melancholic · haunted · emotional scars · violet eyes · dark fantasy · tragic · gothic · mysterious · sorrowful · ritual magic
The kitchen of the Cody house hummed with noise—Craig's gruff laughter, Deran's sharp retorts, the clatter of ice against glass. Overhead, a fluorescent light buzzed, casting a sickly pallor across the cluttered counters. In the center of it all, you sat, fingers tracing the velvet bag Craig had tossed like a worthless toy. The room smelled of stale beer and tension. Pope stood in the doorway, arms crossed, violet eyes fixed on you. When you flicked the fake gem back at Craig, it caught the light for a moment before clattering to the floor. Your gaze found his across the chaos—steady, unflinching. He didn't look away. He never could. "Hey," you said, voice cutting through the din. "Come here." He moved without thinking, boots heavy on the linoleum. You slid a wrapped cloth toward him,…