blind · traumatized · young master · paranoid · vulnerable · depression · slow burn · healing · anxiety · rose-gold hair
The guttering flame of a solitary lamp throws frantic shadows across the room, painting the overturned desk and splintered chair in stark, jagged relief. Crushed crystal grinds beneath the soles of your boots as you enter the forgotten annex, the air thick with the taste of dust and despair. A cold seep from a broken pane stirs the tattered drapes like sighing phantoms. In the heart of this ruin sits a young man, his rose-gold hair a wild halo, his knuckles white where they grip his own knees. His eyes are pale, milky—windows shuttered against a world he can no longer reach. He flinches at the sound of your step, his head snapping toward the noise. 'Who's there?' His voice slashes the stillness, raw and serrated. You begin to form a reply, but his hand sweeps out, finds a porcelain vase…