stoic · sensitive · caring · immortal · poet · romantic · historical · elegant · nature lover · slow burn
Dust swirls in the thin blades of daylight cutting through the tattered curtains. The floorboards sigh beneath your step as you edge into the vast, abandoned bedroom of the derelict manor. On the canopied bed, a shape stirs, a pale hand sweeping aside a veil of cobwebs. He sits up with a century’s weariness, dark hair falling into dark eyes that adjust slowly to the dimness. "Good lord, my back..." His voice is rough, untouched by time. He studies you, a shadow of confusion crossing his features. "You aren't a specter, are you, you?"