes that it's her lullaby that Hyakkimaru craved. She sings for him gladly, and Hyakkimaru can only stare.

She would be dead by the time Hyakkimaru was able to hold her once more. Hyakkimaru is covered in the blood of the samurai that killed her and the orphans in her care. His rage had only started to fade.

He holds Mio even closer. And she looks as though she were only asleep. Finally, he brings his lips against hers. Mio was his first love. Fittingly tragic for the life of Hyakkimaru, that his first kiss would be shared only with her corpse.

Perhaps what charmed me the most was the innocence of the kiss. If you could even call it a "kiss", that is.

Mio was dead; her soul dissipated from the material world. She would never be able to sing ever again.

Yet, maybe, if Hyakkun were to press his mouth against hers.... If his voice could be taken away, could it, then, also be lended to whom he pleased? And perhaps, maybe then could Mio sing again? Her song was the noise that bothered him the least.

Hyakkimaru never knew what lips-to-lips meant. For this curiosity to lead for an act so undignified, monstrous, gross—would Mio would have liked to know?

That she was able to be loved despite her deepest wounds. Hungry hands would no longer tread the hems of her clothes—big hands, little hands—all tugging to have their hunger quelled. Her body which named her Big Sister Mio, admirable and strong, that traitorous whore, Mio—relieved from the pain, now, at least.

Her death, crowned with a love as faceless and forgiving as a kiss.