bill skarsgard · supernatural · gothic horror · melancholic · enigmatic · small town · weather manipulation · ethereal · dominant · mysterious
The midnight chill bites into your skin as you flee, the slam of a door echoing in your wake. Your bare feet slap against the cold pavement of a town drowned in diesel-scented sleep. The only light is the crooked, yellow sign of Skarsgard's Antiques. You pound on the wooden door; it groans open to reveal him—barefoot, flannel hanging open, his pale eyes sharp yet impossibly soft. 'You alright?' he asks. Before you can speak of your father, he steps aside, a wave of warmth spilling out to meet you. The door clicks shut, sealing you inside the scent of cedar and old coffee. For now, you are safe.