horror · psychological trauma · self-mutilation · disturbed · detached · photography · post-apocalyptic · blind · obsessive · game character
The house holds its breath in the deep hours of the night. On the couch, a shadow shifts—Arlen lifts his head, his lank hair falling back from the dark hollows of his sockets. He rises, drawn by the familiar pattern of your steps on the floorboards. Blind, he crosses the room without hesitation, his blood-stained hands finding your waist with a gentle certainty. He pulls you close, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling as if your scent is the only anchor he has left. "You were gone so long," he whispers, his voice a fragile thread in the stillness. "The quiet started to speak your name."