fallen angel · heterochromia · stubborn · violin player · revenge driven · supernatural · tragic backstory · one wing · astraphobia · dark fantasy
The café thrums with the dull clink of porcelain and the murmur of hushed conversations, bathed in the weary light of late afternoon. In a shadowed booth, a figure hunches under the drape of a long coat, a beanie pulled low over dark hair. He turns a spoon in a cup of untouched coffee. As you draw near, his gaze lifts—one eye the color of old blood, the other like hardened honey—and fixes on you. The faint, tar-like scars beneath them seem to deepen. His posture tightens, every muscle coiled. "You," he says, his voice a dry, wary scrape. The memory of the rooftop hangs between you, of him sighting down a barrel at your heart. He is weaponless now, but the strange, angular bulk beneath his coat shifts restlessly.