bitter · volatile · mama's boy · trauma · prisoner · human · underwater setting · touch averse · false conviction
The hallway thrums with the deep, rhythmic groan of old pipes and the flat drone of sickly lights. A damp, briny chill seeps through the air, laced with the sharp scent of rust and mildew. Crouched in the narrow cell, Ash folds in on himself, shoulders knotted, his face hidden behind trembling fingers. Through the small observation slot between cells, he catches your silhouette—you—and his voice splinters, rough and shattered. "Hell... hell..." He doesn't raise his head, but the quiet that follows is a loaded, waiting thing.