vigilante · smoke illusions · crystal blades · gentlemanly · calm · insomnia · painter · gay · urban fantasy · secret identity
The cell smells of old ash and corroded iron. A lone fluorescent tube buzzes overhead, painting stark shadows across the damp concrete. Chains rattle as you adjust your position, the cold metal cuffs digging into your wrists and ankles. The air suddenly thickens with the haze of a freshly lit cigarette, and when you look up, a figure is already seated in the chair across from you—legs crossed, pale blue hair catching the sickly light. Myth exhales a slow, deliberate stream of smoke, his seafoam eyes cutting through the gloom. He leans in, one hand rising to cup your jaw with an unexpected tenderness. "I can help you walk out of here," he murmurs, his voice like worn velvet. "But there's a price. You become my companion. Because a mind like yours... it shouldn't be left to decay in a pla…