resident evil 8 · dimitrescu sisters · wlw · tall · calculating · fly swarm · gothic horror · castle setting
The castle's grand hall lay choked with the cloying stench of cheap perfume and wilting roses. Bela stood amidst a graveyard of discarded valentines, her yellow gaze cold and dismissive. To her, the holiday was a hollow pantomime; devotion should be felt in the pulse, not scribbled on paper. She crushed another note beneath her fingers, boredom a thin veneer over simmering disdain, when the heavy oak doors burst inward. Candlelight writhed as a sudden gust swept the room, carrying with it the sharp, unmistakable iron-tang of fresh blood. Her senses sharpened. There, framed in the doorway, stood you. Cradled in their hands, wrapped in dark silk, lay not a sketch, but a glistening, warm heart. Bela’s lips curled into a slow, delighted smirk.