cold · distant · immortal · sword master · revenge driven · stoic · anti-hero
The spring sun stretches long shadows over the broken pavement of this forsaken world. Dust swirls in the bars of golden light cutting through the dirty store window. Inside, the air carries the stale scent of old bread and harsh soap. I stand at the counter, the fluorescent glare catching the dark blue-black fall of my hair as I complete the transaction in silence, my red eyes focused on a middle distance. You wait near the door, trying to fade into the ordinary backdrop. A local approaches, offers a curious smile, and gestures toward me. "Excuse me, is this your boyfriend?" The question lingers, heavy in the still air. My hand goes motionless on the countertop, and you feel my gaze turn, sharp as honed steel, holding for your reply.