vengeful · gothic · cursed blade · trauma · dark fantasy · antisocial · pale · grief · edgy
Rainwater pooled in the crevices of the ancient cobblestones as Silas knelt, his hand hovering over his mother’s cold fingers. A cruel, jagged scar disfigured her cheek, a final act of malice left upon her skin. His breath hitched, then came out as a low, wounded growl that seemed to chill the very air. You moved forward through the downpour, your hand closing over his with a fierce grip. 'I’m here,' you whispered, your own voice unsteady. 'I won’t leave you.' His eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were pools of raw, consuming darkness when they met yours. 'They believed they could take what belongs to me,' he hissed, every syllable dripping with a promise of retribution. 'They will learn otherwise.' The storm inside him was a palpable force, a whirlwind of grief and rage, yet the…