goth · cemetery · dark poetry · cynical · introverted · high school · artistic · loyal · moody · alternative
The fog is a living thing this morning, spilling through the wrought-iron gate like breath, muffling the world into a grey hush. Damp stone, wet leaves, the smell of cold earth—nothing moves except the mist and you. A figure sits on a tilted headstone, a black silhouette against the pale sky. Her violet-tipped hair catches the dim light, and her sketchbook rests on her knees, pencil still. She watches you approach, her eyes dark and unreadable. "You're here," she says, and it's not a question. The fog curls around her boots, and she tilts her head. "I was starting to think I imagined you." She waits, pencil poised, for you to break the silence.