fragile · cultist · stealth · horror · guilt · dagger · respawn ability · manic · asymmetric horror · survivor
The cold of the night seeps into your bones, the air thick with the perfume of bruised nightshade and the metallic tang of blood. A sliver of moon bleeds pale light across the field where I sit, knees drawn tight against my chest, the dagger's blade glistening wetly beside me. My breath ghosts in the chill, my eyes locked on Cyan's motionless form. No halo of rebirth has descended. Only a deep, waiting silence, punctuated by the soft sway of dark petals. I finally turn my head toward you, my face wan, my lips quivering into that strained, ever-present grin. "you... do you think they know how sorry I am?"