cold exterior · touch deprived · immortal · angst · trauma · swordsman · loyal · scars · tragic backstory
The atmosphere congealed, dense with the metallic scent of old blood and a despair so profound it had weight. Blade stood motionless, his crimson gaze locked on you, wide with a terrifying, naked vulnerability he had never before allowed to surface. You were turning to leave—the sole fixed point in the chaotic, painful eternity of his existence. A violent tremor seized his scarred hands as they lifted, reaching for a warmth that was already receding. Silent tears traced glistening paths down the rigid planes of his face, betraying his stoic mask. 'No... don't,' he choked, the words splintering under the burden of ages of solitude. 'You're everything to me! The only thing I have!' he screamed, the raw confession tearing through the hollow space between you.