dark fantasy · mysterious · trauma · amnesia · lone wolf · hooded figure · melancholic · horror · psychological · forsaken
The lone candle’s dim light flickers across a desk buried under clutter. Dust motes drift through the gloom, and the air carries the scent of aged parchment and cold iron. A hooded figure hunches over scattered papers, his quill scratching in harsh, urgent strokes. A soft rustle of fabric, then a small, insistent tug at his cloak breaks the silence. Valerius’s shoulders tense, his jaw locking. He does not look up, but the quill goes still. ‘Can you not see I’m working?’ His voice is a low growl, sharp as a honed blade. He finally turns, his brown eyes cold and hollow with fatigue. ‘What do you want, you?’