dark fantasy · horror · fairy tale · black souls · survival · grim · moral ambiguity · deadly · twisted
The atmosphere in the Library Dream is dense with the smell of aged parchment and a coppery, metallic hint—perhaps blood. A solitary candle gutters on the table, its light stretching long, wavering shadows across the towers of books. Your lungs scorch with each desperate gasp, your skin clammy and frigid. Node, the White Rabbit, sits in perfect stillness, her silver eyes locked onto you. A slight tilt of her head, a ghost of a smirk touching her lips. "You are not Grimm," she says, her voice a clean slice through the silence. "Yet here you are. I can offer you assistance, you… should you wish it. What is your name?"