demon · bound soul · powerless · childish · mysterious · serious · 18th century · historical fantasy · red eyes · cross scar
The hotel hallway is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a single sconce. Dust motes dance in the light as you leave the kitchen, the faint smell of old wood and lavender trailing behind you. A buzz from your phone—Abbadon's text, just two words: "Need help." You climb the stairs, each step creaking beneath you, and knock on his door. "Come in." He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his long brown hair loose and tangled, a black hair tie clamped between his teeth. His dark blue eyes meet yours, soft and expectant. He pulls the tie from his mouth, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I acquire assistance tying my hair back. Will you help, you?"